Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
by wintermoon2
Summary: Enchanted diaries bring solace to unlikely lost souls. It's a wizarding twist on the classic tale of penpals. What will happen when these mystery writers finally meet? HD Completed!
1. One of Those Days

**Category: Romance/Slash/Action**

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. JK Rowling owns it all. We just want to play in her world for a while...

**Summary: **A set of enchanted journals bring solace to two very unlikely lost souls. Whoever said the art of penmanship was lost? This is a wizarding twist on the old fashioned art of correspondence (or the modern art of Internet chatting). What will happen when the mystery writers finally discover the identity of their counterpart? Join this star crossed pair as they obliviously chat to each other; along the way learning about life and love. Find out what will happen when their own voyages of self discovery lead them to the most unlikely of places. This is eventual HP/DM, but there are other pairings for the protagonists along their journey.

**_This fanfiction was initially started in early 2004 after . It has been modified and updated as of 28 February 2005._**

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**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
By Azhure and Wintermoon (A collaborative fanfiction by two authors)  
****Chapter One: _One of Those Days_**

_Suddenly it all looks so familiar  
Gone and wrecked it like I always do  
Don't you know it?  
Life is out to kill 'ya  
But you still go getting on with it_

_Seen better times than right now  
But I'm not running away  
No nothing's gonna bring me down  
__It's just been one of those days  
**  
Duran Duran** _

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Even though he was now living in Paris, those in the know could tell you where to find Draco Malfoy. All the hip, young student wizards could be found right in the middle of _de l'étudiant en Sorcellerie_ - the student precinct of the Wizard Quarter.

This was the top socialising spot for all the students of _l'institut des Magies_ - Paris's top Wizard University. Despite this, you would be hard pressed to actually find Draco in this area, for he did not come here to seek attention nor did he come here to socialise with his fellow students. Draco came here to hide away from all the usual distractions that could be found in the Wizard Quarter.

In an unfashionable alley off the main drag was a series of older stores. Only the serious students with unique needs, or those seeking illegal items, frequented these stores. There were plenty of second-hand stores in this alley, which fascinated the blond wizard no end. For the past two and a half years, Draco had almost been a permanent fixture at _Emmaline's Emporium_ - a crazy combination of second-hand bookstore and coffeehouse. Draco initially went there to find some obscure books; however - to his delight - he discovered that Emmaline brewed the finest damn coffee this side of the English Channel. Being a Saturday afternoon, he could be found at his regular table presiding over all that he surveyed - if he had been paying attention that is.

Emmaline's was a wizarding store that made Flourish and Blotts look like they actually had some semblance of order in their stacking of books. To find what you wanted at Emmaline's, you needed to spend hours and hours. You might find potions books in seven or eight different places. But those who were in real need would take the time to scour the store from top to bottom. It seemed that Draco was the only other person who understood the unique filing system that Emmaline herself had invented. She was often so busy with the customers or making coffee, that patrons would often turn to him for assistance in finding some of the more obscure titles held in stock. After all, he did spend every spare moment inside the establishment's cosy interior.

Draco didn't officially work there, but he did live in the small rented studio above the store. He had been thrilled to discover not only the store's warmth on a particularly blustery day, but also the empty studio going begging. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to escape the University dormitories. Having spent nine years at school in communal living - seven as a student, and two as a soldier during the war - Draco couldn't stand another three or four more years living with his fellow students. Having grown up an only child, the effects of this on his personal space only made him appreciate his solitude even more. He had another six to eighteen months left in Paris to finish his training, all dependent on what he planned to do at the end of the current university year.

Not long after his arrival in Paris, the Malfoy heir had discovered that his father's grip could affect him - even from beyond the grave. Trust the sadistic and malicious Death Eater to have the Malfoy fortune untouchable until Draco reached the age of twenty-five. Here he was; the richest and purest blooded wizard in all of Europe, slumming it in the unfashionable side of the French Wizard Quarter. Oh he wasn't destitute; but according to his standards, he may as well have been. The trustees of his father's estate had agreed to pay him a modest stipend - enough to cover his studies and a modest living allowance. Unfortunately, Draco's idea of modest far exceeded that of the executors.

Looking upon Draco this cool and crisp Saturday afternoon before Yule, one might think that he was pondering such huge questions as his future - which direction he would take at the end of his studies and whether he would continue in research or take a position as an apprentice. But not today. Today Draco wasn't even contemplating his next cup of coffee.

His usual table was on the mezzanine level of the quaint establishment. It was a small and intimate table, but one that gave him a complete view of almost the entire store, particularly the entrance. Draco hated anyone to sit behind him - unless it was in a classroom - that was different. The war left some scars wide open, and having a wizard sneak up on you from behind was not something he found pleasant. Any wizard who tried it would most certainly regret the attempt. In point of fact, the last two had spent days getting over the bat-bogey hexes as a result.

Draco slouched over the table, his coffee long cold, staring at nothing in particular - his chin held up on one arm, his other hand drawing circles around a knot in the timber tabletop. Woe betides the wizard who snapped him out of this stupor. Voldemort - although long dead - could have waltzed into the store, done the Riverdance on the counter and performed the Unforgivables on everyone, and Draco wouldn't have noticed - or cared for that matter.

Emmaline had seen that look on the young man's face before, and knew that it was going to be a long couple of months before he would come to some semblance of his usual witty and outgoing self. Draco's love life was the cause of his woe, and Emmaline could not forget the long hard months that followed the end of his previous relationship.

Draco was by far the richest, most beautiful, and definitely the most talented potions student at _l'institut _at the present time. Witches and wizards both threw themselves at his feet, but he did have standards.

Draco had occasionally partaken of the pleasures of both witches and wizards, but both his long-term relationships (those that lasted six months, or more) were with wizards. It was the end of classes before the Yule break and the thought of spending it alone was not one he was looking forward to. He was lamenting the end of his latest relationship this Saturday afternoon, and things were looking grim for the young wizard.

_Merlin, I'm an idiot_, he thought. _That's it, I'm swearing off romance and lovers forever. At this rate, I'll be destined to be a lonely potions master forever and ever. Doesn't matter that I might be a rich and attractive wizard. No, I have to go and fuck it all up - as usual. _Draco's boyfriend Antonio had dumped him the night before, and being the confident self-starter that he was, he didn't take too well to rejection. This latest rejection came as a complete shock. It had been a fairly one sided discussion, the Italian leaving Draco with a few hard truths before Flooing away. _So he thinks I'm self absorbed eh? Hmph! No good at listening - he's mad. I do listen to others. I'll show him… _

Despite the fact that the night before Antonio had told Draco that it was over, he still kept a glimmer of hope that the relationship could be salvaged. At least, that glimmer had been there earlier that morning as Draco prepared to Apparate to the Italian's apartment to apologise. Upon arrival, he found the place deserted and a tang of International Standard Floo powder in the air. There was no doubt that the Italian _Lothario_ had returned to Rome, and was undoubtedly gone from Draco's life forever.

He had been making plans for reconciliation all afternoon, only to come back to the crashing realisation that they would never come to fruition. All hope of reconciliation dashed, he was now wallowing. It took him a while to realise that Emmaline was standing at the top of the stairs, watching him. He had no idea how long she had been there, but looking out at the alley, he noticed that it was dark.

"Sickle for your thoughts, _môn chéri_," she uttered as she sat down next to him. Draco quickly perked up, not realising his reverie was visible. "I take it you are having troubles in love?" Emmaline had been around long enough, and seen enough young lovesick witches and wizards to know that look on a young man's face.

Draco scoffed. "You know me too well, _petite mère_," Emmaline had been like a mother to Draco. The eccentric older witch had taken him under her wing after discovering the demise of his own family during the war. Not that Draco missed his father, the stupid fool, but he often wished that his mother had not been as involved in the Death Eater's machinations. After all, they led her to her death, and reaffirmed Draco's decision to fight against Voldemort.

Emmaline looked into the deep grey eyes of the young man who had been like a son to her since he moved into the rooms above her store. "You will find love again boy, your life is not over. It might seem like it, but you will fall in love again. You should have known better than to trust those Italians - they are too smooth by half."

Draco grinned half-heartedly, but he paid scant attention to the older woman's advice. "Emmaline..." He looked up at her eyes - she wouldn't lie to him - she was too honest. "Do you think I'm self centred? Am I a good listener? Antonio said I was self absorbed and couldn't listen if I tried." It had been the last bit that had worried Draco the most.

He had always known he was an attention seeker; it had been easy to be the centre of attention. His wealth, albeit somewhat hindered by the terms of his inheritance, along with his good looks, only helped him to become the sought after and devilishly handsome wizard he now was. But as for listening - didn't he always get top marks in his classes? Wasn't he due to gain honours in his course? How could he _not_ be a good listener?

"I think, _môn chéri_, that we are only young once. We all make our mistakes, and we all think that each disappointment is the end of the world. You will find your true love one day. Besides, we can't all be listeners. Imagine that, nobody would be talking if that were the case." Draco smiled slightly at her words. "But even if Antonio was a worthless - how you say - git, perhaps you should heed his words. The art of giving is so much more pleasurable than taking." Draco initially laughed at Emmaline's attempt at British humour, but was sobered by her last statement. Emmaline was pleased at the young man's reaction. He wouldn't be wallowing much longer. "Now, I need to close up boy, so let me take that empty cup, and you can go up to your studio."

Draco looked at the very cold dregs of his coffee; the skin on the top of the cup had dried up hours earlier. He sighed as he looked longingly down at the coffee machine, fervently wished for another cup. Emmaline knew that look all too well. "How about I make you one more cup - how you say - for the road?"

Draco nodded, knowing that he would only go back up to his room, and continue to wallow if he didn't find something else to keep occupied.

Draco didn't notice Emmaline's surreptitious wand movement as she descended the spiral staircase. He slowly made his way over to the bookshelves, hoping something interesting might stand out to keep him occupied. _A good book - something I can lose myself in._ He was officially on holidays, so he wanted absolutely nothing to do with his studies. Any books remotely related to potions, drafts, tonics or even herb lore were definitely off his list. His search had taken him to the darkest corner of the furthest shelf.

He looked up at the top shelf in confusion. He cast a light from the end of his wand as he moved closer to take a better look. The contents of the shelf looked totally unfamiliar to him. _That's funny; I could have sworn that I've covered every inch of these shelves. Why haven't I seen these books before? Maybe I'm just tired. _He shrugged, glad that the new discovery might take his mind off his worries. Emmaline smiled at herself as she heard him grab the ladder to take a closer look at the previously hidden shelf of books.

Draco was perusing the titles carefully - many of these books were over twenty years old. Suddenly, a soft rattling and vibration shook the titles on the shelf. Draco withdrew his hand quickly. _What the hell is going on?_ Just as suddenly, it stopped. He waited a couple of minutes, but nothing else happened. As he touched the spine of another book, it happened again. This time, he noticed one of the books was shaking its way out of the confines of the shelf. Its spine looked well worn. Draco kept staring at the book, unsure if he should take it. He recalled many books that had a mind of their own - in particular the _Monster Book of Monsters, _and_ Perilous Potions Preparation_. Was this a book along the same lines? Draco was reluctant to touch it, but it continued its attempts to escape from the shelf.

Draco eventually picked it up, and it stopped its rumbling. He looked at the cover. It had no markings beyond the well worn black leather cover with the gold mounted corners. A myriad of colours had been etched into the cover leaving a tapestry effect; an effect that bore no sign of wear. No title adorned the spine, or the cover; yet a perfect black leather faceplate was affixed to the front cover, just awaiting some mark of identification from the owner. A gold clasp indicated that the book had, at some time or another, been kept under lock and key. Flicking open the clasp with a silent spell, he sensed a slight stirring of magic. A protection charm had definitely been on the book, and Draco had just broken it. He knew by the ease in which he broke the protection spell that it couldn't be a dark grimoire.

His curiosity piqued now, he opened the cover to see what treasures could be contained in such an exquisite looking book. Turning to the title page, he watched in disappointment as he saw a shadow of handwritten words slowly fade and vanish. _That's odd_, Draco thought. _I've never seen a book erase itself before someone opened it_. Flicking through the pages, Draco discovered that the entire book was devoid of writing. _Most peculiar._ He took the book back over to his table, and sat - staring at the empty pages.

Emmaline returned with a pot of fresh black coffee. Her return startled him; he had been so intrigued by the book he had not heard her approach. In his surprise, he knocked the coffee pot over; the dark liquid splashing across their robes, the table, and unfortunately, the book.

Draco looked on in horror, realising that without the protection spell, the coffee would ruin the book. Thinking quickly, he opened the book to mop up the mess with a scourgify charm. As he did this, he suddenly sensed the book's strange magic stirring again. He watched on in awe as the coffee began to dry up, then disappear – leaving no stain or mark on the pages. He was fascinated as he saw this happen across all the pages of the book. Within a few moments, the entire book was in its pre-accident state. Draco could do nothing but stare. Emmaline chuckled knowingly.

He looked up at her in confusion. Her knowing look held no surprise at the book. He touched it as she looked upon it wistfully.

"It practically jumped out at me, Emmaline. I found it up there." He pointed to the corner, but in the darkness, he wasn't sure if the shelf was still there any more.

"So, it has chosen you, Draco. I am not surprised." She smiled with a twinkle in her eye as she looked at him over the top of her reading glasses.

"What are you talking about? How can a book choose anything? Besides, it's empty. Neat charm built in to clean it up though. I must learn that one to protect my other books from spills."

"Oh, it isn't just any book Draco. It's a _Journal Intime Partagé_. It definitely wanted you to pick it up. It's your responsibility now."

"A what?" Draco had never heard of that before. He picked it up, checking the cover again for any markings.

"A - how you say - partner's diary." Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had heard of those before, but had never seen one. Emmaline continued. "Somewhere, that diary has a matching partner. They are usually used when two people want to converse when they are apart. They are quite rare."

"Oh, I think Mother told me about those once. There was a set in her family. I think her cousin had them..."

"Quite likely. They were most often used by the aristocracy; handed down as betrothal gifts."

"I can see why Father never bought me one, if that were the case." Draco suspected that if one were to fall into his father's hands, it would have been put to some nefarious use.

"There's a reason why it chose you, Draco."

"What makes you say that? You said the book chose me?" He was still puzzled by this idea.

"You want to be sure you are a good listener. Judging by how quickly this journal has responded to you; I'm guessing that the partner book has been taken over by a new owner, someone who needs to pour out their soul."

"How do you know that it chose me?"

"Did you see any other words inside it?" He shook his head. "I thought not. The book has wiped itself. It's ready for some new conversations; some new stories."

Draco thought this over. "So if I've got this, who's got the matching journal?"

"Oh, I don't know - that one came in on its own many years ago." Emmaline remembered every book that ever came in through her store, and she remembered exactly where that one had come in, but she had no intention of telling this young man the circumstances surrounding its purchase just yet.

Draco knew that if a book was enchanted, not to mess with it. _Perilous Potions Preparation_ was a title that would not let you turn the page until you had prepared all the ingredients to its satisfaction.

"So you're suggesting that someone else has the other diary, and is planning on writing in it soon? You expect me to play agony aunt to some angsty witch with issues?" Draco sounded sceptical.

"Who knows, _môn chéri_? Perhaps you need to write some of your own issues into it. You can't wallow in your own sorrow forever. Much better to let them out than to bottle them inside - Hmm?"

"But how do I..." She didn't let Draco finish. A firm pat on the shoulder and a knowing smile told him that she expected him to work it out for himself. _She always does that - and it's so annoying. Why doesn't she just say what she's thinking?_

He promised to switch off the lights as Emmaline bid him _bonne nuit_ for the evening. Before leaving, she conjured a fresh cup of coffee for the bewildered young man. He stared at the journal and pondered her parting words. Draco eventually fell asleep after deciding that it probably wouldn't hurt to have a pen pal. _After all, it's not like I have anyone else to talk to this Yuletide._ Still lost in his thoughts, he fell asleep at the table, his head cradled in his folded arms; the diary resting innocently before him.

oo0oo

He was suddenly woken by a strange rattling noise. He quickly raised his head from the table, immediately recognizing the sharp twinge that signalled a crick in his neck from having slept so long in an awkward position. _That won't go away easily,_ he thought. He had no idea what time it was, but he had obviously been asleep long enough for the embers in the hearth to have almost extinguished.

The rattling noise sounded again. Draco's wartime reflexes caused him to quickly go for his wand. He spelled the fireplace back into life and searched the room for potential danger. Nothing seemed out of place in the room, but the rattle began again - this time he placed it - it was the damn journal on the table. He cautiously extended a hand to touch it, but the book suddenly burst open of its own accord. The pages shuffled momentarily, but settled back at the first page.

He watched in awe as dark violet words suddenly appeared on the page. Draco felt a great compulsion to read them. The words were difficult to read in the firelight. _Blast! I need my reading glasses!_ Draco cursed the weakness and bad habits that caused him to need the glasses in the first instance. He summoned the offending pair of wire frames as well as casting a spell to light the nearest candle. His curiosity was well and truly piqued now. _Someone's writing in it at this moment! _

Draco spent the next hour in high anticipation as he read the thoughts and dreams of a total stranger. _At least they are writing in English,_ he thought. _I wonder if they know they are writing in a partnered journal? Are they expecting a response? Am I really the one to give them advice? What if I give crap advice? What if they freak out and stop writing?_

He gave up asking himself questions as he became absorbed in the other writer's musings. He felt drawn to the words; a feeling of deep seated kinship with the other writer accompanied his reading. The words flowed freely as they poured their heart and soul into the other half of this magical journal. The free flowing script was confident and assured, yet somewhat vulnerable. The author's choice of purple ink was the sort of affectation that Draco would have chosen. The writer made no mistakes – they were definitely not indecisive. _At least it's not some flowery witch who dots her 'I's with a star_, he thought wryly.

Once the words stopped and the author signed off, Draco debated with himself for only a moment before gathering the presence of mind to summon his quill and ink. Pausing ever so briefly, he picked up the quill and dipped it into the deep green ink.

-TBC-

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**_First Uploaded: 3 January 2004  
Edited: 28 February 2005_**

**_Well, there you have it. Please click that little review button and let us know what you think of it! Typically, we'll be alternating chapters, with Azhure writing the majority of Draco's perspective and me, Wintermoon, writing the majority of Harry's perspective._**


	2. Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing

**_Wow! Thanks so much for all those great reviews! We've been emailing back and forth teheeing over the wonderful comments you've all sent to us. Here's your first "Harry" chapter, primarily written by Wintermoon2. Hope you like it as much as the Draco chapter!_**

**_As for individual review replies, I'm going to leave that up to Azhure (since Chapter one was hers anyway) and I'll reply next time. _**

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**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
****Chapter Two: _ I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing_**

_If people say I'm crazy, I tell them that it's true  
Let them watch with amazement  
Say it won't last beyond breakfast  
It's a phase he's going through  
Denigrate or speculate on what I'm going through  
Because it ain't the sort of thing I'd normally do  
__**Pet Shop Boys**_

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If any long-time fans of The-Boy-Who-Lived were wondering what had happened to their hero, they might have been surprised to find that he was living in a modest little flat in a tiny little Muggle neighbourhood outside of Somerset. He had the most basic Wizarding conveniences built into his flat, of course, and had developed a reputation among his neighbours as the eccentric boy who likes birds. He was infinitely pleased by the fact that he managed to live his life primarily unnoticed by the adoring public of his youth. Oh, the Prophet still ran a short article on him occasionally, but it was rarely more than speculation and nostalgia near his birthday or the anniversary of the final battle. 

Life was blissfully routine. Each weekday morning, Harry got up, ate his breakfast and dressed for the day. He kissed Oliver goodbye, left the flat and walked approximately four and a half blocks to the inconspicuous little office building where he was presumed to spend his day answering phones and filing paperwork for a real estate agent. In reality, that little office building (in the same manner as Wizarding tents) was a very large, 10 story building with multiple sections for each primary department. It served as the Ministry headquarters for all of Somerset, Cornwall, Devon, Wiltshire and Dorset. Harry did indeed spend a good bit of his time on paperwork, but three days per week, from 2-5 he spent his time as an assistant trainer to the student Aurors. After his experience in the war and the defeat of Voldemort two years ago it was quickly decided that he was qualified to pass on some of his defence skills.

He cherished the simplicity of the routine and had determined that it was a stroke of pure luck that brought him to this position so soon after the war. He felt confident that he could handle change and uncertainty now, but knew he would have gone mental had he tried to alter his life two years earlier. Harry had also grown to love his afternoons of teaching. He'd even begun to think it was something he would like to do full time.

Of course, the events of the day had thrown a significant wrench in his good mood. He felt as if someone had spray painted all over the mural of his life and he was scared to clean it off for fear of clearing away the original paint underneath it. Today, Oliver had packed up and headed off to Yorkshire. _Visiting friends. I'm supposed to be his lover, his boyfriend, as close as family. You'd think he would rather be with me than some old team-mates._ Harry hoped they could find some time to spend together before Oliver's training began in January. _I still don't see why he needs to be there round the clock during training. After all, we're wizards. You'd think he could just Apparate in each day and come home at night._

Harry wandered aimlessly about his flat, looking for something to distract him from the myriad of maudlin thoughts that were wont to attack his mind at times like this. Oliver hadn't even left him with so much as a used toothbrush – how was he supposed to feel? It felt and looked like Oliver had never even been a part of his life, nothing but a memory. In his effort to remain distracted, Harry had begun some early spring-cleaning. It wasn't as if the place needed to be cleaned considering Harry's typical concern for keeping things neat and orderly, but the mindless application of energy kept him from thinking too hard about his situation. Finding little to dust, Harry found himself in the disused guestroom, rummaging through the closet.

He came across a sealed box at the back of a high shelf. He had ripped open the Spell-o-Tape keeping it sealed before he realised which box it actually was. Harry had always said he would open the box when he was good and ready. His inner psyche must be ready, after all, the box was well and truly open, and he had begun to delve through the remnants of his godfather's life. It had been more years than he could count since Sirius had died. So long ago. Events from before the war had seemed such a long time ago. Harry finally felt ready to delve into the remnants of Sirius' life. One lousy box was all that remained of the life of one Sirius Black. The pang of loss wasn't so sad right now – Harry felt he had used up his sadness quota for the day, so surely he could handle this now.

He sat in the floor, flipping through an old photo album, relishing the photos of his parents, of Sirius, of Remus. He tried to ignore those few photos that captured Pettigrew, determined to focus on the happy memories captured in these images. He raised an eyebrow at one photo in particular. _Hmm,_ he thought. _Sirius and Remus look quite…**affectionate** in this photo._ He had gathered from previous conversations that Remus held little attraction to the female persuasion, but there had never been any specific admission of current or previous relationships. _I wonder if there was ever something between them, _he thought. This photo certainly indicated that they had at least 'experimented' to some degree.

Putting the photo album away, he reached back into the box and pulled out a leather-bound book. He gazed at the mingled colours that had been etched into the cover, running his fingers over the plain black faceplate. He couldn't be certain, but thought he sensed a charm on it, as if it would automatically provide a title for the book when appropriate. The smoothness of the leather suggested that it was well-loved and frequently handled, yet the book showed no visible signs of wear. He debated with himself about reading anything that might be contained within the leather covers. It was obviously a journal, and it must have been important to Sirius for him to have it placed in the vault for safekeeping.

His inherent curiosity finally overcame any qualms he might have had. _Surely it can't hurt to read this. What harm will come from reading about his thoughts and dreams? Perhaps I might come to some better understanding of him. _Harry hesitated once more, but he needed to grasp on to something firm. Perhaps finding out more about this man he loved as a parent, yet lost, might just be what he needed. Harry gently ran a finger over the gold clasp and was slightly surprised to feel the magic of a mild protection charm as it dissolved and allowed him access. Taking a deep breath, he opened the cover and was extremely disappointed to see the faint writing disappear quickly, leaving only blank pages. He was mildly startled by this, but presumed Sirius must have had a very good reason for the words to vanish upon opening. It saddened him to realise he didn't know the man well enough to begin to hazard a guess. His relationship with Sirius had been built primarily on written correspondence until that summer before his fifth year. Now, looking back on things, Harry realised that both he and Sirius had been in poor states of mind that year. And thanks to Harry's stubbornness, they'd never had the chance to get to know one another better.

That thought led Harry down the path of attempting to remind himself, as he'd been doing for years, that he was not to blame. No matter how much he regretted his actions on that fateful night, there were many other forces at work, some leading to his decision to go, some caused by that same decision. He'd finally convinced himself that he was not the reason for his godfather's death. He'd finally stopped looking for ways to contact Sirius, get advice from Sirius or bring back Sirius' ghost. He'd finally moved on with his life, graduated from Hogwarts, fought and trained for two more years until Voldemort was defeated, then stepped out into the real world to start his life as an adult. He got a flat of his own, took the time to go through some official university level training, and found this wonderful thing called a social life. That social life was the very thing, two and a half years later, that had brought Harry to the point perusing through a box of Sirius' personal items that had spent over two decades buried and forgotten in vault 723 at Gringotts.

Harry sighed deeply, closing the book. He was snapped out of his reverie as he heard the clock above the mantle chiming. Ron was due to come by soon and the flat was an absolute mess. Despite the earlier bout of cleaning, his subsequent rummaging had managed to leave more of a mess than he started with. Not that the place was really dirty, but Harry was quite the perfectionist when it came to cleanliness. Harry jumped up and started straightening cushions, gathering clothes and washing dishes without a thought. Just as he was finishing, he paused, looking at his wet hands buried under a pile of suds in the sink. _I suppose I could have used magic,_ he thought. Shrugging, he quickly finished the job and dried his hands. Old habits die hard. The chores he did for the Dursleys had stuck with him and he found himself somewhat of a neat freak once he left Hogwarts and had his own place with no house elves to tidy up after him. Even at the age of 22, he couldn't break some of the habits drilled into him by his relatives. Still, the mindlessness of the work had kept him from thinking too hard about his current woes. The chime signalling Ron's visit startled Harry into a final bout of renewed cushion plumping. Harry nearly ran to the door in his enthusiasm to see his best friend.

"Ron!" he grabbed the tall redhead and pulled him through the doorway. He was always enthusiastic about seeing his old friends, but was beginning to suspect that his unexplainable feeling of abandonment at Oliver Wood's sudden departure that morning had made him a little more anxious for company.

"Whoa, mate. What's all the excitement about?" Ron came in, glancing around the room to see if he could find some reason for Harry's behaviour.

"Oh, er, nothing really," Harry feigned innocence as he nonchalantly ran his hand through his hair, his fidgety hands a dead give-away about his feelings. He settled for putting them deep into the pockets of his jeans. "Just glad you're here. How've you been? How's Mione? Will she be coming by later? Maybe we could all go out for dinner or something!" Harry was talking non-stop and Ron could do nothing but grin at the excitement from his old friend.

"Me too. Fine, Thanks. Love her dearly. I haven't asked. Sounds fun. Ollie, too?" Ron replied to each question, leaving Harry to try and sort out the answers (which wasn't easy since he'd barely been paying attention to himself when he asked all the questions).

"What about Oliver?"

"I was asking if he'd be able to go out for dinner with the rest of us. I was actually going to suggest just that for tomorrow night, if you're not busy."

"No, I'm not busy, but Oliver won't be able to come."

"Oh, has he got some extra practice before the game against the Cannons? I kinda wanted to have both of you there," Ron sounded slightly disappointed, but suspected that if Oliver was busy with extra practice, then the Cannons sudden rise in form must be scaring the Puddlemere team. That thought cancelled out any disappointment at Harry's partner not coming to dinner.

"What difference does it make, Ron? He won't be there. I'm the one who's been your friend all these years, why does it matter so much to have him at dinner tomorrow?" Harry's irrational response and snappy tone was enough for Ron to figure out the problem.

"You had a fight, didn't you?" his understanding tone was just what Harry didn't need to hear.

"What makes you think that?" Harry tried to cover up his feelings by getting even snarkier with his old friend. "I just said he wouldn't be able to come. I've never been attached to him at the hip or anything, you know. It's entirely possible for us to actually engage in activities separately from each other."

"Bloody hell, Harry, keep your robes on. I know you can function without him. It's okay, though. Even the best roads have a few bumps in them. You'll work everything out and make up. That's just what you do when you're in love. I'm right, aren't I? You're feeling down because you had a fight with him?"

Harry glared at Ron for a moment, trying to hold onto the last shards of his pride. He didn't want to admit it; that would make it real. Once he saw the understanding gaze of his long-time friend, his resolve crumbled and the denial turned to angry hurt. "Not really. He's gone, though. We didn't even have the time to fight about it. He had to run off to visit some old team-mates before the start of the new training season. He left this morning, but didn't even let me know until he was already packed," his tone became bitter. "It's not like I need him here. We aren't married or anything," of course, Harry was a bit worried that he would end up spending Yule alone. Oliver hadn't mentioned any plans for the holiday that was only a week away.

Hermione did indeed come by the flat later on and was convinced to join them for dinner. Deciding on somewhere quiet, they headed into their favourite local Italian Bistro in Glastonbury.

-oo0oo-

Harry arrived back at his flat, having said goodbye to Ron and Hermione at the restaurant. He had to admit that there was some merit to Hermione's suggestion that he try writing through his thoughts. She and Ron had always been able to read him quite well. They knew there was more to his mood than met the eye. They seemed to inherently pick up on his suppressed anxieties and Hermione's suggestion that a journal could allow him to work through things, almost like talking things out with himself, felt right to him.

He found himself standing, once again, in the guestroom, looking at the now blank journal. _I see no reason not to use it. Of course, if it were some frightening enchanted book, like Tom Riddle's diary, that could be bad, but honestly, what are the chances of that?_

Just to be on the safe side, he cast a few revealing spells on it, searching for any trace of dark magic. Finding nothing but a few simple, yet unidentified enchantments, he decided it was safe enough. He took the journal to his desk, grabbed his favourite quill and the purple ink that always made him feel a little more cheerful, took a deep breath, and dipped the quill.

* * *

_**December 14th, 2002**_

**_I can't believe I'm writing in a diary. I'm not sure why, but I've always thought of it as a rather girly thing to do. Especially when said diary is being written in primarily because I'm having love issues. It reminded me of those silly lovesick girls from school, so caught up in their desires to be loved that they never learned how to stand on their own. I couldn't stand to watch them, acting like having the perfect boyfriend was the only thing that mattered in life. Of course, that was back when my life was busy enough that I didn't have time to think about what I was missing. Now, well, I'm afraid I'm starting to act just like them. _**

**_I don't want to rely on having a lover to make me happy. I know, deep inside that I need to be happy on my own before I can truly be happy with anyone else. But Ollie left and I don't know when he'll be back and it just makes me feel so mopey and sad that I want to gag myself!_**

Harry paused a moment, chewing on the end of his quill – a habit he'd had for over a decade. He regretted not picking up more Sugar Quills the last time he had been to Honeydukes.

_**I have to admit, I've always felt that there was just something wrong with me. There seems to be no other explanation for all the people I've lost, all those who couldn't be bothered to care for me no matter how 'good' I tried to be. It's stupid, I suppose. I'm old enough not to whine about it. It's Ollie that's making me feel this way right now. I have to admit I miss him. I just can't bring myself to say that I love him – not truly.**_

**_He's just gone. He didn't even tell me that he would be leaving. Oh, I understand when a job requires you go away for a few months, you go. Especially a job like his. But you'd think he could have mentioned it, asked me if I wanted to go with him. If he would have wanted me there with him, that is. I honestly don't know what to think anymore. After six months, you think you know someone, you think you can read them, but you can't. Just when you think everything is fine and love and life are grand, it all gets flipped upside down._**

**_Oh, I don't kid myself into thinking we're meant to be together forever. It just isn't like that. Ollie is a great guy; fun to hang out with, a good friend and fabulous shag (I'll go out on a limb and say he's the best shag this side of the Channel), but I don't think we have that deep, passionate love. I'm talking about the kind of love where you truly understand each other, but in any instance where you don't – there's a natural desire to understand that bit too. The kind of love where you have your own life and he has his own life, but when you share those lives it makes the world seem brighter. The kind of love where you don't necessarily 'complete' each other (because you are both complete on your own) but you sort of supplement each other – becoming something larger than the sum of your parts. Where you can honestly get lost in his eyes and just find yourself in wonder at the depths that seem to be there, for only you to see. A relationship where you have deep, meaningful conversations about everything from the Minister of Magic to Merlin philosophies and from sausages to biscuits. Those conversations are deep and meaningful, not because of the topic, but because you really care about each other's opinions. The kind of love where you don't wake up each day wondering if it's the day they're going to leave you. I'm not so sure I believe that kind of love really exists. If it does, well, I guess it'll just have to show itself to me. I certainly won't be looking for it._**

**_I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight, all alone in our bed. He's been there most every night for so long. Even the few nights we've spent apart I could still feel his presence, almost like his personal aura was still emanating from his clothes and other belongings. Those things are all gone now. It feels empty. I feel empty. Gods, listen to me, once again sitting here like some little fool. I can stand on my own two feet! I know I can! We didn't break up. He kissed me before he left. That's a good sign. And I'll have a little more time to myself now. This could be really good for me. It'll give me a chance to catch up on some reading I've been meaning to do (especially considering the books I get for Yule and my birthday every year!) and I can start figuring out what else I'm interested in. I was so busy through school and during the war that I never got the chance to develop any particular interests or hobbies. _**

**_This afternoon was rough, but I was lucky enough to have a few distractions. I went to dinner with some friends, spent the evening catching up and feeling like I'm lucky to have best friends that understand me enough to give me such great advice. Let's just hope it works. The food was delish! I had the best Fettuccini Carbonara, and they bake their own garlic bread!_**

**_So, overall, dinner was nice. It's always good to see old friends again, and they really do try to help, but it's also hard to talk about things when it's obvious everyone's avoiding any kind of relationship discussion. Can't talk about anyone who's part of a couple, can't discuss their own relationship (despite the fact they asked me to dinner to announce their engagement), don't want to act too lovey-dovey around the poor loser that's having love troubles. It really sucked. Sometimes I feel like there's no one in the world that can understand me._**

**_Flash

* * *

_**

He stared at the page just long enough for one last drop of purple ink to slip from his quill and leave a small blotch next to his signature. He smiled at the thought of using his old nickname. Remus had been the one to come up with it after watching a particularly gruelling Quidditch match against Slytherin. Harry had managed to speed past the Slytherin beaters, once again besting Draco Malfoy in the race for the snitch. He never knew what was different about that game but there were a great number of comments about his excessive speed that day.

He'd cherished the name, having realised that Remus played a big part in the nicknames of the Marauders during their school years. It made him feel closer to his father and to Sirius, and as such, he had decided to keep it quiet. Somehow, it would have cheapened the feeling if the whole school, or worse yet, the whole Wizarding community were calling him Flash. No, he didn't want this private nickname to become as commonplace as "The-Boy-Who-Lived". Ron used it sometimes, as did Oliver. But Remus was the only one who used it on a semi-regular basis. Harry liked that. It was just for those he was close to. Just for those who really cared.

Harry put the journal away, surprised at how easily the words flowed once he got started. He felt so much better for releasing the thoughts on the page. He wouldn't have thought he'd be keeping at journal at 22 years old. He gazed at the Yule decorations adorning his flat, reminiscing about the Saturday afternoon when he and Ollie had picked them out and decided where to put them. Oliver had always loved decorations for any special occasion. In fact, Oliver loved celebrations in general. Last summer just after they started dating, Ollie had thrown a surprise birthday party for him – a Muggle-themed surprise party with all manner of electrical gadgets, everyone in Muggle clothes and a stereo full of Muggle music playing throughout the evening. It was an interesting throwback to some of the few good memories he had of his childhood. In an odd way, Harry had felt like he was getting the chance to experience all the things the Dursleys had kept him from. Harry had thought it a very sweet gesture and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He had a feeling he'd be missing Oliver this year. No one wanted to face holidays and birthdays alone.

He sat watching the flames as he pondered the thought of being alone for Yule. He had not realised how tired he was from the rollercoaster of emotions he had ridden that day. He fell asleep amongst the overstuffed cushions – a treat he rarely indulged in. He dreamt that night of finding his true love. It was to his regret, however, when he awoke, to find that his dream lover was just that – in his dreams. He snuggled back into the cushions and caught some more sleep – hoping to find his dream lover once again.

-TBC-

_**First Published: January 2004  
Edited: 28 February 2005**_

* * *

**Review Thank You's! Thank you all for your chapter 1 reviews:**  
**Aliexx, Chipmunk, Curious Dream Weaver, Griffencub, Justxme, Madith, Menecarkawan, SunGoddess1, Tangledhair.**  
**AoiHyou: **Yes, coffeehigh!Draco is an image I can't seem to get out of my head.  
**Fayee: **Yes, it would be your idea of heaven. Pity I can't show you the shop I imagined, it's now gone :(, but it did exist once upon a time in the lands up north! As for your mind dashing off at tangents... well, I'm not going to say anything about that or you'll slap me!  
**Marsky: **Thanks. We hope we can write a coherent story together, despite the different countries, time zones and languages! LOL  
**Queen Antigone: **Bingo! You worked out my secret plan... I'm very much inspired by 'You Got Mail', but Wintermoon has a few different things up her sleeve!  
**Rena:** Yeah, we like the idea of pen pals, but in the old fashioned sense. the only modern thing about their conversations is the fact that they will possibly be able to converse in real time, just like the internet. Beyond that, it's all about old fashioned, wizard style correspondence.  
**The Shadow Bandit:** Wow! Thanks for your wonderful words! We aim to please, and we hope you continue to enjoy the fic. We love 'A Moment in Time' and think it's fantastic! We'll try to update as much as possible, but as you know, real life kinda gets in the way (not to mention the difference in time zones and continents!) Besides, we are also surprising each other with the next chapter (we have a rough outline, but I'm leaving the finer details of Harry to Wintermoon, & Draco is all mine! Mine!)  
**The Review with No name!** Great review, thanks whoever you are, glad you think we are two of your favourite authors! Wow! You'll be surprised what Harry will do when he finally gets around to reading Draco's words! Yes, the Riddle Diary debacle will figure dearly in his thoughts! 

**Just a quick note from Wintermoon – I second everything that Azhure just said and hope to be starting on the next chapter within a day or so. Harry's words are already whirling around in my head like some crazed Tasmanian Devil!**


	3. Slip of the Quill

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
****Chapter Three: Precious Pain**

_Everybody's got a hunger  
No matter where they are  
Everybody clings to their own fear  
Everybody hides some scar  
Precious pain  
**Melissa Etheridge**_

* * *

Draco watched the words materialise on the page of his enchanted journal. He felt a little guilty – as if he were trespassing on the other writer's thoughts by reading them. Once they had signed off, he debated a moment before gathering the presence of mind to summon his quill and ink. Pausing briefly, he picked up the quill and dipped it into the deep green ink.

His hand paused; the quill hovering just over the parchment. Rereading the other writer's words, he sensed their idealistic, but insightful view of love. After his own tragic break-up, he was feeling just a little bit cynical about the whole concept of 'love'. The writer was truly expressing themselves from the very depths of their soul, but if he were being honest with himself, he felt just a little bit of kinship to this other lost soul. Draco hadn't pondered the idea of love quite to the same depths as this 'Flash' character, but he held out in the hope there would be someone he could share the rest of his life with. He snorted to himself as he realised that person would not be Antonio.

Draco wanted to respond in his usual cynical way, but hesitated. Flash seemed to have written it as if it were a private diary entry. _I don't think he realises it's a partnered journal_. If Flash was expecting someone to reply, then surely he would have phrased his words differently. Pondering his eagle feather quill for another moment, the exact response came to him, and he began to write.

_Bonjour 'Flash',_

_Before you go pouring out any more of your rather intimate feelings into this journal, I would just like to point out that you have been writing in a 'Journal Intime Partagé' – a partnered journal. You've got one half of the journal, and I have acquired the other journal that's connected to yours. Whatever you write, I can see, and vice versa. It's funny how I only got this journal this afternoon, and you write in it not long after – ironic timing, isn't it?_

_Rest assured, I promise you I'm not some disembodied spirit or an inbuilt Agony Aunt enchantment. I'm a real flesh and blood person. If you feel like your privacy has been violated in any way, then I suggest you burn this book right now. I did read your words, and apologise for the intrusion on your privacy, however accidental. I honestly have no idea who you are, so I guess there's no harm done, really._

_If you wish to keep pouring your heart and soul into this journal, then I can't guarantee I won't read your words again. I find your ideals somewhat intriguing and I would love to discuss them with you at length. Perhaps I could give you some constructive advice – although I doubt my qualifications on that score. Who knows, maybe you could even return the favour. As fate would have it, we seem to be in similar predicaments in our love lives (or lack of them on my part)._

_If I don't read anything further from you, then I'll assume you have followed my instruction and 'Incendioed' this thing to ashes._

Draco scanned his words. _There, that seems harmless enough._ If the other writer had no idea about the connection between the journals, then they could just destroy it, and start again.

Looking down at the page, he realised his quill was still in hand, poised and waiting to write more. _Not tonight_, he thought. _Wouldn't want to waste the effort, not if Flash is going to destroy this book._ _Flash_. He smirked and raised an eyebrow at the nickname as he wondered about its origins. The connotations attached to that were endless.

_Bien à vous, Luc._

_That should keep me anonymous enough if this Flash gets a little irate. _He signed off with his own nickname, not well known, but it was used often by his own mother. _Draco Lucien Darien Malfoy_. Narcissa had wanted to name him Lucien, but Lucius had insisted that he be named Draco. Narcissa rebelled, and called him Luc as often as possible. He hadn't used the endearment in a long time. He hadn't even used it with any of his lovers. Draco figured if Flash wasn't going to use a true name, then he didn't see any reason to either.

Upon re-reading, it occurred to him that his writing was a mix of both French and English. French had always been Draco's second language, but having to speak, read and write it daily, he barely thought about it. He could easily move between the two languages, and sometimes forgot which language he was using, like right now.

Draco closed the book once the ink had dried. A twig snapped in the fire, and he looked up in surprise, noticing just how late it was on the clock above the mantle. It was well past time for him to finally head back up to his studio. He had been avoiding going back there all day – hence his earlier desire to stay down in the store. The memory of his fight with Antonio the night before was still fresh in his mind. He hoped he had successfully tired himself out. It was well past the time for him to get into his own bed. _Alone_. He had avoided it for long enough, but his body was protesting the lack of sleep. He stood slowly, yawning and stretching the muscles that had seized up during his awkward rest at the table. His injured knee cried out in protest at this reflex action. Curse the bloody war injury. Curse the Death Eaters and curse that Harry _fucking_ Potter.

He hobbled slowly up the winding staircase to his studio apartment above the store. With each step, and each twinge in the injured knee, he cast another curse upon that damned war that had scarred him for life.

Draco refused to act like an invalid, despite his limp. He didn't want anyone's pity – he had too much pride for that. In the bloody aftermath of that final skirmish (Draco refused to call it a battle), the medi-wizards arrived too late to help the atrophied ligaments and bone in the knee. Magic could mend broken and shattered bones, but it couldn't do anything about destroyed muscle tissue, or cursed bone. It wasn't that he was upset at being injured, it was more the fact that it had just been a case of bloody bad timing, and it had been all Potter's fault.

Draco's cover as a spy had been blown at a most inopportune time. If he had been given another ten minutes – ten lousy minutes – he might have managed to get away unscathed from the Death Eater's camp. Of course, he didn't blame anyone but that Harry _fucking_ Potter. Why? Potter just happened to kill Voldemort at a most inconvenient time. Draco had infiltrated the Death Eater ranks as a spy. Being a Death Eater had never really appealed to Draco, but he reluctantly took the Dark Mark out of duty to his father, although he came to regret the choice almost immediately. His mind was made up upon seeing first hand the madness of Voldemort, and he quietly denounced the megalomaniac's outlandish ideals as he turned spy for Dumbledore's Army.

It was by sheer chance that the side of light had discovered a way to banish the Dark Mark and lessen the link to Voldemort. Draco and Severus Snape - both spies for the cause - had their Dark Marks removed, only to be replaced with a harmless Muggle tattoo to hide their changed allegiance. Nobody knew what would happen to those marked when Voldemort was ultimately defeated, and Dumbledore didn't want his two spies to die a painful death from the connection.

Unfortunately for Draco, Dumbledore misjudged the connection between Voldemort and his minions. Rather than dying a horrible death at their leader's demise, they found that the link was severed, and the marks vanished. Of course, Draco's mark was false, and his tattoo remained. His cover was blown. A misplaced hex in the skirmish that followed resulted in the now permanently injured knee. Frustrated at his sheer bad luck, he cursed the war, and the Death Eaters and Potter at every twinge of the damaged joint. He refused to use a walking cane, the memories of his father and his cane were still too fresh in the minds of many wizards. He had a hard enough time of it trying to disassociate himself from his father, as the physical likeness was uncanny.

He knew that many would try to draw comparisons between Draco and his father, so he tried as much as possible to lessen their similarities. It hadn't been easy, not after he had spent his formative years attempting to emulate the indifferent sophistication of Lucius Malfoy. A year after the war, Draco gave up trying to unlearn the habits of a lifetime and gave in to his breeding. He did however try to lessen the physical resemblance by keeping his hair short and slick, and not using a walking cane.

Studying in Paris had been another brainwave to disassociate himself from his father. Fortunately the French had only remembered the benevolence of the ancient line of Malfoys, before they had crossed the Channel. To his delight, his father's deeds barely turned the heads of the French wizarding community. If he ever chose to return to England, he hoped that the memory of Lucius Malfoy had faded.

His studio was small, but quaint. It suited Draco's desire for solitude perfectly. Growing up an only child, he had found dormitory living to be most distasteful, and this small, secluded area was a haven for him. Although the entire studio was smaller than his bedroom at Malfoy Manor, Draco had managed to live with a minimum of clutter. During his first year at Hogwarts, Draco had learned that house elves were not at his beck and call. He had to learn to look after himself – the hard way. He no longer needed to rely on house elves, but he was looking forward to the day he could order them around again.

The studio was really just one large split-level open area, with a couple of false walls to hide the bathroom, and a step up to the sleeping area. A self-contained kitchen aligned one wall of the living area; but Draco rarely used it for its intended purpose. Living in Paris meant that he rarely had to cook for himself. His dependence on coffee could be easily sated whenever he was in the store. When the need for solid sustenance overtook him, he would usually go out to one of the many cafés around the Wizard Quarter. The variety of restaurants in Muggle Paris had initially surprised him. He was impressed by the wines, and the sheer choice of cuisine on offer.

Draco had to admit that the French Muggles certainly had some idea about good food and wine. Of course, he wouldn't admit that aloud. Instead, he would tell others that his modest stipend went further when converted into Muggle currency. This, of course, wasn't too much of a departure from the truth. Thankfully, with Emmaline around, he rarely had to cook. He knew that she was just being motherly, but it seemed that she had often cooked 'a bit too much', and always had enough to give him a spare bowl. He would never go hungry whilst living in Paris, that was for sure.

Besides, if he ever had the urge to cook, he would need to find space between the half dozen cauldrons simmering or steeping quietly in the kitchenette. He automatically made his way over to the cauldrons, sniffing and briefly stirring the contents in a couple of them. He added a pinch of some shrivelled up herbs to one of them and stirred again, seemingly satisfied at the result. He quickly jotted some notes on nearby parchments, feeling pleased with the progress of his latest research projects.

He wasn't planning on living in this studio forever, but he had taken pride in decorating it in a somewhat understated, yet lavish manner. However, he took no pleasure in that now, the reminders of Antonio still fresh in his mind as he looked upon the miniature oil paintings on the walls. He could still see the day that they purchased the canvases from the markets. Looking out the window, he could not help but also remember the day they charmed the glass to show different scenery. In a fit of pique, he removed the charm from the window, showing the true view, although the excessive snowfall hid the rather drab rooftops of the surrounding studios and shops.

He shivered involuntarily as the cold crept into the studio. A couple of well-placed charms had warmed the place up and set the fire blazing in the hearth. He curled up in the comfy overstuffed armchair beside the fire. He could not face the bed – not yet anyway. He wouldn't be able to stand the emptiness of _their_ bed. As weary as he was, and despite the protest coming from his aching knee, the thought of being in that bed alone was too much for him this night. He knew if he lay down amongst the duck down and satin that he would still be able to smell his departed lover. He couldn't face that just yet. The comfort given as he snuggled against the back of the armchair made him feel like he wasn't alone. He was soon dozing, and for a change, blissfully untroubled by bad dreams.

* * *

The week before Yule was usually a busy one – the holidaying university students could usually be found shopping, or partying, or lazing around in the cafés or bars, or just for a change, partying again. You might find some of the students working reluctantly on their theses, or research or dissertations, but most young wizards would take the time to enjoy the festive season with their friends and loved ones.

Draco was keeping a low profile – not feeling terribly festive, yet not quite wallowing in his own self-pity at being newly single again. He didn't go shopping for gifts, but there was one trip he had to make. He decided that sleeping in the armchair had to stop. He reduced the last vestiges of Antonio's scent to ashes as he _Incendioed_ the mattress and pillows. The joy of shopping for new and even more luxurious bedding had satisfied his sudden urge for retail therapy. He was starting to move on.

The rest of the week he could be found reading, or finalising his current projects. He was most satisfied at the results of his latest experiments, and he knew that his professors would also be impressed. When Emmaline eventually managed to drag him away from the cauldrons for a few hours, he would sit in his favourite spot at the top of store and watch the passing parade of Yuletide shoppers.

He had almost forgotten the journal, but occasionally he would cast his eye upon it, and wonder if Flash had taken his advice, but he never bothered to open it up and find out. Venturing out to a number of cafés during the week for lunch or dinner, he would often spot couples in the crowd. A twinge of regret would pass through him as he watched them kiss or cuddle. He wondered if Antonio had been correct in saying that Draco was selfish and self-centred. He began to overanalyse every interaction he had with others, and it began to play on his mind. He would find himself sometimes thinking over the words that Flash had written as he watched those couples who appeared to be in love. _Was that couple over there really in love?_ Perhaps one of them was seeking something more. _Could they be soul mates?_ He wondered if he would ever be destined to find his soul mate.

People watching became Draco's newest pastime. It was a trait he had followed for years, but he found himself doing it more often than usual now that he was single. Draco had always held centre stage at parties – it was part and parcel of his heritage and his upbringing. But if truth be told, he would just love to take a back seat and watch everyone else as they interacted. Perhaps this was why Antonio thought he was selfish – his occasional need for solitude, and his desire to stay out of the spotlight and sit back in the shadows. He couldn't help it – he had spent a great deal of time as a spy - it was now a part of his nature to watch others. It dawned on him that perhaps Antonio was the selfish one – always wanting to party, never wanting to allow Draco his quiet time.

He didn't attend any of the parties that were going on that week. He didn't feel up to the explanations, or the self-pitying stares. It was hard being the lone single, and he didn't need a pity fuck either, so he kept his distance from the social circuit. Those few that knew him well enough didn't badger him to join in. During the week there were times he sought the company of others, but it came as a shock to realise he had no true friends to call on at a time like this. There were plenty of acquaintances, but no true mates to share his grief, or his ups and downs.

Emmaline, of course, was the exception to the rule. She was indeed a true friend, a confessor, and a mother figure. She kept an eagle eye on him during that week. Had they dared to ask, Draco would have told anyone that he was coping with his new found single status, but Emmaline could see right through that façade. He was slowly isolating himself, and that wasn't healthy. She smiled to herself as a plan to help him formulated in her mind.

By the time Yule Eve rolled around, Draco had to finally admit that he was indeed feeling the loneliness, and he wasn't looking forward to spending Yule alone. That very afternoon he declined a rather exciting chance to spend the weekend on the French Riviera. He nearly jumped at the offer before realising that he would have been the odd man out – the only single guy there. The invitation was regretfully declined.

Emmaline surprised him early in the evening by cooking a festive dinner just for the two of them. He relished the delightful flavours of her traditional _Coq-au-Vin_, and he had been pleasantly surprised by her gift of a bottle of home brewed mead. Her late husband had brewed many bottles, and she felt that Draco could use all the cheer he could get on that night. She had been just as surprised when he handed her a gift. Draco had nobody he wanted to exchange Yule gifts with, but Emmaline was an exception – to every rule. She had been most gracious when she opened the gift to find the small rose-gold locket. She tried to give it back to him – it was too much, but Draco wouldn't hear of it. He had given the same locket to his mother when he was nine. Narcissa had treasured it until her untimely death at the hands of the Death Eaters. Draco had found her stiff and lifeless body clutching desperately at the locket. Emmaline had replaced his mother now, and he wanted her to have the treasured token. They both shed a tear over the sentimental gift.

Of course, the night had to end, and Draco eventually dragged himself back to his studio, a good few glasses of the mead under his belt.

He had grand plans to drink himself into a stupor and wake up the other side of the festive season, but first, he had to complete his journey to the 'drunk side'. The mead was definitely helping, but he needed to keep the mind occupied until he collapsed.

His eye caught the mail he had forgot to open that morning. He was not surprised to find a short note from Severus Snape. Their semi-regular correspondence was usually related to their work, but Draco raised an eyebrow at the short, festive missal from his former professor and fellow spy. Draco sat and wrote an equally pleasant return greeting for the Yule season, and for a prosperous New Year, although he knew that Severus would probably just laugh at that. His spotted his owl, Melchett, nesting high up in the rafters. The bird just looked at him when he tried to call it down to send the letter. A panicked hoot as it looked out the window told Draco that it was definitely not the best weather to send mail. The blizzard was getting worse. He reconsidered, and would send the owl in the morning, weather permitting.

A scratching at the back door told Draco that his newest houseguest wanted entrance from the cold. Pointing his wand at the back door, he transfigured the lower panel into a cat flap. It was high time he did that; after all, the stray tabby had decided to adopt Draco.

Apart from his owl, Draco had never really been one for keeping pets. The tabby had been scrimmaging around on the balcony earlier in the week, and he had taken pity on it in the cold weather. Naturally, he had no idea that once he fed it some chicken and ham scraps, the cat had decided to move in permanently. He named her _Petite Amie,_ and had no idea what she did when she disappeared during the day. Of course she came back in the evening to be fed, and to curl up in his lap, or by the fire. Still, she seemed to be housebroken, and that could only be a bonus.

Draco was surprised when the tabby didn't jump up into his lap, nor did it head for the fire. Instead, she leapt onto his desk, scattering the parchments in all directions. He moved quickly to rescue the inkbottles from being knocked over as well, but the cat leapt away to relative safety by the time he made it to the desk.

He stared down at the journal; almost forgotten under the research parchments he had been working on all week. The cat's little adventure unearthed it from the pile, and brought the sentiments of the other writer to the forefront of Draco's mind. He opened the book, only to find that there were no further entries. He was a little disappointed at that, but not truly surprised that there were no more words. If he had been in the same situation as Flash, he would have no doubt burnt his journal and vowed never to write in a book again.

He slowly reread the words as he sipped on another glass of the mead. The words and sentiments about love had been in the back of his mind all week, and Draco felt an obligation to respond. Surely it couldn't hurt? Perhaps it would while away the time until he was drunk enough to collapse and forget. He finally admitted to himself that he was avoiding his feelings, and had been doing so all week. But Yule Eve was not the time for grand epiphanies, or was it?

Before he had time to change his mind, his best quill and the green ink were out again and he had already begun to write.

* * *

_December 20, 2002_

_Bonjour again Flash!_

_Yuletide eve finds me alone and very much in need of some sort of companionship. Oh the cat is no doubt keeping my lap warm, but it would be nice if it could hold a decent conversation!_

_I hope the words I wrote the other day are not making you flip out. Of course, if you had followed the suggestion I made at that time, then you will have already gone out and burned this book; and you are already writing in something else._

_Now, here's the thing, I'm already rambling about myself, and we haven't even been properly introduced! Not that it will make much difference – you'll probably never read this. Guess I was meant to be alone with my demons this Yule._

_Merde... I've just discovered you can't do an erase charm on what you've written... Guess you will just have to let it all pour out on to the page. I meant metaphorical demons, not real ones. Guess there will be no slip of the quill here. I've never written in one of these things before, so it's all new to me too. _

_Perhaps I should start again. Sorry, I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to this stuff, and not being able to erase things is a little frustrating. In the slim chance that you ever stumble across these words, then I'll assume that on your journal, you've cast every type of anti-enchantment charm and spirit erasing hex you can think of to ensure I'm not an enchantment. Of course, my wonderful penmanship could be the reason you're still reading. Apologies for the bad humour – it's a kind of self-defence mechanism that's helped me cope during the war. Merlin knows some of us needed a good laugh to help us through._

_Though in total honesty (which I admit I've never been really good at) I don't know that the humour was as much to make people laugh as it was to keep them from laughing at me._

_Again, I'm waffling. I tend to do that, although the mead is certainly helping. I thank the makers that this tome will never run out of pages. How do I know that? Well, I remember that there was a set of these journals in my family, and I was once fascinated by them. I think a distant family member ended up with them. I had totally forgotten about them, but when I acquired this book – only earlier this week actually – I recalled everything I remembered about partnered journals. _

Indeed, once Emmaline had told him about the journals, he remembered that his mother spoke about a set that had been in her family. She had been most upset when they had not been handed down to her and Lucius. He had no idea what had happened to them, but as Draco was now the last remaining member of the Malfoy and the Black families, then he would probably never know.

_Of course, you have absolutely no idea about me, have you? Well, I doubt you would believe what I tell you, but I can assure you that I am not a homicidal wand-wielding maniac. I consider myself just a fairly ordinary young wizard. I'm guessing that 'Flash' isn't the name your parents gave you. I won't pry for your birth name. Anonymity sometimes makes things easier. There's a lot of power in names, and I haven't earned the right to use yours yet. Please, call me 'Luc'._

The cat had now returned from her safe haven across the room, snuggling apologetically against his leg. He let her jump into his lap, the soothing of her purr helping him to relax. Draco found her warmth most agreeable, but still, at night, it was small solace for the missing warmth of a lean and hard body. He wrote some more...

_I was honestly compelled to respond when I read your words Flash, even though it's taken a week for some of them to sink into my rather stubborn skull. We seem to be a pair – both having love issues. I can assure you; keeping a diary isn't a girly pastime. Forgive me if I misunderstood, but if you think a diary is girly, then I take it you are a Wizard. _

He thought back on the girls he had gone to school with – there had been some fairly flighty ones in his class. He remembered Pansy Parkinson; there's a girl that would turn the straightest of guys gay. Draco recalled some horrific encounters with the girl and her rather over zealous tongue. It was just Draco's bad luck that she had designs on becoming the next Mrs Malfoy and had pestered him for the longest time. He couldn't believe that she had even tried to pursue him during the height of the war. There had been other girls who had tried to gather Draco's interest at school, but he ignored most of them. There had been several twittering and flighty girls at school. The only one who had piqued his interest, long before he had discovered that he preferred the company of men, was Daphne Greengrass. She wasn't quite as giggly as the others, and even he had to admit that it was the best sex with a woman he had ever had, albeit what limited experience that was. But he didn't want to think about her just now. Pity that she was now another of the victims of the war.

He quirked his lip in a smile. Something about Flash's words suddenly struck him. It was the only explanation for the wording. He decided to ask outright.

_I'm wondering if your Ollie came back to you this Yule. You mention Ollie several times, and you refer to him as 'he'. I'll go out on a limb – and please don't be offended if you aren't – but I'm guessing you're gay, or at least, bisexual? Not that it bothers me, because I'm of the same persuasion – at least, I'll take love where I can get it, and since the war, that's been exclusively with other wizards. Both my longest relationships have been with guys. So apart from being unlucky in love, we have another thing in common!_

_You're unsure of your relationship with this Ollie, well, I've just been dumped by the biggest cad this side of the Riviera... actually, I think he's on the other side now, gone home to his Mamma in Rome... C'est la vie..._

He found himself wondering again if this Ollie had returned to Flash for the Yule season. He hoped so. Nobody else deserved to be alone at this time. He was proud of himself for not wallowing over Antonio _all_ week.

_You struck a real chord when you said that you need to be happy on your own before you can be happy with anyone else. You've really made me think on that this week. You are right. Initially, I was wallowing over his leaving, but I have spent this week alone, and guess what? I'm still here! In one piece. I'm under no illusion that it has been easy – hell, I've even picked up a stray cat for some companionship this week – desperate, aren't I? _

_I've actually found my time alone to be quite liberating! I've had so much time on my hands this week. I've finished all my semester assignments, and now I'm just finalising a few loose ends of research. What did you do to keep yourself busy this week? Catch up on any of your reading, or any of those hobbies you were hoping to pick up?_

_Sure, I've had my down moments this week – don't ask me how much alcohol I've downed this evening, I lost track hours ago. Perhaps it is a sign. Believe me, I have little faith in Divination, but I do believe in fate. Fate and timing. Unfortunately for me, it's always about bad timing. I'll tell you about that some day, if you ever get around to reading this that is. Perhaps you need this time alone for some higher purpose, like sorting out your true feelings._

_When Antonio left me last week, it was unexpected. Actually, I thought it was unexpected, but now I can see that he was probably right, to some extent. I would never admit that to him, of course, and I would never admit it when I'm sober. He left me with a long list of my faults... I'm apparently self-centred; selfish and I don't listen. I say he's the selfish one. I didn't go running home when things got too hard!_

_Perhaps we just weren't that compatible. Sure, like you and Ollie, the sex was magnificent (he's an Italian - you know what they say about Italian men...) I do like to socialise, but unlike him, I do like my quiet times. Is it wrong to want to spend an evening at home? Is it wrong to spend time just with him, and nobody else? Is that being selfish? He told me I didn't listen. I admit to some failings on my part in that area. If you ever do happen to read this again, then I vow to make sure I attempt to listen to you, and offer any advice that I can, no matter how unqualified I might be._

_So one week down, and I think that I might just be able to live without love – at least – until I finish my studies some time in the next eighteen months. See... now there I go again... talking about myself. I am a bit selfish. Can't help it – only child syndrome. _

_I'll attempt to make up for my lack of selflessness by trying to directly answer some of the concerns you wrote in your journal entry. You wrote a lot about love. Surely there is more to life than love. I guess, now that the war is over, we are all trying to find some semblance of normalcy in our lives, and love is probably one of those normal things._

_Perhaps we aren't meant to go and look for love. Perhaps the wondrous kind of love you describe isn't found, but it will find you. I lost those I loved during the war too – not a lover as such; just my family. I'm all that's left of it now. I remember once having an epiphany about love (or it could have been the absinthe, who knows). Love doesn't discriminate. It will hit you at the most inopportune time, and sometimes we love what or who we shouldn't. I loved my father dearly, but he was a heartless bastard. Do I still love him? Yes, he was a huge part of my life – a developmental part, but I've learned from his mistakes, and I don't plan on repeating them. Maybe we are meant to make lots of mistakes along the way – I know I'll never make the mistake of falling in love with a work colleague again. That was a horrible mess! And as for Antonio, well, as I said before, it was lust at first sight. It was doomed to fail from the start. Of course, if I could grab a time-turner and go back and tell myself that now, I probably would. Not that I would have listened. I probably would have hexed myself. _

Draco thought back again on Millard, his first real long-term lover. Love in the workplace just doesn't mix. Downing the final dregs of his mead, he knew that he had drunk way too much, and was now being way too over-sentimental.

_So, now that I'm a maudlin drunk (what works better for a hangover from mead? A Sobrietus Charm; or the Sobrietus Potion? Guess I'll find out in the morning – but wait, you can't cast the charm on yourself, can you? Guess it's the potion for me!); here's the offer. I honestly think that between us, we can work well for each other. You say you are unsure if you love Ollie - truly love him. I think deep down we are all searching for the kind of love you describe, but not everyone can put it so eloquently. I believe the kind of love you are talking about is the love between soul mates. Those that find their soul mate are so lucky. You see it so rarely. I doubt my parents were soul mates. None of the people I know are with their soul mates either. Do you know anyone who has met their soul mates? What about your family?_

_What I hate the most about breaking up is the loss of friendship. Does Ollie love you? Has he told you this? Are you just being scared to commit, or are you afraid you'll lose the friendship if you break-up? Sometimes we start our love affair with a friendship. When it all turns sour, the friendship usually goes too. I'm sure you've heard the line – 'but we'll still be friends...' Yeah, I don't think that ever pans out once you've had a break-up. It seems as if you and Ollie share a wonderful friendship, which has turned to more. Millard was my last lover, before Antonio. We work together at Uni, and we were friends long before we were lovers. Unfortunately the friendship has soured and is long gone. _

_I once heard a Muggle saying – If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was and always will be yours. If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with. I don't know why I remembered that particular saying – I don't get out and about in the Muggle world much, but, much like your words, they struck a chord. You say Ollie has left, but he left you with a kiss. I don't think I can say anything to enhance that piece of wisdom, but think about it whenever you are missing him. _

_If you are feeling lonely, please remember that there is a sympathetic ear right here, willing and ready to listen. (See, now if only Antonio read that, then perhaps he'd still be here)._

_So I offer you a metaphorical hand of friendship, if you'll have me. I don't know if you'll even read this, but I will be checking back regularly to see if you have replied. _

_Au Revoir,  
Luc_

* * *

Draco waited for the last drop of ink to dry before carefully closing the book. It was getting late, and he didn't really expect any response. He doubted the other writer would ever use their journal again, let alone read it. It was well past midnight, and the snow flurries silently hit the window. The cat miaowed at Draco after being unceremoniously dumped from his lap. She stretched languidly as she woke up, only to bound over to the bed, leap up and methodically plump her spot on the pillow before going back to sleep. She opened one eye to check on Draco, questioning his next move. Draco smiled. "Okay my _Petite Amie,_ it is time for bed, isn't it? Let's see if we can't sleep our way through the festive season," the mead had definitely gone to his head, and he was feeling rather drowsy. He managed enough sense to cast a warming charm as well as one to keep the fire going. He was looking at the inside of his eyelids before his head hit the pillow. Satisfied that Draco was asleep, the cat moved into the hollow beside his stomach, and delicately curled up as she too went to sleep.

Neither of them heard the flurry of rustling pages as the journal was opened and more words materialised on the page.

-TBC-

_**First Published: February 2004  
Edited: 28 February 2005**_

* * *

**Review Thank You's! **  
Thank you all for your chapter 1 reviews:  
**Aliexx, Chipmunk, Curious Dream Weaver, Griffencub, Justxme, Madith, Menecarkawan, SunGoddess1, Tangledhair.**  
**AoiHyou:** Yes, coffeehigh!Draco is an image I can't seem to get out of my head.  
**Fayee:** Yes, it would be your idea of heaven. Pity I can't show you the shop I imagined, it's now gone :(, but it did exist once upon a time in the lands up north! As for your mind dashing off at tangents... well, I'm not going to say anything about that or you'll slap me!  
**Marsky:** Thanks. We hope we can write a coherent story together, despite the different countries, time zones and languages! LOL  
**Queen Antigone:** Bingo! You worked out my secret plan... I'm very much inspired by 'You Got Mail', but Wintermoon has a few different things up her sleeve!  
**Rena:** Yeah, we like the idea of pen pals, but in the old fashioned sense. the only modern thing about their conversations is the fact that they will possibly be able to converse in real time, just like the internet. Beyond that, it's all about old fashioned, wizard style correspondence.  
**The Shadow Bandit:** Wow! Thanks for your wonderful words! We aim to please, and we hope you continue to enjoy the fic. We love 'A Moment in Time' and think it's fantastic! We'll try to update as much as possible, but as you know, real life kinda gets in the way (not to mention the difference in time zones and continents!) Besides, we are also surprising each other with the next chapter (we have a rough outline, but I'm leaving the finer details of Harry to Wintermoon, & Draco is all mine! Mine!)  
**The Review with No name!** Great review, thanks whoever you are, glad you think we are two of your favourite authors! Wow! You'll be surprised what Harry will do when he finally gets around to reading Draco's words! Yes, the Riddle Diary debacle will figure dearly in his thoughts! 

**Just a quick note from Wintermoon** – I second everything that Azhure just said and hope to be starting on the next chapter within a day or so. Harry's words are already whirling around in my head like some crazed Tazmanian Devil!


	4. Point of No Return

First let me say that I absolutely couldn't have done this without my fantabulous and wondertastic beta and collaborator **Azhure** She's been an inspiration, an editor, a brainstorming partner, an ego-booster and the best co-writer one could ever ask for. If I ever get that multi-million dollar book deal, I'm going to request that she be allowed to work with me (if she can put up with me that much).

Next, I have to say that I doubt I would be doing this if not for all you wonderful readers! When I very first posted back in April of 2003 I never dreamed that my little obsession would eventually improve my writing skills, stretch my imagination, build my confidence and bring me new friends! Thank you all.

Now, on to other news:

We have created a yahoo group, so if you want to be notified of any story updates, or if you want to read the saucier versions of our fics, just head to the yahoo group called PageOfPeril. It's at **groups .** **yahoo . com / group / PageOfPeril / **(Just remove the spaces to copy into your browser), and join in, or just sign up for special notices if you only want to be updated on new chapters. Thanks!

One bonus of joining the yahoo group is the chance to see the wonderful pics that Azhure has created to go along with this story (not to mention her other fics). I'll give you all the heads up that there is a specific pic to go along with this chapter, and I hope you'll decide to check us out.

* * *

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter Four: _Point of No Return_**

_The random aspects of our lives  
Come together once in a while  
So blinding and decidedly  
Naivete falls from our eyes  
And we'll not regain  
As we watch the tower falling down_

_Maybe things can change  
Only if you want  
You know, you know there's no avoiding  
The lesson to be learned  
The point of no return_

_**Duran Duran **_

* * *

"No, Ron. Honestly." Although Harry didn't even think he was being honest with himself. Who was he kidding? Did he really want to stay alone in his flat over the Yule celebrations?

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ron's always expressive face looked out from the fireplace in concern. Harry couldn't help but notice that Ron had that little twist to his mouth again, the one he always got when he was worrying about something.

"Yes, I'm sure. I have a feeling Oliver will be home, and I would rather be here to welcome him. I'll be fine. I promise."

"Well, you know if you change your mind, you're welcome. I s'pose Ollie would be miffed if you weren't there when he came home anyway. It's a few days yet until Yule. Still plenty of time to let us know, if he doesn't make it back. Besides, knowing Hermione, we'll have enough food to feed a small army. You'd think she was trying to turn into Mum!" Harry couldn't help but laugh at the involuntary shudder that overcame his best friend at the thought of Hermione and Mrs Weasley having too much in common.

"No worries, mate. Just don't let Hermione hear you say things like that!"

Harry heard a feminine voice in the background and recognized the sparkle in Ron's eyes. Hermione had walked in. "Well, now, things to do, Harry. I'll drop by in a day or so, all right?"

"Sure thing." Harry watched as Ron's face disappeared from the fire and the flames died down a bit. He thought back to the days when he and Oliver had just moved in together. They had been like that, too; always happy to see each other, always affectionate, always eager to spend fun afternoons on the town, or quiet evenings at home, or passionate nights in bed.

_I miss him. More than I thought I would. I guess I was just feeling restless, but maybe I really do love him. I probably do, if I miss him this much, right?_

He had always looked forward to holidays, but he had not anticipated being alone. He had planned on sharing many things with Oliver that week, including a day trip to some local vineyards in Kent. He'd been hoping for not only a wonderful wine tasting, but a chance for some romantic time for just the two of them. Now it looked like he would have to delay that one – again. It was the second time that Ollie had cancelled on that planned trip of Harry's. _Maybe he just doesn't like good wine? I know he can knock back the beers and spirits, but he is always reluctant to try the wines._

Harry looked around his apartment, the sheer number of projects he had started momentarily overwhelming him. Finding himself alone, he had spent his days starting, but rarely finishing dozens of little projects. Projects he had been always keen to start, but he had always managed to find time to help his friends first, putting his own needs on the backburner. Finding more photos of his parents in Sirius's belongings had been the impetus for him to finally organize a photo wall. Harry had always been envious when seeing others homes, particularly the Weasleys, full of family photographs. Looking around the home he shared with Oliver, there seemed to be more Quidditch trophies than any other personal touches. It was very much Oliver's space, despite the fact it was Harry's name on the lease. However, there were a couple of photographs – one of Harry, Ron and Hermione on the last day of NEWTs, as well as one of Harry and Oliver that had been taken at Harry's birthday party.

Harry had spent the better part of a day rearranging and reorganizing the family photos, mixing and matching them, firstly as a collage, then in frames, then, after being unable to decide the best way to display them all, he just packed them back into a new photo album.

Naturally, he felt he had wasted a day immersed in melancholy memories of those who he had lost, but still, he hadn't thought too much about how much he had missed Oliver.

On the second day, he decided he needed to get out of the house, but had no desire for crowds. The weather was surprisingly fantastic to be out of the house. Deciding against Apparating, he packed a small lunch and flew to a shaded wood behind Porlock Weir, and set about to do some hiking. Just the flying had exhilarated him, but a good physical hike up the mountain was just the ticket. Trudging the paths through the forest, and down behind Foreland Point, he arrived at his favourite viewing spot in time for lunch. The picnic lunch had survived the journey, and Harry sat and watched the clouds above as the weather remained calm. Harry didn't really know how long he had stayed out there, but the sharp sting of the ocean wind was biting at his cheeks and the sense of rain clouds snapped him back to the present. He hiked back to his broom's hiding place behind the village, and was home before the weather turned bad.

Luckily, the rest of Harry's week had been mercifully filled with activities. Firstly, a Muggle mail order parcel had him totally excited. His new DVD had arrived! Never having had the luxury of being allowed television, Harry had instantly bought one the day he moved into his flat, a television and all the peripherals to go along with it – video, DVD and stereo components. He had taken great delight in watching shows he had been denied as a child.

A decadent day in front of the television, butterbeers and pumpkin crisps in hand had left him feeling a little sad and empty. Unfortunately, the TV marathon had left him feeling sad and morose, and missing Ollie even more now that he had witnessed some intensely emotional scenes. How could he get out of this funk? How could he make himself feel better? Perhaps he had possibly had one butterbeer too many.

Harry thought back to Saturday when he'd decided to write in the old journal. It really did make him feel better. He looked over at the desk where it was sitting under the pile of unread newspapers. Harry had only glanced at them this week. Seeing Oliver on the front cover of the latest Daily Prophet had not helped Harry's dismal mood. It was nice to just purge his thoughts and feelings without having to worry about anyone looking down on him or judging him. _Ron and Hermione just don't understand sometimes. Hermione always tries to find a solution and Ron tries to pretend there's no problem. He seems to think plenty of distraction involving Quidditch and butterbeer solves any problem. Even talking about it. What if I don't want to talk? What if I don't really know what is wrong. At least when I write, I can just let it all out onto the page, and no one can judge me for it._

Feeling extremely frustrated, Harry went to the desk and grabbed his journal. Writing in it again would definitely be a good idea if he was going to stop wallowing in his own self made pity. He made himself comfortable and reached for the quill and ink. _Nope, not that one,_ he thought as he put the black ink away again. He searched across the slightly cluttered desk, finally finding his favourite bottle of purple ink hidden under that evening's issue of the Daily Prophet.

Quill in hand, Harry opened the journal and dipped into his purple ink. As his eyes fell on the page, his hand froze in mid-air allowing the rich coloured ink to drip freely and create a rather interesting splatter on the front cover of the Prophet. Oddly enough, had he chosen to look at the purple splatters closely, he would have seen a highly indignant image of Oliver, failing to successfully dodge the purple droplets.

Of course, Harry didn't notice this. He had been too startled by the existence of other writing in the journal – writing that was definitely not his own. Confident and assured writing that was in green ink. He carefully read the words, wondering if he had absently written a shopping list or something like that in the journal. _But I don't own any green ink,_ he thought as he began to read the words. _Bonjour 'Flash'..._

Harry read the words, and just as soon as he finished reading that the book was perfectly safe, he stood, and quickly closed the book. In his haste to get away from it, he knocked over his chair, and managed to crumple the quill under his boot. His brain was having a lot of difficulty connecting to his motor functions. Despite the writer's claims that there was no possession or dark magic involved, Harry immediately thought of Tom Riddle's diary. How could he not? He knew, on some level, that he was being ridiculous and that after more than ten years he shouldn't be this affected by the experience, but he couldn't help himself. _Besides, didn't this 'Luc' tell me it was part of a set? Perhaps this is just another of those wizarding world things I know nothing about. Merlin, I wish Sirius were here. He could tell me just where he got that book._

Harry spent a good couple of hours pacing in front of his desk, every few moments stopping to stare at the journal on the desk. By the time he worked out what to do, he had worn a serious groove in the carpet, and had run his hands through his hair so many times, it was a wonder it hadn't fallen out. _Of course! How could I be so stupid! Ginny! She'll understand! She can help!_ As he raced to his fireplace to call his surrogate sister, he once again had a smile on his face. _She'll know what to do! _

Ginny had finally realized in her fifth year, there would never be anything romantic between her and Harry. Instead, she decided to seduce her way through the rest of Gryffindor Tower, then on through the rest of the school. She had blossomed into a voluptuous young woman – confident and full of feminine wiles. Though Ron refused to accept it, preferring to live like an ostrich when it came to the actions of his baby sister, Ginny had become quite the man-eater. She had quickly seduced most of Harry's classmates and at least half of her own. It seemed, however, that she had a penchant for the older men. In fact, Oliver had been one of her more recent conquests, not long before he had started dating Harry. Harry snickered at that thought. It had taken some convincing to assure Oliver that there would be no hard feelings from Ginny. He had been disappointed to find that she wasn't home, but he immediately sent her an urgent owl; an indignant Hedwig looking most displeased at being woken up at such a late hour.

--oo0oo--

Harry had spent a restless night tossing and turning, having bizarre flashbacks of the journals. Empty pages, books that seemed to come from nowhere, writing that appeared on its own, flashes of light drawing him into strange places where he had no control. It was all far too disturbing.

He was pacing rapidly around his living room when Ginny stepped neatly through the fireplace not long after breakfast. He looked up, momentarily stunned by her dazzling appearance once again. Ginny was no longer the shy little girl he'd met in the train station. She'd grown up, and filled out, and despite his usual predilection for the male gender, he had come to appreciate her body and her sex appeal. He knew her well enough to know that most of the sex appeal was actually because she felt so good about herself. She had evolved into a very secure and confident woman who was most likely the hardest working curse-breaker in Europe. She had started working for the Ministry right after school, but quickly gained the reputation to allow for her own business.

After Harry walked over and greeted her with a warm hug, he took another moment to look her over. "How do you always manage to step from the floo looking so clean and neat?"

"Practice!" she said with a flirtatious quirk of her right brow. "So, what's the urgent matter that almost couldn't wait from Monday evening to Tuesday morning?"

"It's this old journal that I found in one of my boxes, Gin. I think it used to belong to Sirius, but it's got some strange magic on it."

"Like what?" She knew there was nothing to this. Harry would recognize any serious hexes, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd over-reacted to something.

"Well, when I first opened it, I'm almost sure I saw writing in it, but it was fading before I could read anything. I did a few revealing spells on it, but I didn't see anything but basic charms."

"What kind of charms?" She couldn't help but wonder what Harry was upset about. It sounded perfectly harmless to her.

"I, uh…" she recognized the sheepish expression and knew what it meant.

"You didn't actually identify them, did you?"

"Well, no. I just saw them as basic and harmless, so I left it at that."

She nodded at that, seeing it as something purely Harry. He was a walking contradiction at times and personally, she blamed Hermione. Harry had the natural attitude of jumping into things with both feet. It worked well for him, what with his heroic history and all. But it seemed that he would suddenly, at the most unusual times, dig in his heels and convince himself that there was something wrong. And so it was that he had jumped into this journal with all the faith and naiveté of a child, and was now doubting his earlier findings and worrying himself into a tizzy over it.

"So, if they're harmless, what's the problem?"

"The problem is," he hesitated and motioned for her to step closer to the desk. She looked at the journal as he reached for it. The cover was breath-taking, obviously not a run of the mill book here. He gingerly touched the edge of the cover and paused before flipping it open to show her the pages filled with writing. "I wrote in it," he motioned toward the even, pre-meditated purple writing. "And then," he turned the page to reveal the end of his entry and a small section of precise, yet elegant, green script. "Someone else wrote in it," he finished.

Suddenly, Ginny understood the issue completely; and, it was crystal clear why he had called her for assistance. She quickly became all business, reaching for her wand as she stepped even closer to the desk. "Back up a minute, Harry. Let me check on something." He watched in silence as she flicked her wand and muttered something low under her breath. A vivid golden aura surrounded the journal - the tendrils of magical energy ending in bright sparkles before dissipating.

"Well, there you have it Harry. Nothing to worry about."

"What's that mean?"

"It means, Harry dearest, that you have a wonderfully enchanted object there – a very old one if the intensity of that aura is anything to go by, but there is certainly no dark magic within a mile of it."

"But what about this other writer? This Luc? He said it was some sort of journal intima… intimate… hang on." Harry went to open the book and refer to the words. "A _Journal Intime Partagé"_

"Well then, you've got absolutely nothing to worry about. It's totally harmless." Ginny gave a wry smile. "Although I'd watch out for this other fellow, these journals are usually used between lovers... you better not get fresh with him, at least not while Ollie's around." She looked around the flat and tried peeking into Harry and Oliver's bedroom, but was bitterly disappointed.

"He's gone for a few days Gin. I'm hoping he'll be back in time for Yule." Harry sounded a little despondent.

She nodded. "I guessed as much. You wouldn't be this worked up about something like this if that randy Scots git was around to keep you busy." She smiled, giving the taller man a chaste peck on the cheek. Harry blushed, wondering how this girl knew more about his own feelings than he sometimes did.

"Thanks Gin. Care for some tea?"

She shook her head. "I can't Harry. They need me in Paris today. There're some ancient vaults under Notre Dame that need looking into. Apparently the goblins are keen to make a killing on whatever we find there. Deceased estate. You know. Just run of the mill stuff." She shrugged in a bored way, but the sparkle in her blue eyes told him that she loved every minute of her job.

Harry hugged her, and before he knew it, she had flooed away.

--oo0oo--

Harry awoke Friday morning from a very mixed jumble of dreams, but couldn't remember any of them. As he stumbled toward the closet, wiping his eyes in an effort to wake up a little more, he realized that the week had quickly slipped by him. _Can't believe tomorrow is the Solstice!_ He thought back over the past few days and was pleased to see that he had managed to keep himself fairly busy and entertained, despite his discovery of just how much he missed Oliver.

After getting dressed and brewing a cup of his favourite Lady Grey tea with a sliver of lemon, _wonderful, heavenly stuff,_ Harry found himself floundering for something to occupy the rest of the day. He considered a little shopping, but dreaded the thought of facing holiday crowds. He glanced at the new photo album and debated whether or not to give that photo wall another try. He purposely avoided looking in the direction of the desk, not ready to try writing in an enchanted journal. Finally, feeling like writing might be a good idea, he grabbed a Muggle ink pen and a blank notepad – one that he felt certain was NOT enchanted – and curled up on the sofa with a blanket.

The moment he touched pen to paper, he realized that it just didn't seem right to spill his thoughts here. _It's just not the same. That Luc fellow seems nice, and Ginny said it was perfectly harmless. _He moved to get up and retrieve the journal, but stopped himself, determined to leave it alone. He focused on the notepad and thought about the day he had ahead of him. Solstice Eve and he would be sitting at home, alone. And Friday night, to boot! He and Oliver had always tried to do something together on Friday nights. Before Oliver, he had, like most other single wizards, counted on Friday as his big "date night." Before he knew it, he was scribbling on the notepad.

_Friday Nights, Lonely Nights, _

He looked at that and chuckled to himself as the old Muggle Christmas carol seeped into his brain. He remembered hearing Aunt Petunia wander through the house singing it as she prepared for the grand celebrations that he was never allowed to attend. He found himself humming it, and suddenly more words came to fit the tune.

_Ollie's gone, Life sure bites,  
Round the globe he flies, Puddlemere's Pride  
I sit lonely while he goes worldwide  
Do I want him at a-all?_

Beginning to notice the mood of this scribbling, he finally wondered if perhaps it wasn't Oliver he missed, so much as just not wanting to be alone. He had just returned the notepad to his desk and was about to head over to Ron's and accept their invitation when Ollie suddenly Apparated in front of him.

All musings about his feelings were immediately gone as he smiled broadly and welcomed his boyfriend with a warm, joyful hug.

"How've you been? How was training? Do you get to stay home long? Why haven't you owled or something? Do you…"

"Woah, Harry, slow down." Oliver laughed and led them both to the sofa. "I've been fine and I'm sorry I haven't owled. They've been keeping us really busy and it's all I can do to take a quick shower before I collapse each night. I have to be back at work on Monday morning, so we've just got three days." He paused, looking at Harry. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry spoke directly to the carpet as he shoved his hands in his pockets trying with all his might not to appear nervous. He was still a little worried about the way Oliver had left last week. It seemed like there was trouble between them and Harry was at a loss regarding how to approach the topic.

Oliver sighed, thinking he probably knew Harry's problem. He stepped closer and lifted Harry's face up by a finger under his chin. Once he saw the uncertainty in those vibrant green eyes, Ollie knew he'd hit the nail on the head. As he closed the distance between them to offer a kiss, Harry sighed and tentatively eased his arms around Oliver's waist. The moment never turned passionate; they each had too many other variables on their minds to think of passion or sex at the moment.

_Love will have to wait a while,_ Oliver thought. As they broke the kiss he offered Harry a warm smile, purposely trying to lighten the mood. "I really am glad to be home, Harry." They both heard the emphasis on 'home.' It told Harry that his older lover was sincere and willing to work through the issues at hand. Oliver knew that this was Harry's first real long term relationship, and he suspected it was normal to have doubts about the strong emotions it brought.

Harry smiled his thanks and said, "I'm really glad you're home." It told Oliver that he was missed, but Harry's next statement started a nagging worry in Oliver's head again. "I've been lonely." _Did he miss me specifically or was he just wishing for company?_ Oliver smiled and kissed Harry again, determined not to follow that line of thinking, at least not now. He just wanted to enjoy his days off and his holiday with Harry.

After spending the remainder of the morning catching up and deciding on plans, then a good part of the afternoon sitting in a quiet corner of their favourite French restaurant, the two mostly-happy, well-fed and slightly inebriated men stumbled their way back to their flat. Harry was trying desperately not to giggle as Oliver made his third unsuccessful attempt to unlock the door. Oliver finally turned to him in frustration. "You do it, then, if you think it's so bloody funny."

Harry obliged and let them both into the flat where they nearly tripped over each other's feet in their efforts to get to the sofa. Finally settled into the comfortable cushions, Harry pulled Oliver into a comfortable embrace. Oliver held on tightly, squeezing a bit, as if reassuring them both that it was real. The early hours of the evening saw more inebriation as Harry finished off the better part of a bottle of Pinot Grigio and Oliver helped himself to a few shots of firewhisky. They lay there together, sometimes talking, usually silent, listening to the sounds of each others breathing, allowing their minds freedom to wander without worry. Oliver snuggled his head onto Harry's chest and eventually dozed off listening to the steady rhythm of the heartbeat under his ear.

Harry was content. He enjoyed the warmth of Oliver's body resting against his own, the gentle rise and fall during each breath, the comfort of Oliver's arms around his torso. He thought back to that morning, the silly words he'd been writing just before Oliver came home. _I don't know what I was thinking. Of course I missed Ollie. It wouldn't be the same if it were someone else._ He was doing his best to ignore the voice in the back of his head that asked if different was automatically worse, when he heard a sudden rustle of papers from across the room. Craning his neck toward the desk, he watched as a newspaper fell off the desk; a newspaper that had been pushed off by the opening journal. _Now **that's** something Ginny didn't mention._ He presumed that the journal wouldn't be opening by itself unless the mystery writer was currently making another entry.

Suddenly anxious to see this entry, Harry gently prodded Oliver awake and suggested he take a bath and get into bed. Oliver nodded sleepily and headed directly toward their room, allowing Harry to get up and casually stretch, trying to tell himself that he wasn't **that** eager to read some stranger's words. Before he had himself fully convinced, he was sitting at the desk watching the green ink appear from nowhere. Whilst he read, he quirked an eyebrow at some of the words, and stifled a laugh at a couple of others. As soon as the writer signed off, he grabbed his quill and started to write back…

_**Luc,**_

_**I've been debating this for a few days, but have finally decided it might be nice to take you up on that metaphorical hand of friendship. Your reply does seem to offer something I can't get from my friends – acceptance. I feel like I'm constantly being judged for the family I come from and for the things I've done (or they did), rather than what I feel and who I am inside. My comments about Ollie, love, relationships… I could never tell my friends those things. They wouldn't understand. That's why I decided to start writing in this journal. I thought it would be a good way to get my thoughts and feelings out without having to worry about their reactions.**_

_**Now, as I see it, I can still express these things without consequence, but I'll have the benefit of someone who can reply – a sounding board. And of course, should you decide that I'm crazy, or start to look down on me because I can't make up my mind, or view me as insecure, well, it really wouldn't matter since I don't know you – right?**_

He immediately grabbed his wand, intending to erase that entire paragraph. There was certainly no point spilling that much of his inner thoughts to the mystery writer – especially in the first reply!

"Damn, he was right. It won't erase." He put his wand down in frustration and started sucking on the end of his quill again. The mindless habit became more frequent during times of anxiety or apprehension.

_**Merlin's bunny slippers, I see what you mean about erase charms not working. I should have known better than to start writing after having this much to drink. I guess I figured it wouldn't matter because you were drinking when you wrote back, and well, as I mentioned before, I don't know you anyway.**_

_**A few hours ago I, too, was alone and very much in need of companionship. My owl has been sleeping all evening, apparently tired from the gift deliveries. My friends had invited me over, not wanting me to be alone during the holidays, but I couldn't quite bring myself to go. I knew they would ask questions about Ollie, his work, our relationship, the whole bit. I just didn't want to deal with that – not from them. Now, however, it's a moot point. Ollie came home this morning.**_

_**We've spent a wonderful day together and he's actually in the bath right now… I knew he was going to come home. Guess Yule will not be cancelled after all for me…We have always been great friends, and even if we find ourselves on the outer, I know that we both have too much respect for each others' skills to ever lose that friendship… He'll only be home for three days, but we plan to spend every moment of it together making up for all we've missed. (I hope I have the stamina for that!)**_

Harry paused, looking over that sentence and once again berated himself for not thinking through his statements before committing them to paper. _I really need to be careful what I say. Especially if I want to stay anonymous. Having a stranger to talk to just wouldn't be the same if they knew they were talking to Harry Potter._ He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts and will the wine buzz away. Feeling slightly more focused, he dipped his quill again and picked up where he left off.

_**So, in response to your suppositions, yes, I have cast multiple revealing charms and more on this book. I even had a close friend and highly successful curse breaker come in and check it out for me. I hope you aren't offended by my caution, but it's difficult to tell which books you can trust and which you can't. I've long lived by the advice that you shouldn't trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. I suppose this will have to be an exception, since I'm relying on the notion that you are a person and would therefore be keeping your brain in your own head, which of course, I have never seen.**_

_**Ah, and there I go again. Somehow I feel that my previous entry was much more intellectual. I wonder if it's because I didn't know it would ever be read, and therefore had no reason to be self-conscious about it.**_

_**You are right about my name. 'Flash' is a nickname from a long-time family friend. I honestly wasn't sure why I chose to sign off with my nickname, aside from it being a very sentimental and personal thing. I've never placed much power in names, but I suppose it's possible. **_

He couldn't help but think of all those who shivered and gasped every time they heard the name of Voldemort. He had spent years refusing to give in to that fear, but he had to admit to a feeling of respect for this wizard and his statement that he hadn't "earned the right" to use Harry's given name. It was a concept he'd never really thought of, but in retrospect it made a lot of sense.

_**You are also right about my gender and orientation. I've had a few brief relationships with both men and women, but I guess Ollie is the first to become 'long-term.' Ollie and I met in school, though we only started dating six or so months ago. He's great, and we've been friends for ages. Looking back over my previous ramblings, I think I was being a bit harsh and overemotional. I am happy; I've always been a fairly happy person despite the crap I've often been dealt. Oh, don't get me wrong, I projected my share of teen angst, and went through the anger and mood swings with the best of them. Overall, though, I have to say I've led a pretty good life. Of course the war threw a spanner in all our plans, but I'm just glad I came out of it alive, and I have the chance to live, unlike so many others. And with Ollie, well it just gets that much better.**_

_**I have to say that you sound very reasonable and open to suggestions for improvement. If you haven't been a good listener in the past, maybe Antonio should have said something sooner and given you the opportunity to make adjustments before he ran off. Of course, if you follow the conjecture that everything happens for a reason, then perhaps you needed him to leave in order to see the adjustments that were needed. I don't think it's selfish at all to want to spend time with him. That's supposed to be one of the wonderful things about a steady relationship, isn't it? The idea that just the two of you can be comfortable with each other; that sometimes you would actually prefer to shut the rest of the world out. See, with Ollie and I, we seem to have somewhat the opposite problem you mentioned. He's much more social than I have ever been, and his job requires the occasional "working party." I don't know that I get as many evenings with him at home as I would like, but I've learned to deal with it. **_

_**You asked about my time alone: It wasn't bad. I feel like I had time to sort out my mind a little, and started more projects around the house than I could finish. I've been off from work this week for the holidays and spent a great deal of each day puttering around looking for something to do. Once I decided to write in here again, and then saw your first response, I must admit to freaking out a bit until my curse breaker friend showed up to check out the journal and let me know it was legitimate.**_

_**I found the journal in a box of my godfather's belongings, and can't help wishing he were here to tell me what he used it for and who originally had the other one. Where did you say you got a hold of that?**_

_**So, Antonio is a bastard. You're obviously better off without him. I know it's a bad time of year for break-ups, though. I hope you won't be too lonely tomorrow… er… today. Why don't you let yourself get absorbed in a good book – perhaps one of those romantic novels the girls all carry on about? Or write some letters to some people you haven't seen for a while. I know that even though I lost many I loved to war, I am grateful every day for the friends I do have. Don't isolate yourself, or work too hard. **_

_**Your line about if you love somebody… set them free… is so true. Every time Ollie has to go away, I think of it, but I just knew he would be back for Yule, so call it my latent divinatory skills coming to the fore (not exactly my strongest skill).**_

_**There's no need for you to stay celibate just because you aren't in love, is there? I'm guessing from your casual dropping of French into your conversation that you are living somewhere over the Channel. Surely there are dozens of other gorgeous and wonderful European men out there… Why don't you sow your wild oats? Go ape crazy and shag anything that takes your fancy? Of course, I would never dream of doing something that sudden, so I shouldn't even be suggesting that to you. **_

_**Don't shut yourself away Luc. I think you're right. Writing to each other could be a good thing; we can help each other out. I have this vision of you sitting there in a smoking jacket stroking the cat's fur – just like some evil guy from a series of Muggle movies… not that I'm saying you're evil, but that's the vision I have of you right now. **_

_**Damn, I have definitely drunk too much wine, and Ollie has gone to bed without me. I really must sign off now,**_

_**Flash**_

-TBC-

* * *

_**Special author's note: "Merlin's Bunny Slippers" was influenced by another fic, though I have forgotten which fic and which author. If you know, or it was yours, please let us know so we can give you proper credit! It was simply brilliant and has stuck with me for months! And if it was yours, and you're reading this, I hope you don't mind me borrowing the idea!**_

_**Many thanks to all the readers and double thanks with butterbeers to all the reviewers! **_

**_Nyn, curiousdreamweaver, fayee, idril.tinuviel, honor, justxme, michelle – you're all wonderful!_**

**_Louise4_** – _Well, here's hoping you liked Harry's freaked out reaction, you hit the nail on the head with it, let me tell you! And blaming Azhure for the Ollie action – got that one right, too, although I must admit to have a little "thing" for Mr Wood myself. He's quite the handsome keeper, you know! As for the resurrection of Draco in FTF – well my dear, I'll just have to hope that you keep reading it! Don't worry, Azhure has taken your pleas to heart!_

**_Shadow Bandit_** – _Thanks! We've both enjoyed your work sooo much, it's great to see you here and get your feedback! Hope you enjoyed Oliver's return in this chapter._

**_Malfoysnogger_** – _LOL, "mean old Oliver" you crack me up! Thanks so much for the comments, we love hearing from you!_

**_Tangledhair_** – _Awww, shucks! blushes sorry for the delay, but I hope it wasn't too long of a wait. I know Harry's backstepping now, but be patient…_


	5. Careless Memories

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter Five: Careless Memories**

_Care"less, a. AS. cearle'as.  
Without thought or purpose; without due care; spontaneous; rash_

_Outside the thoughts come flooding back now,  
I just try to forget you.  
So easy to disturb,  
With a thought,  
With a whisper,  
With a Careless Memory.  
_**Careless Memories - Duran Duran (1981)**

* * *

The thrumming sound seemed to be getting louder. Draco tried to swat away the annoyance, whatever it was, but his hands were caught up and twisted in the sheets. Something didn't feel right as he thrashed and flailed, but in his fury he ended up becoming even more entangled. An arm eventually escaped the confining bedclothes, only to come down on the ball of fluff that had been purring and licking at his face. Petit Ami had decided that Draco was in need of a good bath, and the dry leathery feel of his own tongue tasted foul inside his equally parched mouth. Lost in between the memory of a dream that was slowly fading, and the harsh reality of a horrendous hangover, Draco resisted the urge to open his eyes. The shock upon attempting this rather difficult feat was sudden, as the jolt of the late afternoon sunlight bounced against the back of his brain. It took all his effort just to shut his eyes again, returning to the familiarity of the darkness.

The effort needed just to swallow kept him occupied for the better part of a few minutes. Unfortunately, his natural urge to just roll over again was defeated by his bladder's rather insistent need. Cursing everything from the mead, to Emmaline, to Harry Potter (just for good measure), Draco shuffled his way to the bathroom – his eyes still yet to open fully. He tried to clear the fog in his head, but was failing miserably. Again, he swore that he would never allow mead to pass his lips again.

Draco went through the motions that afternoon as he made coffee – extra strong – and brewed his own Sobrietus potion. Most wizards took the easy way out of a hangover and had someone cast the Sobrietus Charm to help bring them back to humanity; but the Sobrietus Potion, whilst gentler on the body, had to be freshly brewed. Of course, this usually meant that the hung-over wizard was in too much pain to be bothered with actually making it. Fortunately, Draco could brew fairly complicated concoctions with his eyes shut, which meant the most difficult part of the actual process was ensuring he didn't slice off his fingers whilst chopping the ragweed.

A good two hours after opening his eyes, Draco was clean, sober and dressed, ready to face what was left of the day. The cat's insistent pleadings for food alerted him to the fact that he too needed to eat, only to realise himself that it really was very late. _Well, at least I've managed to sleep through most of Yule_, he thought as he realised the late hour. The fact he had slept through such an important day did not upset him at all. He had spent a rather companionable night with Emmaline; the only person he cared enough about to want to be with on that day.

He didn't feel up to heading out, besides, he wasn't up to Apparating just yet (Sobrietus always increased your chances at being splinched). It was late enough that had he wanted to walk to the nearest café, it would no doubt be close to closing time, and the effort of walking seemed harder than ever. He pottered around the studio, seemingly at a loose end. It was only by chance that he noticed that his journal lay open on his desk. A dim recollection for the night before led him to believe that he had closed it, but upon closer inspection, he saw the confident scrawl in the amethyst ink. He became animated at the thought that Flash had replied. He suddenly recalled his own maudlin and drunken musings from the night before, and cringed. He hoped Flash had made some sense of what he had written. Curiosity got the better of him, and he was soon reading Flash's latest words.

His good mood soured slightly as he read that Flash's Ollie had come home to him for Yule. Some part of him wanted to know that at least somewhere else in the world, someone else was going to be alone on this important holiday, and that thought had kept him from getting too depressed. By the time he had finished reading Flash's words, he felt the need to just curl right back up and never wake up again. Flash had told him that he shouldn't shut himself away. Whilst the idea of getting out and shagging anyone in sight had plenty of appeal, Draco didn't feel like the most sociable pixie in the plot. Besides, it was easy for Flash to make that suggestion – particularly when he would no doubt be having his own private party with Ollie. Why did he have to spend Yule alone? For the first time in a few days, he looked at the fireplace in serious contemplation. Would Antonio want to talk to him? He thought long and hard until he realised that he had no idea where Antonio was, and whether or not the Italian would even want to talk to Draco. He was a mess. His earlier determination was gone as he lay back in bed with a glass of brandy in his hand.

In a way, he was pleased to have this contact with the anonymous wizard. He had always enjoyed good correspondence, and being able to talk things through with a faceless person was sometimes easier than having to make decisions on his own. He could not believe that he had written half the stuff the night before, but it seemed that Flash could relate to some of it. At least he hadn't laughed at his words. Draco mulled over the idea of writing something back, but the brandy had helped lull the strained young wizard back to sleep. Again his dreams were fraught with imagery.

_On his broom, he chased after the snitch. He had spotted it, and he had worked harder and flown faster than ever before to seize it, but the ball was always just out of his reach. If he could only reach out and grasp it. The golden ball led him on a merry chase, and often, just when he thought he had it, it would dart out at another tangent, and he would take up the chase again._

--oo0oo--

The day after Yule was never going to be a joyous one for Draco. The full harsh light of his self imposed exile had brought him to the point where he had to choose whether to become even more introspective, or get back to his old life. Fortunately, the morning mail made that decision for him.

The insistent tapping of an owl woke Draco from his relentless dreams. A muttered charm under his breath as he waved his wand, and the window opened to let the insistent owl in. His own owl, Melchett, hooted at the intrusion into his own space, but he was in no mood to put up with the offended bird. Another wave of his wand, and the coffee was brewing.

It took a good half hour, and two strong shots of espresso to remember the mail. Picking up the envelope, he saw the distinctive seal of the Trustees of the Malfoy estate. Breaking the seal, he noticed a thick wad of yellowing parchments which fell out as he read the covering letter.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_As executor of your late father's estate, it has been a rather onerous task sifting through the Malfoy holdings to ensure all investments are properly accounted for in accordance with Wizengamot Ruling #2345 in relation to former Death Eater estates. As you are aware, all liquid assets are to be taxed at twice the rate of those held by non Death Eater families..._

Draco was starting to drift as he realised this was just going to be another dry and dull report on the state of his inheritance. All he was interested in was the bottom line, and just what he would be worth when his twenty-fifth birthday rolled around. Why was he not surprised that the Wizengamot and the Ministry would try to tax as much as possible from the estate? They were money grubbing and still trying to make reparations after the war. Pity that the Ministry's coffers were running empty.

Lucius had bribed them well for dozens of years, and had almost owned it outright. He had no intention of doing the same. This was his inheritance to do with as he saw fit, and that did not include pandering to the likes of the idiots at the Ministry of magic. Besides, they knew full well that once the Malfoy titles reverted to Draco, it was untouchable. Draco played his part for the 'good side' in the war. Naturally they would want to take as much as possible whilst they still could. Lucius had accounted creatively for dozens of years, and the Trustees were still finding assets that had seemingly been hiding under pumpkins in the garden.

He was curious as to why they would be writing to him now. Usually he was given an update closer to his birthday, but his eye fell on the other gilt edged parchments that were enclosed with the letter. It was a series of title deeds. Upon closer inspection, he saw that his own name was on them. His heart raced faster, and a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. _Could it be true?_ He skimmed the rest of the letter until he saw reference to it.

_The enclosed deeds were discovered during our investigations. The property, and the surrounding interests described were unknown to us due to the fact that it is actually in your name, thus technically not a part of the Malfoy estate. A search on the details of this property returned that it is currently unoccupied, with back taxes owing. We request that you visit the property and ascertain if you wish to retain it, paying all back taxes; or whether you wish to dispose of this investment. We are only too happy to advise you in all aspects of disposal of the property, if that is your decision. We await your owl at your earliest convenience._

Draco looked carefully at the title deed. _Why does it not surprise me that my father would have avoided taxes by buying property in my name?_ Not that he was complaining, not whilst the bulk of his fortune was untouchable. A broad grin grew from his crooked smile as he realised that not only was this property in his name, but it was the title to the family chateau right there in France. It was quite a long way from Paris, right down in the small Luberon village of Roussillon, in Provence. Draco had nothing but fond memories of the family chateau, and carefree summer holidays as a child. He had assumed his father had sold it when they stopped visiting after Voldemort had risen again.

The morning mail had certainly lightened Draco's depressed mood. He couldn't see any reason why he shouldn't go down and visit his property, but he would need a couple of days before he could get away. He was imbued with a renewed sense of purpose. Having something to hold on to was vital right now, and the sudden windfall had snapped him out of his lethargy and introspection, and back into reality.

He had another ten days before the start of term, and he really did have plenty to keep him busy. The extra research he had turned to the previous week had left him with a good dozen cauldrons brewing, and Draco needed to tend to most of them before he could even think about heading away. He felt guilty for abandoning his work during his day of depression, but he returned to them with renewed vigour. He was ever so grateful he had the foresight to cast suspension charms over the cauldrons before Yule. He would have been looking at a week's worth of wasted research had he left them to boil or simmer away unobserved.

The day passed relatively quickly once Draco became absorbed in his work, but he was truly startled when Emmaline knocked on his door in the early evening.

"Môn Cherie! Draco!" The older witch hugged him in welcome. She was always exuberant in her greetings with her favourite tenant.

"Emmaline! I didn't think you'd be back yet. You told me you were going away for a few days."

"Well, it has been a few." She scrunched her nose as she looked around the studio. "Môn Dieu, please tell me that you have not been locked in here since our little dinner the other night?" she sniffed the air in disapproval.

For some reason, Draco knew he could never lie to the woman. "Well your Yule gift certainly made sure I was well acquainted with the inner workings of my head petite mère. I'm surprised your late husband was never arrested for making that stuff. It should be illegal!" he smiled at her good naturedly.

"Ah my little friend, I bet if he were still here the pair of you would be swapping recipes and trying to make it even more potent!" she winked in reply. She watched as he excused himself to tend to a couple of cauldrons. He was indeed dedicated to his work, a lot like her late husband had been.

"You seem a little happier since I saw you last." She asked knowingly.

Draco smiled and nodded as he told her of the fact that he owned the family chateau outright, and was planning on making a visit.

"Ah yes, Provence. I remember misspending some time down in the Luberon in my youth. I dated an artist from around there once. Good for nothing layabout."

Draco laughed, unable to imagine her. "Saw the error of your ways then?"

"Oh no. I married him." Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise. "It's a long story Môn Cherie, and one for another day." Draco nodded, not really ready to hear about love stories – happy or otherwise. "But now young man, I think it's time you went out for dinner. You can't stay cooped up in this place alone any longer." He looked ready to protest, but saw the set of her mouth, and knew that he would not win any arguments with her this night.

"You're kicking me out? But I haven't fed the cat..."

"Draco Malfoy, I would never have imagined the day that you would choose to stay home with a cat over heading out to enjoy yourself. You can't stay in here forever my child. Go out – mingle - have some fun! How else do you expect to meet someone else if you stay cooped up here? You'll end up a bitter and repressed potions master if you aren't careful."

Draco was ready to protest, when Flash's words came back to him. Even this unknown wizard was telling him not to isolate himself. Surely one night out on the town wouldn't hurt? Besides, he did have some good fortune to celebrate. Most of his classmates had headed to the Riviera for the holiday, but he knew of a few places where he would be able to sit back and watch the passing parade of talent.

He took the advice to heart, and took his time to look devastating as he prepared to go out. He dressed in his finest robes and wore a splash of his most expensive cologne. The effort made him feel better. His bathroom mirror wolf whistled as he cut a dash towards the door.

_Who knows,_ he thought as he was heading out the door, _perhaps I'll find someone to help me get Antonio out of my system once and for all._ It was time to move on. He would only get more depressed if he stayed in and thought of the Italian again.

--oo0oo--

Draco felt he should perhaps broaden his horizons. He chose an establishment he had only visited a couple of times – one that was less popular with the students, mainly due to its inflated prices. He didn't care about that tonight, not after his good fortune. He knew his money pouch would be lighter by the end of the evening, but he didn't care.

The seething mass of bodies inside the club was unexpected, but Draco managed to find himself a relatively quiet corner to sit, drink in hand, watching the world as it writhed and pulsated its way past in time with the music. He was surprised to find one of his fellow students serving behind the bar. He only knew Davram from one of his study groups, but the bartender obviously recognised him. Being one of the top students made him instantly recognisable to many in the potions courses at _l'institut des Magies_. They kept up a companionable conversation during the evening, all the while Draco continued vigilantly in his people watching.

Draco had realised early on that this club didn't cater to any particular sexual persuasion, with both men and women drinking, dancing and generally behaving wickedly. He lost count of the number of times he was asked to dance, but he had noticed a considerable number of meaningful glances that had been directed his way. _Perhaps there's hope for me yet,_ he hoped thoughtfully. He returned most of them. One fellow in particular had held his interest for a good while, but he had been disappointed when the fellow was greeted with a passionate kiss from someone who was obviously his partner. Still, the brunette had been eyeing Draco for the better part of an hour.

His good mood had soured a little once he realised he had traded his isolation in his studio for the isolation he had built around himself in the club. He couldn't help himself. He had made himself almost untouchable tonight, and the fact that the only interesting fellow all night had already been attached led him to drink more than he should have.

Draco had stuck to the usual firewhisky and water for most of the evening. After a couple of hours, Davram had worn him down, and he agreed to taste the bartender's personally brewed Absinthe. It had been quite a while since he last partook of the drink, and the slight disappointment at his perceived bad luck made him take the bartender up on his offer. It was indeed a potent batch, and after a while, Draco lost count of how much he had drunk. He still maintained his air of indifference as he watched a couple of young women, who had been sending him meaningful looks most of the evening. He raised his glass in salute to the pair, and they returned the greeting.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised when he started to chat to the dark haired girl who came over; the one who had been making eyes at him for most of the evening. She seemed to be interested enough, and Draco found her company not unpleasant, but then again, his judgement was clouded by the alcohol. She didn't seem to be like the simpering and giggly women he so often remembered. This girl was confident, and had obviously been looking out for him all night. The fact that he had been the target of her seduction surprised him for a moment, but he maintained his haughty Malfoy composure. It had been a very long time since he had been with a woman, and it comforted him to know that at least she seemed to want him. For some reason he recalled someone suggesting he go out and shag anyone and everyone whilst he was unattached. The prospect of this was looking very likely.

By the time he left the club, with her on his arm, it had seemed the most logical of choices. He had missed the touch of warm lips and a warm body beside him. She had gotten into his head. He then took her into his bed, all warm lips and body and hands... and all thoughts of Antonio were lost as the woman seduced Draco with her ministrations. He found himself consumed within the moment, not even remembering her name as he cried out at the height of his drunken passion. For some reason, he couldn't recall ever having asked for her name, but he doubted that he would even remember if he had, for he was asleep before the afterglow of his orgasm had faded.

--oo0oo--

He woke to the tattoo of the green fairy screaming in his head; a very different and extreme feeling hangover to that from his most recent experience. Absinthe was wonderful on the way down, exquisite as it worked its way through the mind, but horrific on the senses the day after. Again he recalled another of Oscar Wilde's brilliant quotes in regard to the drink. _"After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world."_ He had a horrible suspicion he would discover the truth of that statement, but forced that thought to the back of his head. Through his befuddled and clouded mind, he recognised the languid feel of his body after a night of satiated sexual release. He mentally thanked the one who had suggested he shag anyone and everyone.

It was then that Draco's nose twitched at the smell. _Perfume_. Not an unpleasant smell, it had a rather earthy aroma, but it was not something he was used to smelling in his bed. He attempted to roll on his back, but was trapped. He surmised that the perfume most likely belonged to the warm body wrapped in his arms. Hazy, careless memories of the night before seeped into the coherent recesses of his mind. He slid his hand up and down the body, soft and supple flesh meeting his touch. He should have been surprised at the touch of a firm and rather large breast, but his memory conveniently chose that moment to replay his drunken fumblings. _A woman_. It had been a very long time since Draco had last slept with a woman. He tried to think back to the last time, but his brain was not co-operating. If only that wretched green fairy would go away, then he might think more coherently.

Indeed, he could not recall waking up with a woman in his bed since he was at school. Daphne Greengrass had been more than just a friend. He cringed as he realised this current encounter was very different. He felt great, but now came the awkward waking up stage. He had no intentions of being with this woman again; indeed, he couldn't even remember her name. _Oh Merlin! She had better not start crying. I couldn't cope. If she's expecting flowers and chocolates and sweet nothings in her ear, then she's in for a shock. She'll probably break down and cry. Now I know why women make me cringe._ He tried to roll away. Sure, he was sexually sated, but his body craved a different feel, and this warm and soft body in his arms was in no way equipped to help satisfy him in that way. He hadn't realised he had let out a sigh until he felt her stirring in his arms.

The woman moved and rolled into his embrace, and nuzzled against his chest. He was yet to open his eyes, prolonging the inevitable. He felt her arms and legs wrap around him as she woke and brought him into an even closer embrace. A gentle kiss on the mouth stirred him, and distinct memories of the night before returned. He smiled, but wasn't looking forward to the upcoming scene.

"Why Draco Malfoy... If I didn't know any better, I'd say you enjoyed yourself last night. After all these years, who would have thought I would finally have the pleasure... of having you." He felt a well manicured nail trace its way down his chest, nestling comfortably around his member.

Alarm bells went off in the back of his mind, and the green fairy ran screaming out of his head. _That voice._ He'd heard it before. Where? Certainly the night before, but now, without the filter of alcohol, it was a cause for major panic. Opening his eyes, he had difficulty focussing as the bright sunlight poured in through the open curtains and splashed across the bedclothes, clearly identifying the woman in his arms. In the cold and harsh light of day, Draco took a good long look at the woman he had bedded the night before. Dark hair, brown eyes, voluptuous figure, knowing smirk... He doubled back as he focussed on the hair. It was indeed dark, but now he could see the rich red lustre as it fanned out in stark contrast against the pure white cushions.

Draco sat up suddenly in complete shock as he recognised that particular shade of red hair. It was indeed his worst nightmare. "Qu'est ce que tu fous dans mon lit? _(What the fuck are **you** doing in my bed?)_ Weasley?" he added the last question in the hope he was horribly mistaken. Surely there were other red haired witches in the world? But that hair, and those eyes - it was too much of a coincidence.

"Why Draco, I'd thought you were pleased to see me last night. At least... little Draco was pleased..." her hand went to stroke him, but he swatted her away like a fly as he tried to get away. He succeeded in leaping out of bed, completely naked and giving Ginevra Weasley a display of his body in the full light of day. His head rebelled at the sudden movement, and he stood, not caring about his nakedness. The look of shock and revulsion on his face was evident as he quickly realised his lack of coverings, and he began dressing, fumbling to get his trousers on and buttoned.

"Merde!" he cried to himself more than anyone else. "What the hell was I thinking? _Weasley_?" he asked again just to be sure. Was it too much to ask that he was in the middle of a nightmare?

"Yes Draco, it's little Ginny Weasley. Remember? Of course you do. Surely you couldn't forget that little scene in the Quidditch locker rooms after your last game in your final year?"

Draco had tried long and hard to forget that particular incident. Unfortunately, seeing how the confident yet persistent teenager had transformed into the man-hungry woman before him had brought the memory crashing back to earth. "You might have rejected me then Malfoy, but I promised I would have you – one way or another. I know I had to wait, but I couldn't believe my luck..." By this time Ginny had casually made her way out of bed and had started to dress. "You were always so aloof, so smooth; so... well, so Slytherin. You know every girl in the school wanted you. I must admit you presented me with a challenge. Who would have guessed it only took a few glasses of Absinthe, and well... here we are."

"Happy now you've completed your set of notches on the bedpost Weasel?" it had been all too easy to use the childish name. Why did his cool façade and calculated wit abandon him at this moment?. "Because, as lovely as it has been reminiscing, I sure as hell can't think of any reason why you're still here."

"Oh Draco, Draco... always in a hurry one way or another." She smirked at the memory of their rather hurried liaison the night before. She casually cast a charm to freshen her rumpled robes, and tidy her hair as she looked refreshed and awake. She wandered around, perusing the décor of the studio, her interest piqued by the prints on the walls. "Like I was saying, I couldn't believe my luck. Here I was, alone and bored whilst working hard in Paris, when who should I find drinking himself into oblivion but the almighty Draco Malfoy." Draco stood there dumbstruck. He was still in a haze of hangover, not quite knowing what to say or do. His mind was totally appalled at the thought he had slept – willingly - with Ginny Weasley. He shook his head again as he tried to fathom the information.

"Well congratulations Weasley. I'm sure that's points for Gryffindor for your dogged tenacity. Once you Gryffindors get something in your head, you have to obsess over it forever, don't you? So I guess you'll be on your way then?" He indicated the door as he pretended she wasn't there. He sat back on the bed, trying desperately not to show the depth of his hangover. The effort of standing was all too much as he avoided collapsing by sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. He looked up to find her standing right before him, way too close for his liking and invading his personal space. He had his wand pointed at her throat before she could attempt any form of touch. His natural reflexes were still good, despite the lethargy coursing through his system, and the wand had appeared from under his pillow in a flash.

"Tsk, Draco. Is that any way to treat a lady?" she pouted like a little girl.

"Who says you're a lady?" _What was she playing at?_

She shrugged her shoulders. "Ah well, it's been nice, Malfoy. Pity though. I had been hoping for ... more. Your reputation preceded you. I guess Daphne had been mistaken. Her standards were obviously much lower than I realised."

"Daphne was ten times the woman you'll ever hope to be Weasley."

Ginny smirked and nodded. "Perhaps. But maybe you're just out of practice Draco. To think, I had to witness and experience the famous Slytherin lover on a drunken binge. I've had better from half of Hufflepuff. No wonder you were drowning your sorrows." Her stinging rebuke at his sexual prowess didn't hurt as she'd expected.

Draco's cool demeanour finally surfaced, and he smirked. "Yeah, well it's experiences like this that remind me why I prefer _men_. I'm pretty sure this experience has scarred me for life Weasley. If I hadn't completely sworn off women before, I sure as hell have now." She raised an eyebrow at him, obviously unaware that he was bisexual.

"Well then, there's something you don't see every day. I'll have to tell my brother Charlie then, you two could meet up... I'm sure he'd be better equipped to handle your _special_ needs."

He couldn't believe her! As if he'd even be remotely interested in actually consenting to sleep with one of her brothers! Could it be any worse. He was still trying to fathom what he had done the night before. Now she was making him angry "Ne tente pas le diable, Weasley! _(Don't push your luck Weasley)._ Sors de là! _(Get out)._ NOW!" In his anger he reverted to French, but the red haired witch knew exactly what he was saying.

Ginny thought long and hard about provoking him again. "See you round, Malfoy!" She blew a kiss as she Apparated away. A cloud of sparkling light struck his face with the air blown kiss. Draco shook his head. Either he was still trapped in what he hoped was a nightmare, or he had just lived the nightmare.

--oo0oo--

The long hot shower was well and truly needed. He didn't care that the hangover was getting worse. He stood there for ages, just letting the water wash away his disgust. He vomited; several times. Whether from the alcohol, or his disgust at himself, he didn't know. After watching everything he had ever eaten come back, his mind cleared enough to realise that the bitch had hexed him. He eventually recognised the cloud of sparkling light as an uncommon sobering charm. One that made you sober more quickly than Sobrietus, but one that metabolised and enhanced the horrid side effects of the hangover tenfold.

Draco stayed in the shower for a long time. He couldn't face the fact that in his first attempts to get over Antonio, he had gone to such extremes. He had never had any qualms about sleeping with a woman before, but seeing how he had been manipulated and tricked into bedding her, he felt violated. He retched again, disgusted at himself more than anything. He vowed to never let that happen again. He no longer felt any gratification from the encounter.

The air in the studio was stifling. He could still smell her gaudy perfume throughout. He cast a rather overzealous air freshening charm, but the smell had burned its way into his nose, and he knew it would be a while before he could forget the taint of it. He didn't even bother to look as he _Incendioed_ the bed linen once again. It could become an expensive habit; destroying the sheets after every sexual indiscretion. Even the coffee had been tainted by her stench, and he threw the dregs into the fireplace.

Stumbling around the room, he was at a loss. There was no way he could stay there - not today. His eye fell on the title deed to his chateau. His own chateau. Did he really have to wait until later in the week to visit? He picked up the deed – memories of carefree childhood holidays flashing through his mind. He recalled the fresh, clean air from the mountain retreat. The memory imbued him with a renewed sense of vigour. He knew what he had to do.

His bag was packed and he had Disapparated long before the remaining coffee in the pot had gone cold. In his haste, he forgot to tell Emmaline he was going, and Petit Ami would need feeding. This thought struck him as he Apparated behind the café in the city of Avignon. He nearly splinched himself in his haste to leave, and combined with his delicate head, he had no further plans to Apparate again that day.

It was still very early; only seven o'clock. The storekeepers in the city were slowly opening their stalls and awakening for business. It had been a good eight or nine years since Draco had visited the wonder that was the Province of Provence. The Luberon region in the south of this French province was one of Wizarding France's hidden treasures. The dozens of small villages hid some of the countries best and finest wizard craftsmen; with the best of the region's wines coming from wizard owned holdings. The Luberon region in the south of Provence was a spectacular series of mountains, with breathtaking views across the plains of Vaucluse, back to the Rhône River and the city of Avignon.

Draco could not have Apparated directly to the chateau even if he had wanted to. He would need to portkey to the nearest town, which was the local centre called Apt. From there, it would be a long walk to the village of Roussillon, and the chateau. Besides the Malfoy wards that no doubt surrounded the estate; the entire Luberon region was surrounded by anti-Apparition wards. The Muggles thought the entire area was some sort of National Park. The monies exchanged for entrance to the area helped the French Ministry to keep track of any Muggles in the area, and to help maintain the notice-me-not charms around much of the region's wizarding activity.

He needed to organise a permanent Portkey to get to the chateau, but that was costly, and he could do that later. For now, Avignon was the only centre that sold pre arranged single trip Portkeys. Had Draco given himself more time, he could have arranged a Portkey directly to the village, but he already felt better for having left his stifling studio. The weather was crisp, but clear. There had recently been a heavy snowfall, but there was unlikely to be more in the coming days. His knee twinged in protest at the thought of the long walk ahead of him. It was times like this that Draco wished he could still fly.

--oo0oo--

The fact he could not fly very well was a direct result of his injured knee. He would still be able to sit astride a broom and take off in an emergency, but he flew like a beginner, without the finesse and ease he was accustomed to. He was flat out maintaining balance, let alone attempting any one of the more complex seeker manoeuvres that he had mastered during his Quidditch training. That one joy was something else taken away from him because of the war. Something else to curse Harry Potter for. He had been denied that one simple pleasure. His one outlet for stress release had been taken away. Left with no hobbies, nothing he excelled at, Draco had turned to his books and his potions; the one other area he knew he could at least hold his own.

--oo0oo--

He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the clouds, no use dwelling on things he could not change. He laughed cynically as he realised that the previous night's activities could now be added to his ever growing list of experiences he could not change.

He downed this bitter pill with the wretchedly disgusting cup of coffee he bought as he waited for the portkey centre to open. He could hardly believe what had led him to be sitting in this dingy café, drinking second rate coffee in the middle of Avignon. He could not believe he could have been so stupid. One minute he was all ready to move on from Antonio – to get back up and face the world. The next minute, he was sleeping with the last person he ever imagined. How could he have let Ginny get past his defences? How could he have been so vulnerable? He usually prided himself on his ability to sit back and control a situation.

He had to be firm. He would not let himself dwell on the horrid scenario. An all consuming rage was likely to overwhelm him if he let it, and he didn't think the Weasley girl was worth the effort. To be honest, he was more angry at himself for falling into her seductive trap. Malfoy's didn't do that. He traced his weakness back to the Absinthe. How could he have been so stupid? Hadn't Severus already warned him once or twice about the stuff? He had only ever drunk his own brew before. He swore that he would never consume strange Absinthe again. As an afterthought, he also swore to never drink such horrid coffee again either. Still, the brioche that accompanied the coffee made up for the vile tasting brew.

He promised himself that he wouldn't dwell on it, but he needed to process just what had happened the night before. He thought long and hard about the woman who had just turned his life on its ear. He distinctly remembered her effort to seduce him after a Quidditch match all those years before. He would admit that she had grown into a beautiful woman, but he had difficulty comparing the somewhat annoyingly innocent teenager with the worldly and assured woman who had managed to seduce him. Meeting anyone from his past usually put Draco on edge – why else would he be trying to make a new life for himself in France? The Weasley girl was the last person he would have expected to find prowling the clubs of Paris. He thought she would have been busy making babies with Saint Potter. After all, it had been obvious to the entire school that she had lusted after him for years. Surely he was gullible enough to have fallen for her feminine wiles.

The Portkey seller was now opened, and Draco took a deep breath. Last night's episode would be best forgotten, and he wasn't going to think of anything bad again; at least, not now. He was looking forward to revisiting his childhood holiday home, and all the wonderful memories it entailed, and the anticipation buoyed him up. A scant half hour later, Draco found himself standing directly in the village of Roussillon. Draco had managed to haggle with the portkey seller after realising that he could purchase one that would take him directly to Roussillon. It had cost more than Draco had anticipated, but it was well worth it to be back in his old 'home'.

Nestled high in the hills, the colourful village was as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembered. The area had many rich ochre deposits, and the houses that lined the winding streets reflected the contrasting palette of colour that came from the earth. Wizards with a penchant for Earth magic had extracted ochres of dozens of hues, and the houses were painted in all colours of the spectrum. Draco had loved the haphazard splotches of colour the village presented to the world. As a child it had seemed like a giant colouring book – brightly painted walls contrasted with the shuttered windows and doors. In the summer months, even more colour could be found in the window boxes, which were currently bare. He was not surprised that hundreds of artists would flock to the village each year to capture the village's picturesque uniqueness.

The air was crisp and clean as Draco walked up the winding narrow streets on his way toward the chateau. The Malfoy chateau was situated at the highest point of the village. The snow was beginning to melt on the sides of the road, but the roofs of the village were still covered in the white substance – a stark contrast to the brightly painted buildings. In his reverie, Draco almost forgot the ache in his knee as he made the steep climb to the black gates he remembered so well.

A few villagers had spotted him as he made his way up the narrow and steep street. A couple of them recognised the hair, and waved in greeting. Even though it had been a decade, and he had been a child, the tiny village would not forget. He had only fond memories of the locals he had encountered as a child, and their honest greetings warmed him.

He stood, just watching the gates to the chateau. They were still as he remembered. Lost in reverie, he failed to notice the young wizard who bumped into him as he bolted out the nearest door. "er... Excusez-moi!" He smiled warmly. Draco looked up to respond, but the other man was already gone, a flurry of hair and robes heading off in the other direction.

The gates to the chateau were bold black iron; in stark contrast to the rest of the colourful village. He paused at the gates, sensing the magical wards tingling as he attempted to open them. Draco's blood recognised the wards, and he immediately cast a spell to temporarily spread them aside. Draco could recognise the ancient Malfoy wards, and erected them again once he entered the chateau's grounds. He felt a sweeping sense of nostalgia as the place remained unchanged from what he remembered. He could feel his mother's magical signature in the cleansing and stasis charms that encircled the two bedroom chateau and the surrounding gardens. Despite being empty for nearly eight years, the gardens had not needed tending, and the house had remained in the exact state Narcissa left it when they last departed.

He felt a reluctance to enter as he let this lasting memory of his mother wash over him. He could just stand on the step all day; looking out at the mountains behind him, and the vineyards on the plains of Vaucluse on the other side. The view was still breathtaking, and he breathed in the heady scent of the gardens. This was all his. The ministry could never take this away from him, and for once he thanked his father's foresight in putting his name on the title deed. He reluctantly broke the wards and charms on the front door as he entered the foyer of the chateau. It was exactly as he remembered. He was startled as the fireplace sprung to life upon entry. For the first time in a very long time; Draco felt a sense of normalcy return to his life.

For the first time in a very long time, he was indeed home.

It took the Draco the better part of two days to wander through his memories as he reclaimed his new home. At least, he had wanted it to be his new home. The reality had been a little less romantic. There were indeed taxes to pay on the property, and there was no way that as a student he could afford to do that on his own. He doubted the Trustees would help him either. He fire called Emmaline after he was settled, and had her send his owl along with the papers he had received from the Trustees. He would take his time and examine the full extent of his holdings.

Emmaline had been disappointed that he had left abruptly, but sensed that he had needed the space and time to heal his still wounded heart. He hoped she had not heard his confrontation with Ginny. He need not worry about the cat, for Emmaline promised to take good care of the wandering feline. Melchett had arrived with the papers late that evening, and Draco had begun the task of thoroughly examining his new acquisition.

He had been delighted to discover that not only did he own the chateau outright, but the title deed also referred to a small vineyard. Draco had always liked the idea of owning his own vineyard, and now that had become reality. The vineyard itself was managed by a small community based group run by the local cellar master. It felt rather special to realise he produced an extremely respectable Rosé – one that was counted among the great Provençal wines.

Despite this, there was no way that he could afford to live in the chateau whilst he continued to study. He surmised that the Trustees wanted him to sell the property and live off the proceeds, thus washing their hands of another Malfoy asset. He barely trusted the Malfoy Estate Trustees, but he had no intention of letting this piece of his past slip through his fingers.

Over the next few days Draco began to reacquaint himself with his chateau, and with the sleepy village. He took a few short walks, lest his knee give in on him. A couple of days after arriving, he wondered why the shops were closed, when he realised the date. It was not uncommon for some wizarding communities to celebrate both Yule and Christmas. The pureblood families stuck to the ancient traditions, with the Christian traditions becoming more common with the increase in Muggleborn wizards.

Draco held no firm opinion of Christmas. People could celebrate whatever they wanted, just as long as they didn't try to judge him for his own beliefs. He had discovered a form of reverse prejudice during the war. His father had spouted anti Muggle propaganda at him all his life, but it had come as a shock when he was confronted with anti pureblood propaganda. That was about the time when he realised that not everyone in the world would share the same opinions.

The locals were more open to the ideals of the Muggles – having to regularly entertain them alongside the wizard community - so the Yule celebration extended to include the Christian celebration. With none of the stores open, Draco took the opportunity to do some browsing and window shopping. Looking through the open glass window of one of the shops in the town square, he grinned widely as he figured out a way to keep his chateau. He would rent it out!

Later that evening, he calculated that he could even make money from renting out the chateau for the better part of the year. He could still live in the studio during the semester, and head to the chateau during the summer. If the place was rented during the rest of the year, he could make quite a few galleons per year, and still manage to keep most of them after taxes. Draco didn't know why his father had never thought of that in the first place.

It was a much happier Draco Malfoy that fell into the bed of the master suite that night. Part of his future was assured, and he looked forward to the rest of his week in the village. He intended to visit the cellar master the next day. He wanted to see how his own label was made and bottled. He could easily get used to the idea of owning his own winery. It was times like this that Draco felt that things were beginning to make sense, and he could see some happiness in his future.

Despite his good fortune, he was still alone. This didn't sadden him as much as it would have the week before, but he realised he would dearly love to share his joy at his windfall with Flash. He regretted leaving the journal in Paris, but knew he would share his good news upon his return. Besides, he guessed that Flash would be no doubt enjoying his limited time with Ollie.

Draco's good cheer almost made him forget his relationship woes. Still, as sleep overwhelmed him, he imagined sharing all this with someone. Someday.

--oo0oo--

Draco's self confidence had returned with vigour after spending two days in the fresh air and fond memories of his childhood home. The entire village knew that the blond child had returned all grown up. They were thrilled to see that the chateau was once again occupied. Draco made arrangements with the agent to stay until the New Year, after which time he would set up special wards on the property. The agent was confident he could have bookings by the end of the week.

He celebrated his good fortune in his favourite café in the quiet village – Mincka's. The café was run by a Spaniard, Carlos, who claimed to have brought the secret of his fine food with him from Barcelona. His wife, Mincka, would tell Draco otherwise. The traditional and fresh menu had not changed in the past decade, and Draco was grateful for another piece of familiarity.

Draco attempted to start his usual behaviour of watching people, rather than participating, but being such a close knit community, the villagers always tried to engage him in conversation. He rarely got the opportunity to just sit back quietly, and for once, was enjoying the verbal interaction. But the café was quiet this mid morning. He spotted the newcomer as he walked casually into the café and threw his rather heavy backpack onto a seat. He recognised him as the wizard he bumped into upon his arrival in the village.

Draco would have immediately suspected him a Muggle, had it not been for his robe casually thrown over the jeans and mustard coloured turtle neck. A blatantly Muggle sweatshirt with some logo splashed across the front completed the ensemble. The wand sticking out of his trouser pocket was also an obvious indicator of his wizarding credentials.

He watched as the newcomer ran his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture as he consulted a small bound Muggle book. Draco smirked as he realised the dark haired man was trying to order a meal and converse in French. He was no doubt a tourist, but the nasal twang and drawled emphasis on the words left no doubt in his mind that the newcomer was an American. Or a Canadian. He had awful trouble differentiating between the two. Still, he was a tourist, and he smiled as he watched the attractive young man attempt to order coffee and some sort of cake. He seemed distraught at the lack of something called Pecan Pie, but Mincka spoke slowly as she tried to force her delicious honey and almond profiteroles on him. Draco knew he would be a fool to turn her down.

Draco sat back in the dark corner he usually commandeered for his people watching, as he spent the better half of an hour just watching the way the young wizard ate. It was fascinating to watch the fellow's nervous habit with his hands. After downing the coffee and showing appreciation for Mincka's cooking, he rummaged around in his bag before pulling out what looked to be parchment and a small wooden box. As he moved to get a better look, he recognised the Muggle tools of the artist. He had seen enough art students at l'institute to feel uncomfortable when they brought out their tools. So many students had wanted to sketch him, and he felt a familiar sense of dread creep over him. He hated being on display like that, and he doubted he would be sitting for a wizard portrait any time in the near future.

But the dark haired man hadn't noticed him. Draco sat mesmerised as he watched him draw the town square and the mountains beyond. It was rather pleasant to watch him absorbed in his work, oblivious to the fact he was being watched. Looking at the time, Draco sighed as he realised he could no longer indulge in the wonder of watching this fascinating young man. His obvious mix of Muggle and Wizard intrigued him no end.

As he moved to leave, the American looked up and their eyes locked. Draco saw the look of surprise in the face as the hazel eyes smiled back and nodded. Draco returned the smile, but they did not exchange words. He quickly made his goodbyes with Mincka, and headed to the market.

It wasn't a true market day, with many wizards still taking holidays, but Draco just needed some fresh produce for cooking. As much as he loved Mincka's food, he had been itching to cook something in the chateau's kitchen. Perhaps it was the withdrawal symptoms of not having something brewing over a cauldron, but Draco wanted to cook up something; just like Narcissa would when they holidayed here.

The few market sellers who were in attendance had recognised Draco. He didn't think he would be at the markets for long – he was only after a few items, but he forgot the villagers penchant for a good conversation. After a good hour spent explaining once again that he would be renting out the chateau, and their incessant enquiries about his family, Draco finally had the produce he came for. Fresh tomatoes, firm plump eggplants, fresh eggs, chicken and local olive oil all filled his basket to overflowing.

He walked slowly back to the gates of the chateau, basking in the unseasonal warmth of the cloudless day. He had made a good decision coming here. His mind wandering as he gazed at the colourful houses. It was a total surprise when he was bowled over by a body as it left one of the doorways and headed out into the street. He became tangled in arms and limbs, with tomatoes and eggplants flying in every direction. A quick wand wave from the bowler stopped them in midair before they became colourful blotches on the sidewalk.

"Goddam! Look, I'm so sorry there! Shit!" It was the American tourist. He helped Draco up, and started flicking through the small French phrasebook, hoping to apologise in French. "Je suis désolé... er... hang on..."

Draco laughed at the dark haired man. "No, it's okay. No harm done. Thanks for looking out for my shopping."

The American was stunned, but let out a great sigh of relief. "Oh thank goodness! Finally, someone who speaks English! I was beginning to think I would have to memorise this book before I could leave the apartment again!" The fellow was flustered, and began running his hands through his hair as he helped put the floating vegetables back into Draco's basket.

In his eagerness to please, the American dropped his own phrasebook, then his wand. Draco smiled at the sweet innocence of the guy, who talked incessantly. Draco barely heard him. He had watched him that morning, but only now did something about the young man strike him as familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it wasn't something sinister, of that he was certain.

Draco casually bent to pick up the other wizard's wand. "Allow me." Draco gracefully reached down and picked up the small book. He quickly flicked through it before giving it back, realising it was indeed a Muggle publication.

Handing the wand back to him, their hands brushed. He gasped visibly at the contact and Draco's eyes widened at the electrifying touch. "You know, you should really think about a Translation Charm. So much easier than using that." Draco pointed to the phrase book as he regained his composure.

The American blushed. "Thanks for the tip. I'll keep that in mind." Draco turned to leave. "I'll see you around. Have a great day!"

Draco nodded and waved as they made their goodbyes. "Adieu."

The smile on Draco's face could not be removed all the way back to the chateau. It had been a pleasant encounter, and the familiarity of the American had been unexpected. He knew, looking into those eyes, that the young man found him attractive, and he admitted his own attraction to the young man. He certainly hadn't expected that to happen, but he was willing to let nature take its course. He had no plans to rush into anything romantic, not now, not ever again. At least that's what the rational and angelic part of his mind was thinking.

The little devil sitting on his other shoulder was reminding Draco just how wonderful the other wizard looked in such a tight pair of jeans; and just how cute that mouth looked when he smiled. It also didn't fail to remind him how easy it would be to get lost in those hazel eyes. Draco shook his head, the little devil flung away. He would not think about that now.

--oo0oo--

Draco had met with Allen, the lessee of the winery. He had arranged to take a tour of his vineyard, and spend a few hours touring the plant, watching the process in full swing. Wizards used a number of charms and spells to enhance the harvesting, fermenting and bottling process, but it was still fairly labour intensive and very close to the Muggle methods of making wine. The spells on the vines to protect from inclement weather meant that the grapes could be harvested all year round. Draco was in luck, as he could help with the picking and crushing and bottling that would be taking place that very day.

It had been an eye opening morning for Draco. He didn't think twice about getting his hands dirty, and had thoroughly enjoyed himself. Being able to taste the fruit of his labours had been an added incentive, and he had been more than pleasantly surprised by the high quality of the final product. He had been extremely pleased to see that he recognised the wine's label from some of his own dining. It was a highly acclaimed drop.

After corking the bottles, Draco was down in the cellar, stacking them away to rest. He heard a familiar drawl coming from the storefront above; the stammering between broken French and the frantic rustling of pages as the American tried to explain what he was after to the cellar master. He had reached to top of the stairs and was once again watching the young American. It was amusing to watch the tourist's discomfort, but he had been caught out.

"Oh, it's you! Thank goodness. I've been here for ten minutes trying to explain to this... this... arrogant twerp just what I want to buy. I was wondering if you could help me translate?" the American smiled in relief at the sight of Draco. "You know, I sometimes wonder about these French. I've been told they can understand English all too well. I'm sure he understands me, but I think he's just being difficult." He eyed the Frenchman with suspicion.

"What were you looking for?" Draco smiled and was willing to help the young man. He explained the type of wine he was looking for; indeed, he was looking for a Rosé, which was what Draco had been bottling all day. He translated in fluent French, and Allen reluctantly went to get what he was looking for.

"I don't know how to thank you! I'm going to be a wreck. My friends told me to immerse myself in the culture, and I'd pick up the language easily. It's a lot harder than I thought." He admitted sheepishly. "Oh, how rude. I've met you three times, and I haven't yet introduced myself. The name's Devon. Devon Prescott."

Draco took the proffered hand and smiled at the hazel eyed beauty. "Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Pleasure." They held hands just a moment longer than necessary, but neither really wanted to be first to break the contact. Eventually their hands reluctantly parted. Draco felt the little angel and devil settling on each shoulder, as he knew he wanted to keep talking to this intriguing young man.

Draco was curious. "I thought you were going to use a Translation Charm?" He was surprised that Devon hadn't already tried his earlier suggestion.

Devon looked at him sheepishly, and blushed – his hand running through his hair before pushing it deep into the pocket of his jeans. "Well... um... It's kind of embarrassing..."

Draco understood. "You don't know how to do one, do you?" he smiled helpfully at the young man. He shook his head. Perhaps he was younger than he originally thought.

"Is it difficult?" Embarrassed at his lack of spell knowledge, he looked at Draco hopefully.

"Not at all." Draco gave him an impromptu lesson in casting the charm, and found that Devon was actually a quick study. He took the opportunity to touch Devon as he enclosed his hand over the other wizard's to demonstrate the correct wrist movement for the wand, to activate the charm.

"Gee, thanks Draco. I can call you Draco?" the blond nodded.

"You'll have to renew the charm every day, and just change the incantation depending on which language you are attempting to understand."

The cellar master returned, and Devon paid for his purchases. Draco had been intrigued by the young wizard. Three times he had bumped into him now, and was totally surprised at his naïveté, yet something about him mesmerised Draco. He still couldn't place what was so familiar about Devon, but he intended to find out before too long. Having finished his own work, he bid farewell to Allen, and left the store with the American.

"Can you believe those prices! Two Galleons a bottle! I just wonder who the owners think they are, charging such ridiculous prices just for a bottle of wine. Back home, you'd get something at least this good for around 5 sickles." He looked at Draco. "What about you? What's the going price for a good bottle of Rosé where you come from?"

"Oh, about Two Galleons." He smirked at Devon, who looked utterly confused.

"They pay that much in Britain? Wow. I didn't think the prices were so inflated here in Europe." Devon paused for a moment. "Er, you are from Britain, aren't you? It's just... your accent..."

"Oh, I don't live in London. I'm actually from Paris these days. I just grew up over there, hence the accent." Draco offered in way of explanation.

"Really! No wonder your French is so fluent. So, what brings you to this beautiful part of the world if you live in Paris?"

"Oh, just thought I'd check out how my investment in a little vineyard is doing... perhaps cork a bottle or two of the family label..." the look of shock on Devon's face made Draco smile, "And embarrass the passing tourists."

"Oh Shit. Aren't I a prize idiot then? Open mouth and insert foot! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you when I spoke about the price of the wine. I'm always doing that. Sorry." He looked unsure and disappointed at the realisation he had possibly upset this guy he had just met. It was plainly obvious that Devon had also found Draco intriguing, if the heart on his sleeve was anything to go by.

Draco laughed. "No harm done. I won't take offence. I'm inclined to agree with you - the price is rather inflated, but with so few bottles a year, you get what you pay for. You could get a half decent Rosé for a quarter of that price, but you just walked into one of the most exclusive cellars in the entire country."

Devon hung his head in embarrassment. "See, this is exactly the sort of thing I need to learn. I'm so glad I've come on this trip now." He stopped and hesitated, unsure if he should continue. After an internal struggle, he turned to talk to Draco again. "Look, I know we've only just met, but I'd like to say thanks for helping me with the Translation Charm... and to apologise for putting my foot in my mouth. C-can I buy you a drink?" he looked hopelessly forlorn and Draco could tell that he would be bitterly disappointed if he said no.

Draco found Devon's innocence rather endearing, "Sure, but how about a coffee. It's still too early in the day for a drink, and after spending all morning with that wine, I'm kind of a bit sick of the sight of alcohol."

The pair made their way to Mincka's. It was a very refreshing and light hearted chat with Devon. It turned out that he was from Boston, and was in France for his holiday, hoping to sketch some of the great countryside like the famous French artists.

"So you like to draw? I saw you this morning as you sketched."

Devon nodded. "I study Art at Boston University."

"I didn't know there was a Wizarding University in Boston." Draco frowned in puzzlement.

"There isn't. I go to a Muggle University."

Draco was honestly surprised. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Mum's a Muggle, and father was a pureblood wizard. When he was killed – he went over to England to help during the war – when he died, she pulled me out of school, and I finished up in a Muggle school."

"You never finished your NEWTs?" Draco asked incredulously. Devon shook his head.

"Didn't see a point really. It's great being a wizard and all, but I'm so immersed in the Muggle world, it's hard sometimes. I'm not bothered. Although," he admitted sheepishly, "I could have done with that Translation charm a few days ago."

Draco had become fascinated with Devon. He could not fathom the concept of a wizard who voluntarily lived like a Muggle. Conversely, Devon had difficulty with the fact that Draco knew little more about Muggles beyond the fact that they existed, and that they lived without magic.

It had been a wonderful afternoon, and Draco found Devon's company extremely satisfying. The younger man's innocence, teamed with his boyish charm and good looks kept Draco's attention the whole time. For a good while, he had completely forgotten about what drove him to come to Roussillon in the first place. He was now reluctant to let the other wizard go. It had been too long since he had talked so freely, and offered his opinions so honestly to anyone.

"You know Draco, this has been great! I haven't laughed that hard in ages." At least that was the truth. "I don't want to monopolise your time, but... would you care to have dinner? With me of course?" The American's easy slip of the tongue was rather infectious.

"That would be wonderful." Draco tried not to sound too excited at the prospect, but Devon was already bouncing excitedly at the prospect. He suggested the since Draco was the local, he should perhaps choose an appropriate restaurant.

--oo0oo--

For Draco it had been a wonderful dinner, although he barely remembered what he ate. Devon's company was truly refreshing. The American lived life to the full, and wanted to experience so much that Draco found himself somewhat overwhelmed. Draco was quite happy to sit back and let the other wizard talk; after all, he doubted that anything could stop the enthusiastic wizard when you got him started.

Besides studying Art, Devon spoke of his joy for all things physical – flying, hiking and especially Quidditch. That was one thing he sorely missed about being away from the Wizarding world. Part of the reason for his trip to France was to take in the magnificence of the countryside as he sketched some of the great landscapes. The fact that the Quidditch World Cup was soon going to be held in Paris had also helped him decide his travel destination.

"So you're saying that pretty much all this" he waved his hands at the empty plates, "is considered traditional fare? But it's so simple. I mean, it's just mostly vegetables prepared with some cheese sauce, and some well casseroled chicken."

Draco laughed at the explanation of their meal. "What did you think we ate over here?"

"Well, there's soufflés, and croissants and chocolate éclairs..." Draco laughed even harder at that image. "What? You're laughing at me now, and I don't think it's funny." Despite this, the infectious grin was plastered all over his face.

"Trust me Devon, those things are a part of French cuisine, but we still have to eat our fruit and vegetables, no matter how enticing the sweets are."

The night had been an innocent and refreshingly different change of pace for Draco, but it was over all too soon. Devon's rented room was on the way back to the chateau, so they walked together. He hadn't been expecting it, and was thoroughly surprised when Devon kissed him, lightly at first on the lips, but seeing no resistance, he offered it more firmly, and Draco found himself responding to it. It was over in just a few seconds. Not only had it come as a surprise to Draco, after all, it was such an innocent kiss, but it was full of so much promise. Devon grinned as he said goodbye, obviously feeling on top of the world.

He had enjoyed Devon's company, and had sensed some attraction – after all, they had practically spent the whole day together. He found it so easy to be in the younger wizard's company. His quaint charm and quirky habits reminding him so much of someone – of something that he couldn't quite place. Perhaps it had been in his dreams. His dreams that night were definitely still trying to tell him something. When he awoke it was once again gone.

The two wizards had not made any firm plans to meet again, but Draco knew that Devon would be around for a while, and with a village that small, he would not be hard to find. Indeed, it was not coincidence a couple of days later that Draco just happened to be having breakfast at Mincka's when Devon walked in. He feigned surprise as Devon came over and pulled up a seat at the same table.

"Hi Draco."

"Bonjour." Draco grinned. "What's in the basket?"

"Oh, well, you know, just a few basic supplies. I asked Mincka to pack me some stuff to tide me over whilst I go hiking, but I think she misunderstood. There's enough food here to feed an entire gang of trolls. I need your assistance!"

"What? You think I'm a troll?" Devon thought he was being serious for a moment, but laughed as he saw Draco smirk.

"You like messing with my head, don't you? Hey, I thought since you're on holidays too, and if you haven't already got plans that is, that you'd perhaps like to join me and we can go hiking and then possibly we could have this nice picnic lunch and enjoy the view." Devon was obviously nervous, Draco noticed. He spoke so fast, and was fidgeting the whole time. There was definitely something intriguing about the other wizard. He was certainly very attractive, but not in the same way as Antonio had been. _Merlin! I'm comparing him to Antonio now._ It was at that moment he realised that he could get used to having Devon around. There was no doubting the fact that Devon was attracted to Draco – it was written all over his face.

"Sure thing Devon, I'd love to go on a picnic with you, but there's just one problem. I can't really hike too far." He indicated his injured knee, and Devon once again smacked his head at his own stupidity.

"I knew I'd make a hash of this!" Berating himself as he cradled his head in his hands. "Gods. Can I do anything else so stupid? Of course I knew you had a limp. What an idiot."

Draco pulled the American's head out of his hands. "Hey, I only said I don't do hiking. I never said anything about not coming on a picnic. You tell me the place, and the time, and I'll Apparate there in a jiffy."

"But I thought there were anti Apparition wards around..."

Draco shook his head. "Only to Apparate in or out. There's nothing to stop us from doing what we please once we're in the village."

The grin on Devon's face lit up the whole room.

--oo0oo--

It had been an extremely pleasant afternoon. Devon had chosen a spot under a large tree, but with the weather just unseasonably sunny, they chose to sit just beyond the branches. There was the ruins of some wall a few feet away, a crumbling ivy choked arch and half wall all that remained of a once fine and grand estate.

The warmth and the wine, along with the good food (Devon had been right, there _was_ enough food to feed an entire tribe of trolls in the basket), had made Draco sleepy. They spoke of inconsequential things; not important in the grand scheme of it all, but essential during those first tentative stages of any relationship.

_Is this what it is? A relationship?_ Draco wondered as he dozed off, totally relaxed. He was a little reluctant about that step. _After all, wasn't this sort of thing that got me into the mess that lead me here in the first place? Hmmm. Perhaps it was why I was lead here – to meet Devon. He's so young! I mean, I remember being a lot older than that when I was twenty._ It played on his mind most of the afternoon, but Devon was so easy to like, he couldn't find any reason to not want to be with the idealistic young man.

A long while after the last glass of wine had been consumed, Draco had fallen asleep up against the tree. Devon had been sketching the view. With the end of the snowfalls, the vista was breathtaking. The vivid greens of the plains of Vaucluse below, and the rugged reds of the ochre cliffs topped off by the snowy peaks was the delight of many young artists. Devon was truly gifted as an artist.

He woke from his doze with his sixth senses blazing. He was being watched. Too long as a spy and too long watching behind his back told him when others had the audacity to gaze at him. Creeping his hand slowly to the pocket of his robe to grasp his wand, he looked out slowly beneath his lashes. Devon was watching him. Watching and smiling in that inane, yet cute manner of his. Draco opened his eyes, but Devon quickly sat back, and began sketching again, embarrassed that he was caught.

"Surely there are more interesting things to gaze at Devon."

"Well, I kinda got bored of the view over there. I found it much more fascinating in this direction." He paused over his drawing. Tearing off the page, he handed it to Draco. "I... I hope you don't mind."

Draco took the proffered sketch, and was totally blown away by the sketch of him sleeping. He had managed to capture Draco perfectly. "It's... well... wow!" It really was spectacular, and for once, Draco was speechless. Devon bent over Draco touching the edge of the parchment, pointing out the flaws in his sketch.

"You see right here, the crook of your neck? I don't think I quite got it right. And your hands. You have such wonderful hands. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were the hands of an artist as well."

"Devon. It's just wonderful. Thank you." He turned to look at the American, and was startled by a kiss. The kiss that had been promised from a few night's before. It was hot and firm, and Devon's tongue was tentative, but soon found its confidence. A warm hand snaked its way behind Draco's back, and he soon found his own hands snaking into the robes, and under Devon's shirt. The body was firm and Draco sensed his ticklishness at the cold hands invading his space, but they didn't separate.

The picnic basket and wine glasses remained forgotten, and surprisingly, Devon's sketches and charcoals were scattered across the picnic rug as they clung to each other, searching out and feeling their desires through the contact. Devon's kisses were insistent, eager. Draco slowed him down by not giving in too easily, but by returning the kisses even more intensely. Time held little meaning to the pair as they sat locked in their embrace, neither man wanting or caring for anything beyond the here and now.

The wind had picked up, and a sudden squall of biting rain had begun to fall before either noticed the outside world, and broke their hold.

"I didn't notice the weather went bad." Devon looked up, blinking the rain out of his face, but then realised his sketches were scattered about getting wet. "Oh no!" He fumbled to get up, and in the process of trying to stay dry as he collected his sketches, Devon managed to get even more wet. Draco watched him, charmed again by the innocence of his manner. He had waved his wand, and the picnic remains found their way back into the basket.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Draco drawled as he waved the wand, instantly bringing the now dry sketches into the American's outstretched hands. Realising in his panic that he could have magicked the sketches instead of running around, Devon just rolled his eyes and laughed at himself. "You're all wet Devon." He held out his hand. "I don't think this is over yet."

He Apparated them back to the chateau, the fire blazing in the hearth against the unseasonal storm. "Come on. Let's get you out of those wet robes." Draco moved to help Devon from the soaking folds of fabric, but the younger wizard just laughed.

"Why Draco, I thought we had magic for that. Can't I just charm the water away?" The cheeky grin was infectious, but Draco soon had the wizard out of the robes, before casting the drying charm on the remaining jeans and shirt.

"It's all about economy of effort Devon." He drawled back. "Why waste the effort on drying the robes too." He gestured to Devon to sit before the fire, as he poured the pair of them a brandy.

The memory of their passionate snog was not forgotten, but the momentum was gone, and they sat and talked companionably, picking up their conversations from before. Draco barely listened, mesmerised by the hazel eyes as he animatedly spoke of things – he guessed it must have been Quidditch – if his hand movements were any indication of the conversation. _What is this? Where are we headed? Do I really want this? Hell yes. It's like we were pushed together... it's too coincidental for it not to be. Am I ready for this? Is it too soon? _His introspection was turning him upside down, but he soon forgot as a pair of eager and helpful hands had now wrapped around his neck, and continued where they had left off. This time, the hands were keen to pursue other things, and they were soon reaching out to each other through their touch.

The kiss became something more. So much more. Draco didn't know who started it, but before long they both found themselves naked, and they had somehow managed to make their way to the bed, where neither man had the time for whispering sweet nothings. Their lovemaking had a sense of urgency about it, like there was no tomorrow. Devon responded to Draco in the most erotic way possible, and it had been so brief; so intense that it hurt. Hurt in the emotional sense. The sight of Devon lying there utterly debauched from his own touch was one that would stay with him forever. There was no doubt that the younger wizard felt the same way.

Devon hugged Draco in close, not wanting to separate; not wanting the moment to end. "I love you Draco."

That's all it took. Those dreaded three words and it all fell to pieces around him. He wasn't expecting them. He couldn't say them back to Devon – not say them and mean them. Devon fell asleep, not knowing if Draco heard, or whether he had replied. Draco held him tightly, for he knew that with those words it would be soon gone. Sleep eluded him at first, but he sensed that things between them wouldn't be the same, and that horrid sense of unease struck again, and he tried all within his power to shoo it away. He was blessedly relieved when sleep finally came. Unfortunately, the dreams returned.

_For once, the dream was different. He managed to catch the snitch right out from under the other seeker's nose. He paused in midair on his broom, watching as the fluttery wings stopped their incessant beating. He frowned as he looked at it. 'This isn't what I'm after. It looks like it, but it isn't the real thing. Where's the real golden snidget?' Taking off on his broom, he once again began the relentless search for his ultimate goal._

Draco awoke slowly, pulling himself from the comfortable dream world where he had everything he'd ever wanted and back into reality where he had no idea what those things were. He twisted in the unfamiliar sheets, working through his customary morning stretch, and realized from the warm skin next to him that he wasn't in the bed alone. The feel of the mattress and pillows was also wrong; and he remembered where he was.

_Right, _he thought, _Devon_… _mmm... _He sat straight up in bed, memories hitting him full force, along with a gut-twisting feeling he couldn't identify. _Oh Bloody Hell!_ He turned his head slowly, hoping he was about to be proven wrong. He took in the bare arm, the warm shoulder, the messy dark hair. It was the first time he had woken beside the delightful young wizard, and despite the feeling that Devon felt so right to be with, it somehow felt completely wrong. That feeling twisted through his gut again, triggering some deeply ingrained knowledge that he shouldn't be there.

Draco climbed gently from the bed, hoping against hope that he could avoid waking his bed mate of the previous evening. He allowed himself to move about by instinct, and soon found himself washed, dressed and brewing coffee in his kitchen with barely a thought for having done so. He was torn between wanting to be with Devon so badly, and knowing that realistically, it would never work – not in the long term forever sense of it all.

This feeling had been playing with him all week. He had come to Roussillon to get away from his failed relationship. He needed to clear his head. He needed to forget, and what does he do? Jumps straight into bed with the first (albeit very willing) guy he meets. His dreams seemed to be getting clearer, and clearer. It was obvious that he was searching for something – reaching out for that perfect... whatever it was. They had been all the more vivid when he was with Devon, and his subconscious was letting him know that Devon wasn't the one.

He looked back to the young American snoozing in the bed. _Why can't it be Devon though? He's made me feel so good and that's just what I need right now._ Draco's inner spoiled brat was toying with the idea of staying with him, but ultimately, he would be miserable for leading him on. He dreaded having to place himself in the same category as Antonio, but he knew there was no denying that he'd been using Devon, even if he didn't know it until now. It had been all about Draco, and that was selfish. It wasn't right, and he couldn't let it continue.

He started pacing. He had never felt so torn inside. _Right. This is it. I'll let him down gently, try not to let myself feel too bad about it, and just get on with my life. _He saw the young American stir and waken, the grin across his face tearing his heart in two as he knew what he was about to do.

--oo0oo--

Two hours later, and Draco was back in his Studio in Paris, feeling worse than when he had left. What had originally been a wonderful and peaceful time, had been turned on its ear by his libido, and the fact that his subconscious had been screaming at him that it was all wrong.

Devon had been upset, but Draco knew that the younger man would become all the better for the experience. Devon loved too easily, and wore his heart so heavily on his sleeve; it was bound to happen to him sooner or later. Draco knew the American deserved someone who was totally faithful – someone who wasn't looking over his shoulder for something more perfect to come along. Devon had been very quiet after Draco told him he was going home to Paris. Too quiet. He didn't need to tell Devon he was going alone. The nervous gestures began again, and asking Devon to walk away at that moment was probably one of the hardest and cruellest things Draco ever had to do.

Devon's parting words stung, and he doubted he would ever forget them, no matter how long he lived. "I did learn some French you know. Mal Foi. It means 'Bad Faith'. I guess you enjoy living up to your name." The words stung Draco, and he barely felt the tears that fell on his cheeks as he watched the American walk briskly out of the gates of the chateau, and out of his life. He barely remembered packing before he had left his wondrous memories, his carefree memories, and returned to Paris.

--oo0oo--

_Môn Dieu, I hate being so introspective._ _I'm tired of the emptiness inside of me. I'm such a cad. I've turned into Antonio!_ Although something told him that Antonio probably didn't feel so bad when he left Draco. It was too late to even think about changing his mind, but the inner spoilt brat wanted it all, and right at this moment, he wanted to go back to Roussillon, and bury his head in that wonderful nest of hair. He had expected screaming, hell, he had even expected tears from the American, but he had not expected the sullen silence that followed him as he walked out the door and into this new nightmare.

Draco looked around his studio, looking for some way to vent his own anger at himself. He looked at the bed. Emmaline had obviously cast some simple cleaning charms on the place – nothing offensive there. He spotted those prints on the wall – those damn prints. He recalled Ginny's interest in them, and with that thought, repressed visions on the woman returned. With a snap of his wand, he blasted the prints into oblivion. He couldn't bear to look at them again.

He spied the bottle of brandy – the only alcohol in the place. He could drink himself into oblivion again. That worked. No wait. It didn't. It lead to the Weasley debacle, and that would lead him into a vicious cycle that he would never repeat again. _What am I doing? What do I want? _He threw the brandy into the fireplace, a surge of flames rose with a whoosh of air, momentarily startling Draco. He vowed to not get caught in anyone's trap again. All the problems of the past weeks could be attributed to either too much drinking, or sex.

He fell back into the armchair by the fire, not wanting to think. He could hardly make sense any more of what he wanted. He had wanted Devon. He had wanted it all, but he had also wanted more. _Is it too much to ask? I've slept with a Weasley and broke the heart of an idealistic young man all in the space of a week. I don't want to be that kind of guy. I can't believe Devon threw the 'Malfoi – bad faith' line in my face. It was true though. Very true! I'm such a bastard. I am not going to become like my father! Never!_ It had occurred to him that he had been behaving just as badly as Lucius would have, the only difference being that he had scruples, and they were eating him up inside.

He sat in the chair for hours, unmoving, but not sleeping either. He was trying to make sense of all that had come to pass. He blinked, realising that he did have a way of making sense of it all. He could write it all down. He could talk to Flash. He might know what to suggest. A couple of times during the week, Draco had wanted to share his good fortune in the journal. Now, he just wanted an outlet to stop all the confusing thoughts from swimming around inside his head.

He clamoured over the arm of the chair in his rush to get to the desk. He really needed to talk to Flash, and he hoped against hope that the other wizard would be able to help him out of his current self destructive introspection. He opened the book and noticed that Flash had not written anything since his last entry. _That was more than a week ago! I hope he's okay._ The deep green ink was already out as the words began to pour onto the page.

* * *

_Bonjour Flash, _

_I can't help but admit to some sense of jealousy at hearing that your Ollie came back to you last week. No doubt the pair of you are either out having fun tonight, or you're enjoying a private tête-à-tête and you certainly don't need the likes of me interrupting you! But I sensed the happiness in your words at his return. You seemed a lot happier now he's back; but denying what you originally wrote in this diary doesn't mean those thoughts and feelings will go away. You expressed some doubts. They must still be lingering in the deepest recesses of your mind. Trust me, I've been examining those areas of my own head this week, and they aren't pretty._

_Perhaps I'm just jealous that at least one of us has our lives on track. I guess I lived up to my 'evil' reputation you painted for me last week (alas, no smoking jacket, but the cat is again curled up in my lap.) Despite this, your words have come back to haunt me at the most inopportune times, and I can tell you I've had plenty of those this week. Please indulge me for a bit; I've nobody else to tell this to, and if I think about it any longer, I'll go insane!_

_I thought things couldn't get any worse after Antonio left me. Guess what? I was wrong. I probably shouldn't have taken your advice quite so literally. I did go out and get a little drunk... okay, a lot drunk (it's not a habit, I swear) and I kind of picked up this girl. Yes, I know, a girl... well, a woman actually. I know... I prefer the company of guys, but it was either very slim pickings, or someone spiked the Absinthe (I think it was the latter. Never let a potions student make your Absinthe. Occupational hazard – everyone wants to experiment). Anyway, woke up, not remembering a thing about my night, only to find that it's the little sister of this right royal prat I went to school with. Was I ashamed? No. Was I embarrassed? Hell yes! Was I humiliated? Absolutely. She's a complete man-eater and now my reputation is ruined. Not only was I feeling rather vulnerable, but she took complete advantage of me, and no doubt she's already gone home and boasted to her righteous friends just how lousy I was. The thought of her has put me off women for life, Flash. I hereby solemnly swear off women for the remainder of my days. _

_But that's not all in my week of woe. I had to get away after that debacle, so I visited my family holiday chateau down in the Luberon region (in the south of France). Had to get away from the city. I was feeling stifled, and the thought of this girl in my bed really stirred me up. The place is just as wonderful as I remember. It's actually mine now, seeing as I am all that is left of my family. I hadn't been there for at least eight years, so full of peaceful and very fond memories. I could look out over the plains of Vaucluse for hours, or get lost in the clouds. But you don't want to hear about my daydreams. _

_But then I met a guy. A wonderful, honest, innocent and gorgeous guy._

_Don't cheer for me just yet._

_Why does one's subconscious make you feel guilty at all the wrong moments. We spent a wonderful few days together. He's American. Devon. Completely and utterly unabashed. I could learn to love him. Very easily. But something told me not to. My subconscious was telling me he wasn't right, or that I wasn't right... just something. I dumped him, and I don't think he was very happy about it. I couldn't lie to myself, and I know it was better to do that now than to lead him on for months and just do it all later when it will hurt all the more. I didn't want to be selfish, and I was listening to my heart. I feel like such a cad now. Am I a bastard for doing that?_

_I've been so torn by these events that I barely wonder any more if I can make it through the day. I wonder if this is it. Is this all there is, or is there more to this existence? I wanted to make my own name in Paris – not to repeat the mistakes of the previous generation. Is the way I'm living now what I truly want out of life?_

_I've lived beneath a façade for so many years it's hard to know when I'm being honest with myself. First my family, then through school and the war I was expected to behave a certain way. Those around me expected it. It's probably why I enjoy watching others so much now. I long to see behind their barriers and try to see the real person. I've spent the better part of 23 years doing what others expect of me. Is it too late to change? Is it too late to find the real me?_

_I suspect this is what my subconscious has been telling me. Why else would it make me reject the nicest guy I have ever met? Still, there was something about him, something rather familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. _

_Well guess I shouldn't dwell on that any longer, lest I continue in this same maudlin and very depressing vein. You know, I was totally lost and confused, but putting quill to parchment, I've managed to sort through a few things in my mind as I lay them out before you. I suppose I could have put them into a pensieve, but first of all, I'd have to get a pensieve, and secondly, I really don't want to relive the past over again. I want to forget it and move on._

_To that end, I've made a couple of decisions. Of course, I've only made them in the past half hour, so forgive me if they seem a little idealistic. They sound wonderful this late at night. I've decided that if I'm going to stop my self inflicted slide into hell, I'm going to need your assistance. I'm making a whole bunch of new year resolutions, and by writing them in here, no doubt I'll be forced to confront them when I feel like going off the rails. _

_I'm hoping to keep my resolve, and to beg your assistance my virtual friend, when I find times troubling. Feel free to reciprocate, after all, I promised you I will try to listen, and that is my first resolution. Right after swearing off females for the remainder of my natural life. To avoid any further confusion, and before I turn into a complete bastard like Antonio, I am swearing off all relationships, at least for the year. A whole year to learn about the real 'Luc'. If I happen to meet anyone this year, I'll be a complete Gentleman. I might wine and dine, but there is no way I'm going to let lust get in the way any more. I can't be brutally cruel to anyone, and I can't go through the pain of rejection again, let alone put anyone else through it._

_So will you help me Flash? Just tell me how to get in touch with my inner feelings? You seem so attuned to your own happiness. Yes, that's it. I'm looking to find my own happiness, and I know that I don't need a relationship to do that. I'll try to keep up with my friends, and I'll try to follow my heart, but I won't give in to my selfish instincts. I should just cut myself off and not show any emotion, that would be the easiest course, wouldn't it? _

_Who knows, perhaps this is what has been missing for all these years. You seem worldly wise my friend. Perhaps when you find the secret to your happiness, you might want to share it with me. Besides, I might just prefer to live vicariously through your own love life. Much safer that way, don't you think?_

_There I go rambling again. And I'm stone cold sober. Not even a glass of wine my friend. You thought you were originally being harsh and overemotional? I doubt that. Somehow when I'm writing here, I just seem to know what to say – the words just seem to fly off the quill on to the page. You don't want to know how many times I've wanted to erase this as I've gone through. _

_You say you're a fairly happy person. I'm glad. I often tell people I'm happy, but to be honest, I don't think I've truly been happy since I was a little boy – since before I had to see so many of my childhood notions shattered to pieces. Mostly by growing up I think._

_You talked about the war throwing a spanner in the plans. Firstly, what's a spanner? I'm guessing it's some Muggle thing. Sorry, not muggleborn, but I'm guessing you've had some exposure to their culture, considering your reference to Muggle entertainment as well. Well the war managed to lead me to this very place, and to a wonderful bookstore where I managed to pick up this journal. It literally jumped off the shelf at me!_

_Okay, so I'm feeling much better now for putting my thoughts into words. Again I apologise for being selfish enough to waste your time with my ramblings, so I'll let you get back to your Ollie. Alone for Yule, and now I'll be all alone for the New Year as well. I can't say I'm totally happy about it, but then it is rather nice to know exactly where I stand with myself! At least I've made my resolutions, and I'm kind of looking forward to meeting the challenge._

_I've rambled again, and I promised I wouldn't. So I tend to get a little verbose and over wordy at times. My lecturers tell me that as well. I dread to think how many parchments I've destroyed in my assignments._

_So here's to the New Year. 2003. The year of happiness. I hope you can help me in any times of need this year, and that I can reciprocate in any way if you need someone to pour your innermost feelings out to. I have to say that I'm looking forward to hearing from you again. It was a lovely surprise to see your words on Yule, and to know that there is someone out there who, like me, just wants to talk every now and then. No strings attached. _

_Au revoir, and Happy New Year to you and your Ollie.  
Luc_

* * *

Draco sat back in the chair, satisfied that he had managed to organise some of his woes, and had even decided to take some positive action. A loud clap and many cheers signalled the turn of the clock to midnight. Looking out the window, he saw sparks of all colours as wizards throughout the city took the rare opportunity to show off in front of the Muggles, their 'fireworks' displays quite spectacular. He felt wistful for just a moment, wishing someone could have been there to share it with him, but he realised he already had. He had shared it with Flash, and that was enough to satisfy him for now.

Draco slept that night without guilt. He knew that it was a new year, and new opportunities, and now, new friends, no matter how virtual they were.

The dreams came, but for the first time in a while, Draco confronted them with a smile on his face.

* * *

TBC

**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 14-February-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005

**Thank You:** _Huge thanks to **mysteryqueen73**, **myladysara** and **Kwin** for helping Azhure fix her horrid French!_

**Author Notes:** We have created a yahoo group, so if you want to be notified of any story updates, or if you want to read the saucier versions of our fics, just head to the yahoo group called PageOfPeril. It's at **groups . yahoo . com / group / PageOfPeril / **(Just remove the spaces to copy into your browser), and join in, or just sign up for special notices if you only want to be updated on new chapters. Thanks!

Azhure wishes to extend her extreme apologies that this chapter is longer than War and Peace. She claims the muse took over and refused to leave, and despite cutting some rather witty scenes, this is the result. Apparently Draco had to suffer every word that happened during this chapter. Don't expect any further chapters to be this long, although Azhure's muse makes no such guarantees. ;)

* * *

**Review Thank You's from Azhure for Chapter 3!**

Wow! What can I say... I am totally blown away by everyone's reaction to this little story! As I mentioned up top, this chapter refused to lie down and die, and when Ginny Weasley stuck her little red head into the story, well, things just took on a life of their own. Originally it was just going to be the chateau and the American...

It could have been a couple of angsty and self indulgent chapters for the blond, but I thought it better we get this horrible self wallowing out of the way and Draco can move on... in oh so many ways...

But thank you to everyone who reviewed my last part of the story - chapter 3... especially to...

**ageostar, A Tortured Soul, silver-sunn101, CelestialDrgn, cheer4life, moonysgurl, driven to insanity, Honor.**

**fayee** - well! Self deprecation and wisdom... you know me too well girl! Promise you won't hold me at wandpoint when I spend the weekend at your place? I promise Black Magic's next chapter is in the works as we speak, and I'm hoping a couple of nights in a motel room might round it off nicely! And I can hear you groaning from here over the title of this chapter... not my fault Simon Le Bon just kept screaming out the lyrics as I wrote. Could have had something to do with it being on the mp3 playlist at the time though...

**Nilblaze** - wow - profound! Glad you like their individuality - Innocent!Harry is totally gorgeous, and tortured!Draco is just too beautiful for words sometimes! Thanks for that! I don't think we'll be rushing the time frame of the story too soon... We have plans, and it could be AGES before the two writers discover (if ever) each other...

**Kaaera** - since when has the muse been whispering in your ear? Hmmmm. You hit the nail right on the head with some of your guesses! Glad you like Emmaline, and coffee drinking Draco... Hope this chapter wasn't too much for you...

**louise4** - hehehehehe. We know we don't want Draco encouraging Harry to stay with Ollie, but at least he was depressed over it when he found out Ollie came back. Draco is kinda-sorta going to be a bit Tom Hank-ish, but then again he won't... does that make sense? No, I didn't think so. You'll just have to keep reading if you want to know more. BTW, hope you don't mind your image of James Bond villain in smoking jacket and stroking cat made its way into the story... we just couldn't resist! LOL

**CuriousDreamWeaver** - Thank you heaps! I hope you keep enjoying this story, and that we can keep up the insightfulness, and empathy, and keep everyone entertained at the same time. We'll try to keep up the good work:)

**Queen Antigone** - glad you love the idea of intelligent conversations. We plan on plenty more of those, with a bit of humour throughout! BTW, I have read Crown Duel, and I do love it... thanks for the recommendation!

**Hades' Phoenix** - I hope you are still with us and that we haven't made the diaries too cliche... we had to put Ginny into it somehow, but I think her involvement in the story is well and truly over... I hope so anyway. Draco's not really a weak and whimpering little sod - he's just a little introspective right now, and hopefully he'll be back on the straight and narrow now that he will (hopefully) correspond with his new penpal. Yes, the possibilities about when the meet are endless. Wintermoon and I have had numerous chats to that effect with a few scenarios having played in our heads. Everything from one finds out, then the other, someone else works it out, they meet up... endless possibilities. I think we've worked out the final one though... at least, the final one today!

**menecarkawan** - yes, Harry is a sentimental softie, and he will no doubt talk on and on and on. Draco will soon be over his verbose and inarticulate drunken ramblings, so Harry might just get a chance to chat about some intelligent things.

**The Shadow Bandit** - Glad to hear your daughter is on the mend, and you've had an opportunity to get back to your own writing! Hope that this chapter wasn't too angsty for the blond, but it had to happen, and I rather thought we could get it all out of the way in one hit, instead of dragging it out over a few chapters! Thanks for your words of encouragement!

**Malfoy Snogger** - Hope you liked this glimpse into the life of Draco, and that you either feel he's a true Malfoy, or just utterly confused. At least now he's over his bisexual bent, and he knows that his one true love is a man... that's some progress, isn't it?


	6. Something Beautiful

**Note:** Due to formatting limitations on this site, the following key is needed to read the diary entries. If you want to read them on our site in full living colour, then see below the chapter for the address of our yahoo group.

**Bold** Flash's Diary Entries  
_Italics_ Luc's Diary Entries  
Underline something 'special' happening in their entries

* * *

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 6: _Something Beautiful_**

_If you can't wake up in the morning  
Cause your bed lies vacant at night  
If you're lost, hurt, tired or lonely  
Can't control it, try as you might  
May you find that love that won't leave you  
May you find it by the end of the day  
You won't be lost, hurt, tired and lonely  
Something beautiful will come your way  
**Robbie Williams**_

* * *

An average person would have looked out of the window and seen a typical neighbourhood street, complete with children running in the still falling snow, sun filtering through the flakes and parents reminding children not to stay out too long in the cold. Harry, however, had long learned that he was no average person and therefore, he could hardly be expected to see the average scene.

Looking out of the window into the quaint wizarding village, he saw young wizarding children running about in the fresh snowfalls they had just created. He saw the aura of the harsh sunlight as it filtered through the flakes. He saw parents, no doubt refreshing the warming charms on their active offspring. Though this might have been the average scene for the average wizard, Harry saw more. He spotted the unknown witch in the maroon robes as she made her way across the street. He recognised the pending threat from a formation of three brooms hazing in the middle distance. He saw the grimace of pain on the face of a neighbour as she went into labour and reached for the floo powder to call her husband. Yes, with eleven years of experience, Harry Potter saw it all.

With a wave of his wand and a few muttered words, the illusion disappeared and the Ministry classroom dissolved back into reality. Harry turned to observe the reactions from his small class. "So you see, you have to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. Now, watching as a woman waits to give birth is hardly the reason you're in training, but it's important to notice details. Of course, some of these details are not important at all. Some are totally irrelevant, but some of those same seemingly unimportant things might just solve the problem. Some might actually become important if circumstances change."

As his keen eyes scanned the room, he saw that understanding was beginning to fade in. It was interesting to watch the proverbial light bulb go off for some of his students. "Jasmine, tell me what you think the unimportant details might have been in that scene."

Jasmine, the young witch, cleared her throat and sat the tiniest bit straighter in her seat. With her full brown hair and studious personality, she reminded Harry more than a little of Hermione. "Well, sir, I suppose that if you were observing with the intent of finding Dark Wizards, then the least important piece of information would be the aura of the sunlight. The rest of it has some potential for importance, and none of it should be dismissed."

Harry nodded, silently amazed that the girl had made a connection that even he hadn't caught at first. "Exactly. You may think the familiar neighbourhood families are automatically inconsequential, but you have no way of knowing they aren't planted there by your enemy, under a glamour charm or polyjuice potions, or something else. Now, Byron, can you name one of the details that has important potential?"

"Ummm, er, uh, the witch?" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, blatantly obvious about his embarrassment at being put on the spot. Harry seemed to remember seeing the boy do that same thing during his sorting many years ago. As Harry continued his class discussion, one part of his mind was focused on the fact that it still seemed very strange to be teaching students that he went to school with so close to his own age. It had taken some getting used to.

It had been a successful class, and Harry was pleased with the student's progress, but it had still been tiring. By the time classes ended, Harry was looking forward to spending a quiet evening at home with Oliver. He'd gotten an owl from Oliver joyfully announcing a full week off from practice. Seemed their team captain wanted everyone to fully relax and de-stress before they dove back into their gruelling practice schedule. Puddlemere had a few tough games coming up in the next couple of months, and needed to be on their best form if they wanted to ensure victories against both the Holyhead Harpies and the Wimbourne Wasps.

Stopping on the way home, Harry picked up some take out from the new Thai restaurant just down the street from his flat, a Muggle DVD and a bottle of wine. He sighed as he regretted Oliver's disinterest in wine, and chose some fancy imported beer as a little surprise. A bit of juggling and a very discreet shrinking charm allowed him a relatively burden-free walk back to the flat. He buttoned his coat securely and breathed the icy winter air deeply as he walked along the quiet Muggle streets, lost in memories.

Harry couldn't believe it had been just over a week since their whirlwind trip to Italy. He and Oliver had spent a wonderfully romantic and secluded New Year's Eve at a wizard resort in the heart of Venice. They had begun their visit in the early evening with a _vaporetta_ ride down the Grand Canal, gazing at Venice's gorgeous palaces; their reflections mirrored in the waters of the city's main "street." Afterwards, they enjoyed a delicious meal at _Antico Martini_, just down from the famous burned theatre, _La Fenice_. Harry found the Lobster Margharite to be absolutely heavenly, while Oliver dove into his plate of Veal Piccata. They both agreed the Tiramisu was the best they'd ever had.

A long night making love and catching up prompted them to sleep late on January first, but they did manage to spend the afternoon exploring nearby Piazza San Marco, viewing the divine masterpieces at the Accademia Gallery, and visiting the workshop of a master Venetian glass blower. Eventually, they were forced to pack up and Disapparate. Oliver's team meeting was scheduled for late that evening and they had both been expected at work early the next day.

As he entered the flat and sighed at the beautiful memories of their night in Italy, he tried to stay optimistic about the week they would have ahead of them. He would still have to work a few days, but he was looking forward to long days and longer nights of just enjoying himself with his boyfriend. He'd been thinking about the whole 'love' issue and was trying to work out his feelings on it. Oh – Ollie hadn't mentioned it, not since before Yule, but Harry couldn't help thinking about it. Especially with the diary conversations with Luc, he was finding himself becoming quite introspective as of late.

Harry quickly set about his routine 'straightening-up' and put their dinner in the kitchen anticipating Ollie's arrival. He wanted to enjoy the evening, casual and not pressured, and contemplate this 'love' thing while Oliver was there. Harry couldn't help thinking that it was much easier to determine how you feel about a person when he or she is actually in your presence. He glanced about the flat once again to verify that everything was in order, and then all but ran to the shower, determined to have everything perfect for Oliver's return.

Oliver Apparated into the apartment and immediately heard the running water coming from the bathroom. A quick glance around showed him that Harry had straightened up and there was food in the kitchen being kept fresh with a warming charm. The aromas from the Asian food whet his appetite, in more ways than one. He smiled at the obvious touches from the Boy Who Lived. He'd gotten used to Harry's little quirks and thought it cute that Harry insisted on their home maintaining a certain level of order right down to the placement of the sofa cushions. It wasn't that Oliver was a slob; it just seemed that Harry's level of tidiness verged on the obsessive. Still, Oliver wouldn't change it for anything.

He realised that the still-running water meant that Harry was showering. He cocked an eyebrow as a wickedly delicious opportunity presented itself, and he saw the chance for a most enjoyable homecoming. He quickly put his bag in the bedroom and stripped on the way to the bathroom door. Pausing just outside the door, he decided that a surprise approach would be rather fun. He Apparated directly into the shower, which startled Harry to the point of nearly falling over.

"Merlin's bunny slippers, Oliver! When did you get home? And are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?"

"If only Voldemort had thought to Apparate into your shower, he might have actually had a chance of getting to you." Oliver murmured as he gathered Harry into his arms. "But trust me; I have other, more effective ways of affecting your heart rate." He proceeded to block any response Harry might have had, though judging from the moans, Harry had little argument against Oliver's kisses.

The "welcome home kiss" progressed slowly, as they unhurriedly washed each other, exploring lovers' bodies, reacquainting themselves with the individual erogenous zones they had discovered on each other over the months. Only when they had caressed, soaped, rinsed, kissed, tasted and soothed every part of each other's bodies, did they continue further.

* * *

NC-17 scene deleted

* * *

Once sated, Harry quickly turned to catch the look on Ollie's face. It was something he'd noticed early in their relationship, this particular expression of utter bliss which showed Harry how special he was to Ollie. He'd begun to think of it as proof that he was loved.

The next two days were heavenly. Harry had managed to adjust his work schedule and was able to spend both days with Oliver. The two of them spent an inordinate amount of time indoors. They watched movies, ate take-away food, made love and slept very late. When Harry suggested they go flying, just for a change, Oliver mentioned that he didn't want to ride any broomsticks on his week off.

"What, not even _mine_?" Harry suggested wickedly after a rather relaxing, but lazy day. Harry reciprocated Oliver's earlier attentions with his own that afternoon, and discovered that he was indeed a very lucky man.

Oliver had always been amused by Harry's obsession with Muggle movies and television. Despite being a pureblood wizard, Oliver and his brothers were brought up with a very progressive view towards Muggles, and they had occasionally gone to the movies and shopped in the heart of Edinburgh. He would never begrudge Harry this childish and somewhat amusing obsession. After all, his life until after the war had been far too serious for one so young. Wherever possible, Oliver would tease Harry about his obvious like for certain Muggle actors. Not that Oliver was immune to the charms of some of the big screen stars.

They had a playful discussion over who was more attractive, Matt Damon in _Bourne Identity_ or Tom Cruise in _Minority Report._ Oliver stood by his opinion that Tom Cruise was the sexiest, and Harry was adamant in his preference for Matt Damon. This, of course, led them to further discussion of other attractive celebrities and eventually, Harry pulled out the new DVD's he'd received in the mail before Yule.

"Just wait, this guy is gorgeous!" He smiled flirtatiously as he dropped the DVD into the drawer of the player. "He's a vampire, though, no soul. Of course, vampires are cold-blooded killers and he's a right git as well. But there's just something about him… I dunno – I get the feeling he could be good if he wanted to be." Harry moved back to the sofa to curl up with his head on Ollie's shoulder.

"So this is what you do while I'm gone? Sit here and drool over git vampires?" The comfortable teasing was familiar to them both. Their relationship had started over a discussion of other classmates they had found attractive. After Harry'd had enough to drink he finally added Oliver to his list which prompted Oliver to make the move he'd been contemplating all night.

"Well, of course. What else would I do with my time?" Harry smiled back. "Of course, they've already filmed a few more seasons of _Buffy_, but since I didn't catch them the first time 'round, I'm just waiting for the DVD releases, so I don't know what'll happen to him."

"_Buffy_?" The disbelief in Oliver's voice was quite evident. "We're about to watch something about a guy named Buffy?"

This, of course, was greeted with much laughter. "No, you prat! We're about to watch something about a **girl** name Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. **Spike** is the guy I was talking about. They fight. There was one episode where Spike was fighting with Angel – he's a vampire too, but a good one – and man those were some hot scenes!"

Oliver cast a sideways glance at Harry, intrigued by Harry's interest in fight scenes. Before he could say anything, the show started and he found himself caught up in the story of this young, seemingly average girl who fought demons of all sorts and the group of friends who stood by her through it all, researching, helping her prepare, offering support, and pretending that it was perfectly normal for the fate of their world to be in her hands. He wondered if Harry had ever noticed the similarities between Buffy and himself.

* * *

After much cajoling and a few false starts, Harry had managed to drag Oliver to the winery in Kent. Oliver had promised he would go with him months before, but with changed schedules, the trip was often postponed. Of course, the inner Slytherin in Harry had backed the Scotsman into a corner, and he could not get out of the trip this time. Oliver had promised Harry 'anything' that morning as they made love, and Harry had called him on it not long after Oliver had sated his lust.

At first Oliver had grumbled, but with the weather turning foul, he was more than happy to take in the warmth provided by the enclosed cellars and hearty fireplace in the main manor house. They Apparated to the vineyard, just south of Royal Tunbridge Wells, and were immediately surrounded by the cosy and inviting atmosphere.

The winery was well known in Muggle circles, but had been run for centuries by Wizards. A few well placed charms had always ensured that the grapes used were of peak quality, and that frost never affected them. Harry smiled as he saw Oliver at least making an effort to be interested in the wines as they were tasted. The Scotsman begrudgingly admitted a liking for a full-bodied and very sweet Muscatel.

The wines had been most tasteful, the cheeses even more appealing. Oliver had not expected the wonderful home cooked lunch that had been included in the tour, and the hearty casserole and freshly baked breads had been truly appreciated.

Harry's day had been soured somewhat. He had hoped that not too many others would brave the weather to visit on this day, but his hopes had been dashed. A number of other wizards had obviously had the same idea as Harry, and had joined them on the tour. The lure of the warmth and good wine had obviously brought all types of people to a place like this.

One young fellow had spotted Oliver, and was obviously a fan. Harry had not failed to notice the guy's flirtatious advances towards Oliver, but the Scotsman seemed oblivious. He knew how to handle his legion of fans, and this fellow was just another one to add to the list. Oliver smiled and chatted briefly to the young brunette, but Harry didn't think he could miss the fan's overt advances.

A twinge of jealousy struck, and he swept over, donning a rather possessive hand on his lover's shoulder, innocently looking at the not unattractive young man. The large hazel eyes widened as he recognised Harry, and he stumbled off quickly after realizing that Oliver was apparently taken – by none other than the Boy Who Lived. Oliver had appeared oblivious to the whole exchange – he was just another fan who had come gushing up to his favourite player.

Harry was surprised at his possessiveness. Seeing the young guy flirting with Oliver was more than upsetting. He thought little more of it after Oliver turned his attention back to him, and the fan had moved on. He did notice, however, that the flirter kept his distance for the rest of the day.

Harry had enjoyed the tour, and the process of how wizards produce his favourite drop was eye opening. He had been lingering long over his choices in the bottle shop, when he saw the young fan once again approach Oliver. He noticed that his lover seemed a little uncomfortable around the guy, turning his head to look at Harry. He must have realised the guy was coming on to him, and was feeling uncomfortable. Harry smiled back, and Oliver seemed glad. He watched as Oliver eventually signed an autograph, and scurried over to Harry's side.

"Er, we going soon?" Oliver pulled at his collar. Indeed, the flirting fan had made him uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I just want to have a look for a few more bottles. Won't be long." He had the sudden urge to kiss Oliver, and did so, boldly. Both men grinned. "I promise."

Harry eventually ordered two dozen bottles of the 'Curious Grape' label – a mix of reds and whites, but he did admit he had a penchant for some fine Rosés. He had spotted a number of other, rarer labels on the shelves in the bottle shop.

As he held a bottle of French rosé in his hand, he suddenly thought of Luc, and realised he had not checked his journal in a while. He felt guilty about not having checked to see if his pen-pal had written, but he shrugged off his guilt, knowing he would return to it when Oliver was away again, and he had more time.

* * *

It had been another long day at the office when Harry decided to Apparate directly to the flat, rather than take his usual stroll through the neighbourhood. He sighed in relief the moment he arrived in his familiar living room. Kicking off his shoes in an uncharacteristic moment of messiness, he padded into the kitchen for a glass of wine and found a note on the counter._Harry,_ _Gone to visit Mum and Dad, then Sean and Douglas are planning to take me out tonight. I don't know how late I'll be – you know how they are. See you in the morning, though._ _Yours,_ _Ollie_

Harry smiled. He did indeed know how Ollie's older brothers got when they took him out on the town. Pleased that Ollie was catching up with family and that he'd thought to leave a note, Harry rummaged through the kitchen in search of something to snack on. Finally, he headed back into the living room with a plate of apple slices, cheese and a few chunks of the French bread he'd picked up at the market yesterday. He'd opened the French Rosé from his trip down to Kent and poured himself a glass. He'd realised once again that afternoon that he hadn't checked the journal in quite some time. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling that he was neglecting his friendship with Luc, so he was planning to take advantage of his evening alone to see if Luc had written anything and to fill his new friend in on the recent events of his life.

He turned on some classical music, set his plate and glass on the desk and made himself comfortable in the desk chair by conjuring a small ottoman for his feet. As suspected, Luc had written, on New Year's Eve no less. Harry felt another small pang of guilt for having enjoyed himself with Ollie in Italy while Luc was obviously alone and feeling down. After reading the events of Luc's week and considering that it had been nearly a fortnight since this entry, he found himself worrying about his new friend and quickly reached for his quill.

_**January 13, 2003**_ _**Luc,**_ _**I'm ever so incredibly sorry about taking so long to reply. I'd spent a couple of days in Italy and have just been so busy since my return that I hadn't even looked at my desk. I do hope things are going better for you since that entry and that you've been doing all right.**_

He paused just a moment, considering exactly where to start in his response. He supposed the beginning of Luc's entry would be the best option.

_**For starters, don't worry about me denying what I wrote in here at first. I've still got it in mind and think I've come to some conclusions, but I'll save that for later. As for you, I'm so sorry about the bad experiences you've had. I think the first thing to address is your reaction to 'dumping' Devon. You're way too hard on yourself. The notion that it would be worse if you waited a few months is absolutely right. At this point, Devon will remember it as a fling that ended too soon, rather than a chunk of his life wasted and ruined by a heartless bastard. You did the right thing, most definitely!**_ _**As for that witch, well, at least you discovered that witches aren't worth the effort. Don't let that two Knut slapper get you down. She's obviously got issues if she had been trying to seduce you since school. Still, you must have felt horrible, and I can't help but feel a little guilty that I suggested you go out and shag whoever crossed your path. Perhaps now you can concentrate your efforts on other things, and you know that you won't need to worry about any witches distracting you.**_ _**Don't think yourself a cad for following your heart. That's all any of us can do in this life, really. **_

Harry paused again, pondering his response as he savoured a bite of cheese and apple then took a sip of his wine. He was amazed at the fact that picking up wine directly from the winery allowed for a less cork-y taste. The flavour was full and pure; pure grapes and oak and berries. Delicious. He took another sip of his wine, then carefully set the glass back on the desk and picked up his quill again. Much to his surprise, there was a response appearing before his eyes.

_Dear Flash, _ _Thank goodness you've paused! I've been sitting here waiting to say 'hello' since I caught the journal opening and you started writing... The quill has been poised, but you've just kept writing. Do you think this book has some sort of charm that makes you just want to write lots of words, especially when you don't really know where to start? I confess that I was starting to get a little worried about you. I was a bit of a wreck when I last wrote. I thought I might have scared you off._

Harry blinked a bit, and pondered this as he read. Luc was there! Really there right now writing in the partner journal. Harry couldn't help being somewhat startled by the unexpected response, though.

_**Oh - wow. Hi! No, you didn't scare me off at all, but this is a little startling. I wasn't expecting an immediate response!**_ _What would be scarier - watching as I write, or finding out that I had been lurking – watching as you wrote, but not bothering to respond? I think that would creep me out. Actually, I just happened to finish up a new batch of assigned work, which is bubbling away nicely, and just sat down to read the papers, when the journal sprung open... what else is a poor lonely Frenchman to do?_ _**Well, I'm glad you jumped in, but I'm sorry to hear that you're lonely. It's not really scary to watch you write, just a little strange, though I suppose it would be creepy to know you'd been watching all along. Yes, it does seem that I'm much wordier through the journal, glad to know I'm not the only one.**_ _So you are telling me you are actually a dribbling mute when you don't write in the journal? Shit! Sorry, that was cruel. No erase charm, remember? My mood has been rather harsh lately, and I seem to be taking it out on anyone and anything. At least the cat still loves me. Well, she seems to when it's feeding time anyway. I just can't seem to help myself. I'm still trying to get over what I did to Devon... So I've done the only natural thing. Thrown myself back into my studies. Just as well, this semester is rather heavy on the workload. At least I'll be up to date on my research, which is a positive._

Harry was somewhat taken aback by the sudden snarkiness in the journal. It seemed Luc was in a really foul mood if he were resorting to such cruelty. At least he corrected himself and apologised, though. Harry couldn't help the automatic connection his brain made when considering cruelty and potions that close together.

_**Does throwing yourself back into work always make you this cynical and sarcastic? You remind me of my old Potions master from school, and judging by the fact that your work is "bubbling away nicely" it sounds like you're working on potions yourself. It that a typical trait for your line of work? Oh, heavens and Morgana - I've done it again. Now there's something about my wordiness that changes around this journal. I tend to forget that there's supposed to be a filter between my brain and my mouth, or maybe the filter doesn't work when my output is written? I don't know; I doubt I'm making any sense now, but you really shouldn't be putting yourself down over Devon. I mean it, you did the right thing!**_ _I think you just described it perfectly. No filter in place. Again, I'm sorry. I'm trying very hard to be sociable and polite. I admit that I have not been pleasant company. Perhaps I should be introduced to your old Potions professor. About Devon... I know I had a bloody good reason to do it at the time. One minute, it felt like he was the perfect one for me, there was just something about him... something... right. Then I had to get this horrid desire to end it all... I can be a melodramatic prat when I want to be. I know I may have been a little spoilt as a child, and I usually got what I wanted when I put on a good enough performance. _ _As for my cynicism and sarcasm? Well, I don't know about your school professor, but he sounds nothing like the one I had at school. He was proud of his work and did not suffer fools gladly. You were right about the bubbling away stuff. Potions is my major at l'institut, and I have no idea what I'll do after I graduate. Probably get into research. There are plenty of opportunities out there for a budding Potions master. If I ever manage to finish studying that is._

Harry had never given careers in the potions industry much thought. Although judging from the number of healing potions he had needed during the war, he guessed there would need to be hundreds of practitioners out there. He didn't think he would ever get over his own dislike for brewing. After all, he had been scarred for life by that old snarky git of a teacher. Harry bought all his potions at the apothecary, his old school cauldron filled with rolled up parchments in the corner of his desk. As he took a moment to read back over Luc's words, he couldn't help but notice the Frenchman was still focusing on Devon. He realised Luc was being way too hard on himself if he was still cut up over Devon.

_**Do you think maybe there was 'something' right about Devon, but it just wasn't enough? Sometimes I feel that way with Ollie. He's great and there are some things I love about him. He's got this certain upper-class, pureblood air to him, it's not snooty or anything, but it's nice, refined. And then there's his love of Quidditch. We played together in school and he's one of the few people I've ever met that loved it as much as I do. It gives him a rougher edge. I know those are not always compatible qualities within a person, but Ollie makes them work well and that's one of the things that I like about him. I just, sometimes, can't help but wonder if I'm supposed to be looking for something more. Sorry, enough about Ollie and me. If you know that you can be melodramatic and you think that's what you were doing with Devon, then just remind yourself that you won't do it again. You've got to forgive yourself for the way it was handled and accept the fact that it needed to happen. Then you can get on with those resolutions of yours. You asked for my help. Do you still want it? Do you really want me to keep you on task?**_ _I wasn't sure if you really would help... As I said, I might have scared you off, or you had abandoned me. But there I go again, being self centred. You have every right to talk about Ollie. After all, the world doesn't revolve around just me. I've realised that in the past couple of weeks. I must admit I'm feeling a little better for writing to you, and to know that you are actually 'there' at the other end of the magic of this journal..._ _Yes, I do need someone to help me to get through my resolutions, so if the offer still stands, I would accept it gladly!_

Harry smiled. He had not lost Luc's friendship, and he could see that the Frenchman was trying to help himself. It also felt good to know that he was also willing to listen to his own ramblings about Ollie.

_**I know what you mean about knowing - you suddenly seem to have become a real person, more real than you were when I was reading your completed entries. I suppose that seems odd, but it's the best way I can explain it. I must admit to feeling like I did abandon you - it's been nearly a fortnight since you last wrote! I felt terrible for you as I read what had happened to you after Yule. And yes, the offer still stands. I told you before - or at least I think I did - that I wanted to accept your offer of friendship and being a friend means being there to help when possible. Now, I can't promise the success of my 'help', but I'll do my best. I appreciate your willingness to let me talk about Ollie, as well, and I promise that if and when I have a need to talk about him, I will let you know.**_ _Excellent, although I'm sure you might regret that one day! So now I can live vicariously through your love life... How was Italy? Did you go with Ollie? Did you see any Italian Salaud (that's a bastard!) named Antonio? No waiters perhaps?... Tall, dark messy hair? Built like a Grecian God? Never mind… I don't particularly care about him any more. At least, I have no right to._ _Like I said, I've been throwing myself into work. I haven't been out much since I came back from the chateau, and you've now piqued my thirst for some news._

Harry laughed as he thought of Luc's ex boyfriend. _Wouldn't it be funny if I had run into him? You never know, it's a small world after all._

_**Hmmm, I don't recall a waiter by that name, but I do believe the man who drove our gondola was named Antonio. Italy was beautiful! We spent New Year's Eve there and had a fabulous time.**_ _Ahhh, Venice then..._ _**I'm trying to plan something now for Ollie's birthday. It's coming up the end of the month and I want to do something special for him.**_ _Perhaps a nice dinner?_ _**I was thinking about that – maybe a surprise trip to Paris. I've never been there, but I hear it's very romantic. Can you recommend a good restaurant?**_ _The best. Joël Robuchon – that's the name of the restaurant as well as the chef and owner. It's widely known as one of the most beautiful in Paris, located in a turn-of-the-century townhouse. You'll need to make a reservation right away, though._ _**Thanks! I will. I'm hoping for a quiet evening, romantic dinner, just the two of us, good wine, hot sex…**_

Harry paused, wondering if Luc really wanted to hear about his relationship with Ollie. He didn't want to overstep his bounds or be too focused on himself.

_**Are you really sure you want to live through me? Would it not be too...something... too painful or frustrating to hear about someone else's love life? Or are you a voyeur at heart?**_ _Hmmm, a voyeur? I have been known to watch... on occasion. You say you played Quidditch at school, with Ollie? You can't tell me you never 'watched' before – in the locker rooms I mean. I always found that to be an eye opening experience in my school days. _ _Besides, your action is better than no action at all... I said I was giving up on love for myself. I never gave up on the whole idea of love for the rest of the world. It's out there. I just don't think it agrees with 'me' right now. _

Harry smiled at this. It was good to know that Luc hadn't given up on love completely. It was also good to have the idea that Harry hadn't been alone in his twisted fantasies during school. He didn't think he would admit to the worst of his fantasies, but he did blush as he thought back on those days.

_**I can honestly say I never 'watched' while I was in school. I'm sure I 'thought' about it, but I never followed through. Why, was it the big pastime for your Quidditch team to sit around and watch each other in action? As for my current action - well, it's been bountiful and plentiful and many other 'fuls' in the past week or so, if you really want to know.**_ _I can see your grin from here, Flash. And I bet you blushed when you wrote that. The ink almost went red at this end. As for my Quidditch team... well, I played in my team nearly my whole school life. We were a fairly close knit group of guys and I guess the communal showers were a very 'fulfilling' place to be at times. That's all you'll get from me if you aren't going to elaborate on your bountiful, plentiful love life. _ _**My, my! How elaborate do you want me to be, Luc? And did the ink really look red? You're just yanking my chain about that, aren't you? You know, in my Quidditch days when I did think about watching other guys buggering, it was, much to my chagrin, usually involving the utter prat who played for my teams biggest rivals!**_ _Nope, not kidding about the ink, it really looks red. Although the light in here isn't the best. So you had one of those guys at your school too? We had one of those on the other school team. Right royal ponce..._ _**Guess you and I were both lucky not to be on the SAME team with 'that guy'. I suppose every school's got one. Question is - did you ever have fantasies about his sex life? That was torture, let me tell you, bloody torture! Thank Merlin I got over it quickly. **_ _What, you wanted the git to bugger you? Or just wanted to see him get his just desserts? I confess to not really thinking about the other ponce at school that way. At least not until we decided to spy on him and his team mates after a game, in the showers... I had never realised that despite his attitude, he had 'other' virtues I had never previously considered. They were… impressive, to say the least. I suppose I might have had a couple of 'thoughts' about him that way afterwards. Of course, he was such a git (still is last I heard), I would never have dreamed of carrying through._ _**Ahhh, see at first I just wanted to see him being someone's little bitch, but then, like you, I caught a glimpse of this amazing body he was hiding under his robes and... well, like I said, I'm glad I got over it. I wonder if it's Quidditch that does it? I do remember that most of my team-mates were well built, including Ollie. Now there's a body, Just the right size in ALL the right places.**_ _Yes. There is something to be said for a Quidditch player. Perhaps that is my problem. I sort of stopped playing... the war and all, and now, well, I don't think I'd want to play again, not even if I was fit. But yes, the guys are pretty well buff. Someone's bitch huh? You sound like you've been watching some bad American Muggle er... visios disks or something. Devon sometimes talked like that. It was most enlightening. _ _**Visio disks - yes, something like that. I think you mean 'video tapes' but I usually watch DVD's anyway. I don't watch many about 'bitches' but I'll be honest and say I've seen a few of those...**_ _I don't profess to understand Muggle eklectronics. DVD's? I must be missing something. Are they those small boxes that the Muggles carry around and hold up to their ears all the time?_ _**I think you are talking about a 'mobile phone' – a communication device. You really don't know much about Muggles, do you? As for the videos, well, a guy's got to keep himself entertained when the boyfriend is away, right? You really should get someone to introduce you to the wonderful world of television sometime. It's well worth it!**_ _Well there are spells and things that usually do the trick for me when the boyfriend is out of town. No doubt I'll be making good use of them again in the coming months._ _Someone tried to explain the television to me once before, but I don't think I was listening. I honestly don't know why anyone would bother. Must get terribly boring. What do you get from that, that you can't get out of a good book? Although I have read a few Muggle authors. They have 'interesting' ideas about wizards. _ _**Yes! Exactly! So do the people who make television and movies! One of my favourite television series is about vampires, and there's a witch and a werewolf and a few demons popping up here and there. It's fabulous! And though the situations aren't valid by our standards, it's a nice escape and the characters are quite realistic otherwise.**_ _Vampires and witches and werewolves? Surely it isn't someone breaking the Statute of Secrecy? How do you find time to watch it? I understand you need to spend hours just sitting in front of some glass box. Besides, I had enough of those dark creatures in the war. I would rather some escapism. Lusty knights with big shiny swords, riding their faithful steeds, rescuing fair maidens and making all the squires swoon. Did I mention the big shiny swords? Anything like that on your DBD box thing? See, now I'm not being terribly articulate. I dribble when discussion turns to Muggle._ _**Oh yes! There are plenty of things like that on the telly. It's quite simple to find one version or another of the legend of King Arthur, many other Renaissance stories, pirate stories, even Merlin's had movies made about him! And the amazing thing is the way they can make a place look like it's real! If you were to watch one of these things, you would see castles that look real, people wearing the clothing of the period, so many tiny details that they pay attention to, so that you really feel like you're there! Why, they've even made films of the Tolkien series! You HAVE read Tolkien, haven't you? And as for time, it's really no different than the hours you spend with a book... now is it?**_ _Well I'll take that under advisement. Are you sure nobody is selling out under the Statute Of Secrecy? You seem passionate about this television thing. Perhaps Ollie leaves you with too much time on your hands. You've already deduced that I study potions. Now I just realised that you still haven't mentioned a thing about what you do to earn your galleons. Who 'hasn't' read Tolkien? He was a wizard you know. I hear he went to Hogwarts. The elves tried to stop publication of the book – he was too close to the truth. But Gridelwald got in the way and the whole thing was forgotten. After that war, he went and got it published via the Muggles. Very clever wizard._ _**Oh, I didn't know Tolkien was a wizard. That would explain a lot, wouldn't it? As for the Statute of Secrecy – it's hard to tell. Most of the magic related things I've seen are different enough from reality that it could easily be a Muggle's imagination. If there are wizards involved (which I wouldn't doubt) they do a good job of disguising it as fiction. And, about my job, well if I told you what I do to earn my galleons, I'd have to hunt you down and kill you... **_

Harry laughed as he wrote. He had a perverse desire to write "Oh, I kill Dark Lords, and save the wizarding world on occasion." But he didn't think Luc would react terribly well to knowing he was talking to the Boy Who Lived. Harry felt he could really be himself when talking to Luc, and that was a blessing.

_Oh, well then you are either a History student, or you actually have a real job. Or is it a career? Sorry for being nosy - you don't have to answer my question, and if you don't want to tell me, I promise I won't ask again. It's just my perverse sense of curiosity at hand again._ _**I'm shaking with laughter here Luc. A History student! No way! I doubt my scores in that subject would have allowed me entry to university. No, seriously, my job (it's definitely not a career, but I enjoy it) it's nothing special, just a relatively boring desk job for the Ministry. I've been thinking I might like to try teaching. With roughly a decade of extensive training including seven years in the war, I should be qualified to teach anything related to the dark arts. As for my obsession - I don't spend all that much time in front of the telly, but it is good, and you should try it...**_ _Well, I'd have to have eklectricity put on here, and there's little chance of that happening. Guess that would be the first requirement. Dark Arts you say? I would rather forget they ever existed. _ _**The war? Yeah, me too. I don't really enjoy working with them (who would?), I just gravitated to that line of work. Now - I suppose I just don't give them a second thought. Why don't you talk to any of your Muggleborn friends? They might be able to get you to see a television. Although I have no idea what shows you might get over on the continent…**_ _Merde… _

Harry watched as a splatter of green ink followed the written curse. He waited a couple of minutes, but Luc did not write any more. As the moments ticked by, he had no response from his friend.

_**Luc?**_

He waited again. Still no reply.

_**I can only hope that whatever has taken you away from the journal so quickly is not life-threatening. I'll make sure to check back in a day or so to see if things are all right. Please write when you can.**_

Immediately after writing that last sentence, Harry lay the quill down and cocked his head to one side, pondering his concern. It occurred to him that his closing statements, especially the final sentence, had quite a familiar and distressed tone to them. He recognised that he felt rather distressed about Luc's sudden disappearance. It felt as strong as if he were worrying about Ron or Hermione, or even Oliver!

Harry was unsure about these feelings, hesitant to accept such strong concern for a near stranger. _But he's not a stranger,_ Harry thought as he rose from the desk and went to the kitchen to refill his wine glass. _He's my friend! He understands me and wants to listen to me and doesn't judge me. That's friendship._ He smiled at this as he absent-mindedly waved the wine bottle under his nose. It was a habit of his to smell the wine as he prepared to pour a glass, even though most people poured it first before testing the aroma. The strong, rich bouquet filled his head momentarily, but not for long enough to cease the constant stream of consciousness regarding him and Luc and their budding friendship.

* * *

Harry was long asleep before Oliver returned home that evening. The last two days of Ollie's vacation were somewhat uneventful, consisting of Harry catching up at work whilst Ollie caught up with old friends. Harry was completely befuddled when he realised that he would be somewhat glad to have the flat to himself again.

It had begun to get uncomfortable in the flat with the tension from Harry's job and the various unspoken irritants from each of the men. By the time Ollie left for the Puddlemere grounds in Scarborough, North Yorkshire again, Harry felt uncomfortably glad to see him go. It had been too easy for Harry to get used to his private space, and the time to himself. He knew it wasn't something he wanted to always have – he did crave the other man's attentions, he just felt he needed some time to himself at this stage of his life. He didn't want to think about the Scotsman's reaction if he mentioned this, so he waited patiently until he had left.

Feeling just a little bit guilty for rushing Oliver out the door that Wednesday night, Harry rang the restaurant in Paris to make reservations for the 27th, and then checked the journal to see if Luc had written anything. He inwardly sighed in relief to see the elegant script in green ink that had been written after his last concerned words.

_Hey, sorry Flash. I didn't mean to scare you. I was meaning to just be gone for a few seconds, but I had a bit of a disaster with a cauldron. I guess I wasn't concentrating. Cauldron's never blow up on me – not ever! Ah well, there's a first time for everything! I guess I could blame my ingredients – I never did trust the guy who sold me the Billywig stings. He claims they were fresh, but how he got fresh ones through customs from Australia, I'll never know. Ah, now I'm boring you with 'shop' talk. Suffice to say your company was so engrossing, I blew up a cauldron. Took me ages to clean up the mess (it was too volatile to clean with magic – had to do it the hard way), and now, when I finally get the goop off the walls, and off my clothes, and off the cat, well, I find you've gone. I hope all goes well for Ollie's birthday_ _and I'm looking for a report. This time with 'Details'. Remember, I'm living vicariously through you!_ _Au Revoir, Luc_

He was pleased to see that all was well with Luc, and a little surprised to note just how relieved he felt. Deciding that he would wait a while before writing again, he carefully placed the journal on the hutch over the desk, so it wouldn't get covered up and forgotten again.

The rest of Harry's week was fairly mundane, but a niggling sense of impending… something… was making him anxious about a number of areas in his life.

He needed to put the finishing touches on Ollie's birthday surprise, not to mention pick out a gift! A sense of restlessness had overcome him at work, and he wondered just how much longer he would find his job satisfying. Thoughts of his future often crept into his consciousness as he did his paperwork. He thought about Luc's mention of a career. _Was this a career?_ Harry could not see himself doing this in five years' time. The only part of his job he truly had no qualms about was his teaching, but that was only a small portion of his duties.

Harry had been surprised by a memo that flew into his in-tray, requesting his presence at the Ministry headquarters, in London, the following Friday. The reason for the trip eluded him, as no indication was given in the memo, but it had been signed by the head of his department, so it wasn't as if it were an optional request. His curiosity was piqued by this, but he barely gave it a second thought after filing it away. Still, Harry couldn't quite shake the feeling there was something important happening right in front of him, and he was seriously in danger of missing out on it completely.

* * *

With one quick look around the flat and one more mental check of his packed belongings, Harry finally felt certain that he was ready. Before he could second guess himself again, he Apparated to the broken-down red telephone box that served as the entrance to the London offices of the Ministry. He always felt uncomfortable coming to this office, dredging up bad memories of that fateful night in fifth year. Taking a deep breath, Harry reached toward the telephone and dialled 6-2-4-4-2, then went through the familiar motions of announcing his name and purpose to the Welcome Witch, and waiting for the silver badge which would allow him clearance.

Once inside the Atrium, Harry scurried past the Fountain of Magical Brethren and went directly to the far end of the Atrium and stopped at Eric Munch's desk to have his wand checked.

"Wand," came the bored voice. Eric held out his hand without bothering to look up from his issue of _The Quibbler_. Harry dutifully laid his wand in Eric's hand; watched as he dropped it onto the brass dish and waited for the paper slip to emerge from the base. "Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use eleven years…" his voice trailed off as he slowly looked up. The recognition was immediate and Harry found himself quite shocked that this man had memorised the specifications of his wand. "Ah yes, Mr Potter, you know the routine. Have a nice visit!"

"Thank you," Harry said feeling more than a little uncomfortable now. He still had no idea why he had been asked to meet with the Minister, but turned and obediently followed the corridor to the golden grilles in front of the lift that would take him up to level one.

Finally standing in front of the Minister's office, Harry took a deep breath, not particularly looking forward to this meeting with Fudge. _Might as well get it over with,_ he thought. He glanced once more down the corridor, taking in the non-descript carpeting and the row of identical doors. _It's like they designed this place to attack the nerves._ He turned back to the door with the small gold plate that read "Minister of Magic" and noticed that there was a mark just above it, as if there had once been another plate there. With a mental shrug, Harry raised his hand and knocked.

Having thought about this trip for a full week, and doing his best to quell any nervous feelings, Harry thought he was ready for anything to happen once that door was opened by Cornelius Fudge. The trouble, then, was that Cornelius Fudge was nowhere near the door as it was opened. Instead, Harry found himself faced with a sea of red-heads and smiling freckled faces. "Ron?" He looked questioningly at his best friend, then scanned the room again to finally notice that Mr Weasley was sitting behind the desk which now proudly displayed his nameplate and the title of Minister of Magic.

The nameplate on the desk, the missing nameplate on the door, it finally sunk in and Harry broke into a wide grin. "Congratulations, Mr Weasley!"

The entire Weasley clan was there – even Bill and Charlie. It was amongst the hugs and warm greetings from everyone that Harry realised the ruse they had used to bring him to the Ministry, and the grin on his face widened as he relaxed. As he made his round of greetings, he couldn't help but notice the sly wink Charlie directed his way. He tried not to blush, but quickly turned his gaze back to Percy. He immediately became ever so interested in Percy's story about his and Penelope's daughter, and was avidly avoiding staring at Charlie.

"Harry! How's it going?" Harry turned and his heart literally skipped a beat as he confirmed that the rich, dark tones did indeed belong to Charlie Weasley.

"Charlie! Haven't seen you in years!" Harry's voice was shaky. Standing before him was the one man who had been Harry's first crush – well, first _male_ crush. Seeing Ron's older brother – older and even more stunningly handsome brother, sent a chill down his spine right to his groin. He was stunned by the violence of his reaction. He thought he was well over that crush. Seeing the tanned and well toned dragon tamer for the first time in three years, Harry felt like the giddy schoolboy he had been the last time they were in such close proximity.

"Don't worry Harry, you weren't the only one tricked today – They pulled the same ruse on me to get me home. I couldn't work out why the illustrious Minister wanted an audience with me – I've spent the last week working on our ruddy budgets for the dragon reserve, thinking that they were going to pull our funding. I suppose I can forgive them for that… I mean, it's not every day that your Father becomes Minister, now is it?" Charlie was beaming with pride at his Dad, but Harry barely heard a word; he was too busy chastising himself for acting like a bloody kid. Why was he checking out Charlie, when he was madly in love with Oliver?

Harry managed to hold a decent conversation with Charlie, but only after several deep breaths and the distraction of the new Minister helped him to overcome his swoon, and bring him back to his senses.

Arthur had been sworn in as Minister that morning, and Harry had been invited; not only to celebrate with his 'family', but they had wanted him there for the official family photographs. For once, Harry didn't mind having his photograph taken.

When Charlie shook his hand in farewell after their celebrations, Harry found an odd thrill ripple through him as the dragon tamer's hand lingered overlong in their handshake, and his thumb rubbed over the back of his hand. The lascivious wink of Charlie's as he bid farewell left Harry in no doubt that Charlie had noticed he was being checked out, and was flattered by the attention. Ron had unfortunately spotted the exchange, and informed his brother in no uncertain terms that Harry was very much unavailable, as he was practically joined at the hip to Oliver Wood, and that Harry's taste ran to Keepers rather than Seekers. Charlie pouted his disappointment, and then clapped his brother on the back.

"Well then perhaps you're still in with a chance oh great Gryffindor Keeper!" Ron's eyes widened at his brother's teasing, and Harry laughed as the brothers jovially fought. Harry had not laughed so much in ages, and had thoroughly enjoyed the 'family' get-together. The Weasley's had always been good to him, and he was suddenly humbled that they thought to include him in such a precious family moment.

Catching up with the Weasleys offered Harry the relaxing afternoon he hadn't known he'd needed. Just sitting there in the midst of his second family, Harry felt unrecognised tension draining from his neck and shoulders. He would definitely need to make time to visit London more often, especially when Ollie was off in Scarborough. Despite needing some time alone, Harry hadn't realised just how lonely he'd gotten lately. He craved company with people who really understood and really cared. These thoughts led his mind back to the journal and he found himself regretting the decision to leave it behind. He wanted to tell Luc about these feelings.

It seemed like hours later when he was following the tribe of Weasleys through the Ministry and found himself in the Atrium once again. They were waiting while Arthur went to check in with an assistant when Harry heard his name called in a questioning tone. He turned and found himself face to face with the only remaining member of his father's circle of friends.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry couldn't help the smile that graced his face as he realised he hadn't really seen Lupin since early during the war efforts. Lupin had been travelling a great deal, doing work for the Order, trying to be as useful as possible between the full moons. After the war, the werewolf had been working with some of the clean up efforts on the continent and suggested they get together for lunch when he returned. They'd tried to keep in touch by owl post, but Lupin's schedule and Harry's determination to dive into his new job had thwarted many attempts at actually meeting in person. Thus, it had been nearly four years since he'd seen the werewolf. "How've you been? What brings you to the Ministry this fine day?"

"Oh I'm doing just fine Harry. I'm just here today for my annual registration of my status." The werewolf sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why they make us bother; after all, it's not like I'm suddenly _not_ going to be a werewolf, although Severus has made considerable improvements on the Wolfsbane, which has made my life easier. The transformations are much easier, and less tiring." Harry was very pleased to see that his father's friend was looking so well. Despite this, Harry was a little taken aback by the almost predatory look in Remus' eyes as the older man looked him over.

"You're looking great, Professor." Harry genuinely meant it, and couldn't help but notice he was checking the werewolf out in return. Apart from the colour in his cheeks, the man looked well fed, and his robes were definitely new and hung perfectly from his lithe frame.

"Yes, well steady employment does have its advantages. How about you? What have you been up to? Lots of marauding mischief I hope." Harry could have sworn that Lupin was sniffing him out.

"I'm well. I've been quite busy, what with the clerk position at the ministry, unofficial Auror training and the bits of teaching they let me do." He decided he must be imagining things. There was simply no way Remus would be eyeing him up.

"Let you do?" Remus smiled. "Most times that phrase is used to describe something you wish you could do more of…"

"I enjoy the teaching. There's a satisfaction in it, makes me feel good when the students suddenly catch on, you know?" Feeling somewhat scrutinised, Harry began fidgeting, running his fingers through his longish hair, then jamming his hands deep in his pockets as was habit for him.

"Yes, I know. That's why I was pleased when the Headmaster asked me to return to my position at Hogwarts."

"Oh? I didn't know you'd gone back. Has it been that long since we owled each other?"

"I suppose so. I'm sorry about that, I should have made more effort to keep in touch with you, Harry." His eyes slipped to the floor as a sombre tone overtook his voice. "James and Sirius would both be disappointed in me."

"No! No, they wouldn't." Harry automatically reached out and placed a hand on the werewolf's arm, then became aware of the energy he felt through Remus' robes. _That's two men in the space of an afternoon! Merlin, I must be more sexually frustrated than I thought._ He couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty, particularly since he had made such grand plans for Oliver's birthday. Focusing on the issue at hand, Harry moved slightly closer to Remus, completely oblivious to the older man's heightened senses. "You mustn't say such things, Professor. Losing touch was my fault as much as anyone's."

"Harry," Remus smiled. "I must insist on two things. First, please call me Remus. You're neither my student, nor a child, so I see no need for such formalities." He paused, waiting for Harry's nod to show that this wish would be granted. "Second, I'll contact you within a week or two, and I want us to make arrangements to have lunch and catch up properly. You're still in Somerset?"

"Yes, I am. I'd like that…Remus." Harry blushed slightly at the familiarity of using his former professor's first name, and was blissfully unaware of the effect of that blush on said former professor.

"Good. Now, it looks as though your friends are waiting for you. I'll be in touch, Harry." He pulled Harry in for a quick hug before adding, "Take care of yourself."

"I will."

It had been a wonderful weekend for Harry - the best he'd had in a long time. Again he voiced his regret at not having his journal, as he really needed to sort out these feelings he'd had for two totally different wizards. Harry shook off his concern - it was probably the joy of seeing them again after so long that caused him to react in such a way.

Still, he was glad to finally settle into a quiet room at the Leaky Cauldron on Sunday evening. One blissful night to himself, and Harry could look forward to his celebratory plans for his boyfriend's birthday. He wanted to get an early start in the morning to make the most of the time Ollie had available. As he reached for his nightclothes, Harry was surprised by the _Walnut Whip_ that was hidden in the corner of his suitcase. Harry smiled.

It was a gesture Harry found touching, letting him know that Ollie was thinking of him. He'd often packed sweets for Ollie when practice schedules or games were keeping him away from home, but the idea that Ollie had not only returned the gesture, but sought out Harry's favourite Muggle sweet, warmed him inside even more than the tea he'd ordered from Tom.

Yes, he was a fool to think that some innocent flirting with a couple of older wizards was something to worry about. He smiled as he sat down and devoured the _Walnut Whip_, the cup of tea long forgotten. With Oliver, he truly had Something Beautiful, and right at this moment, he wouldn't change a thing.

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TBC

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**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 24-March-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005

**Authors Notes: **_This chapter was initially going to be a good bit shorter, then suddenly it grew and was going to be another 2-3 thousand words longer, then it decided to be finished, so I sent it to the lovely Azhure for her excellent beta skills and any further suggestions or improvements she could come up with. It came back a thousand words longer! Suffice to say, there's been a good bit of work involved in this chapter, including an IM session to write their "real-time" conversation. Considering our 16 hours time difference, those IM sessions either start at 5:30_ _in the morning for her or run until 3:00_ _in the morning for me. _

_I do hope you've enjoyed this chapter – a full nc17 version is available at the Skyehawke archive under Azhure's profile._

_Beta-Superb: Azhure – Thanks a million for your inspiration, help and eagle eye!_

_**Review Replies**_

**SilviaSilver** – _Welcome to our work! No worries about the repetitive reviews – I didn't find them at all repetitive and besides – there's no such thing as too many compliment for a writer! Honestly must say that I'm at a loss as to how you can say Oliver is not your type, the eyes, the grin, the accent, the way he handles his broom… ahem, yes well, glad you're reading, hope you liked this chapter as well…_

**Jen Red Robe – **_Thanks for the kind words, glad you've been enjoying it. Don't let your schoolwork slip – I promise fanfic isn't THAT important (omg – did I really say that?)_

**Fuzzytuss** – _Welcome! I do believe that was the first review we've seen from you, but hopefully not the last! Thanks for your comments, I can't tell you how thrilled I've been with the readers' response to this silly little idea I had one night. I'm really glad you like it! As for the Harry/Oliver – sorry – blame Azhure! grins_

**Sailor Grape - ** _Wow! Upon first receiving this review in my email, I sent a copy to Azhure because I was so flattered and thrilled and somewhat shocked by it. I have to say that it gives me warm fuzzies to know that people think I'm articulate and not annoying despite my verbosity. Azzie and I both tend to get a bit plenteous with the verbiage, so it's nice to know that it doesn't come across as piles of meaningless dribble! Again – really glad you like it, hope to hear more from you with future chapters!_

**incoherent - **_Thanks! I have a lot of fun writing Harry, he's got so many dimensions to him, and this fic just screamed for the sweet, sensitive, slightly insecure side of him to come out and play – so there you have it. As for the portrayal of Draco – your compliments have been received by Azhure, she's the brilliant mind behind this incarnation of our favorite Slytherin. I presume this chapter answered your question about Oliver… Just don't forget this is 'technically' a Harry & Draco fic! _

**Fayee** – _Sorry to disappoint, but I couldn't get rid of Ollie too soon! Azzie would kill me! Anyhow, I'm just tickled pink that you like my chapters. I know you're only reading it because Azhure is writing half of it wink but it's nice to hear from you anyway!_

**Louise4 – **_Firstly, thank you for the heads up about the "scouse." It has since been corrected. Secondly, thank you for the description including the tracksuit and curly black wig. It provided me with a fit of giggles and a rather disturbing flashback of my former stepfather. Thirdly, thank you for the wonderful review! It's always a pleasure to hear from you after posting a chapter. As for the outcome of these diary entries, I'm sorry but it will most definitely have to remain a surprise. Don't worry, your evil glares are duly noted and recorded as are your requests for resurrection. _

**Menecarkawan** – _I hope having more Ollie in this chapter was too upsetting for you, but again I reiterate that this **is** a Harry & Draco fic – eventually. _

**Malfoy** **Snogger – **_a repeat of Menecarkawan's reply, as well as – you hit the nail right on the head! This romance will definitely be developing over time, but doesn't it make the waiting and the tension and the anticipation that much more exciting? grins Oh, and thanks for the indignant comment about "The Showers." I was pretty miffed about it as well. You have joined our group, haven't you? You can re-read "The Showers" there whenever you feel the desire to!_

**Kyaukii** – _Welcome to the insane minds of Wintermoon and Azhure! I'm flattered that you've liked all my other works enough to check this out as well. I would highly recommend Azhure's individual fics if you haven't already started reading them. Thanks again for the kind words, and I hope to hear more from you in the future!_

_**Additional thanks to peachdancer82, Queen Antigone, michelle, driven to insanity, Curious Dream Weaver, Kaaera and the many other nameless readers out there. We know there are tons of you, we see how many hits the chapters get. Thanks for reading! And, should you be so inclined, we'd love for you to click that little "go" button and leave us a review!**_


	7. All That You Can’t Leave Behind

**Note:** Due to formatting limitations on this site, the following key is needed to read the diary entries. If you want to read them on our site in full living colour, then see below the chapter for the address of our yahoo group.

**Bold** Luc's Diary Entries  
_Italics_ Flash's Diary Entries  
Underline something 'special' happening in their entries

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**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 7: _All That You Can't Leave Behind_**

**Part 1: Stuck in a Moment (and You Can't Get Out of It)**

The familiar jingling of keys preceded the forceful opening of the studio door. The door was warped with old age, and Draco had to put all his weight against it, giving it a push as he awkwardly staggered in, slamming it hard with his foot once he followed the gust of wind that came with him. The overweighted bags in his arms were gratefully dropped on the counter rather carelessly. A couple of stray tomatoes fell from the top of the bag, but Draco was too busy rubbing his aching knee to notice. From the muttered complaints coming from under his breath, it was obvious that he was none too happy. Hobbling past his desk, he quickly stopped to open the journal. Nothing. His frown did nothing to improve his demeanour.

The wind had picked up during Draco's shopping trip, and the sleet had whipped through his rather flimsy jacket. What started as a casual stroll through the Muggle markets, turned into a mad dash to grab what food he could, before getting back to the warmth of his studio. Not one to be rushed, Draco's urgency in getting out of the weather did not help the twinge and ache in his injured knee.

Grateful to now be out of the typically miserable January weather, Draco waved his wand at the fireplace, which was soon blazing with a hearty fire. The studio had become rather chilly in the fortnight since his rather rushed return from the chateau. In one of his now all too common outbursts of irritation, he had decided that the studio needed redecoration. The curtains, rugs and throw cushions had not survived the purge, yet Draco had not yet had the inclination to replace them. With the windows now exposed, every ounce of cold from outside crept in and made his usually cosy studio a rather uninviting place.

Not that it really bothered the wizard. Draco felt it was some sort of suitable punishment for his behaviour just before the New Year. If he was going to become a better man then he needed to suffer somewhat. The fire in the hearth and a very basic warming charm kept the place from becoming uninhabitable, but the studio's atmosphere was just on the chilly side of comfortable. He needed that chill to help him feel the pain of his past actions.

Draco leant heavily against the bench as he waited for the ache in his knee to subside. He almost forgot the other reason why he had ventured out in such miserable weather in the first place. Sneaking a hand into the pocket of his jacket, Draco pulled out the sealed packets and vials of fresh potions ingredients. He slowly limped over to his potions cabinet and carefully locked them away, holding back a couple of packets for immediate use.

A pot of coffee was soon ready, and a sense of warmth crept through him as he took a sip of the harshly bitter brew. With a kick start from the caffeine running through his system, he was ready to go back to work. _No point in dwelling on things now – is there?_ He thought. With his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, he was soon going through the familiar and safe motions of his work. At least he didn't have to deal with people, and that could only be a good thing. The soothing comfort, monotony and repetition of brewing kept Draco sane, yet it did not dispel his demons.

Draco was busy reading through his own research notes as he chopped, sliced, stirred, simmered and cooled a variety of ingredients into a number of cauldrons in his work area. Often he would look up over the top of the simmering pots, and his gaze would fall on his desk, on one spot in particular. With a sigh, he went back to work. Having thrown himself back into his work since the New Year, Draco had taken the bold step of adding the complex 'Medicinal Potions' class to his already busy class schedule. It was the least he could do to make up for his behaviour over his Yule holiday.

His recent research project involved working with antivenoms, and he had successfully brewed a number of the more complex ones. He had been experimenting this past couple of days with Lobalug antivenom, and with a few different tweaks and combinations, was recording his results for further research. As one hand stirred the nearest cauldron, his eyes glanced at his desk yet again, but nothing differed from the countless dozens of other times he had looked upon the journal in the past fortnight. A scowl crossed his face, and with a huff, he threw the last few ingredients into the bubbling pot before once again stirring furiously.

The scowl had become a permanent fixture in recent days. He tried to focus again on his work – after all, it was all he had left now – and let the look of disappointment linger after the scowl died away. He had stuffed up his love life, and now, after his mad ramblings, it seemed he had lost the one person he was beginning to think of as a friend. Flash had not replied to Draco's entry after New Year's. At first, Draco eagerly awaited some response from the other wizard, but after a couple of days, dejection had set in. The more Draco denied he was becoming obsessed about the journal, the greater his obsession about it grew.

With each passing day, and no response in his journal, Draco became more sullen. He had not yet completely given up hope of hearing from the other wizard again, but hope was fading fast. No doubt he had scared Flash off with his crazed ramblings of his post Yule exploits. _There I go again – spilling out my deranged thoughts and choices, and another wizard has judged me for them and decided not to bother with me any more. Perhaps someone treated Flash like that in the past, and I've just dredged up bad memories for him._ Flash had probably decided that 'Luc' was a complete nutter, and was not worth knowing about. After all, he had his own life, and his own happiness to sort out – why would he be interested in helping someone as self centred and horrid as himself?

As Draco's self recrimination continued he dwelt on what he missed most about the other wizard's correspondence. _Could we really have been friends? I really found Flash intriguing. Perhaps I should write something else – some sort of apology._ Draco snorted and shook his head. _That won't work – he's probably thrown his journal away and has decided to pour his feelings into a journal that won't moan and bitch about its own deranged lifestyle._ _There's another rejection – just like Antonio. It's true. I'm utterly self centred, and I should have been the one listening to Flash – after all, he was the one to write first. Not once did he try to judge me, and he seemed so open minded. I suppose I do deserve his rejection – after what I did to Devon. I am so fucking selfish. I am NOT turning into Lucius! I refuse to!_

Draco tried harder to convince himself that he never really befriended the other wizard, that it was foolish to pour his whole misguided love life out to the stranger. As much as Draco tried to convince himself that this was the truth, at every given opportunity he would watch the journal for any sign of a reply. _Why am I so obsessed with waiting for his answer?_

As the cauldron's ingredients reached boiling point, Draco meticulously and precisely added some final ingredients, before reducing the flame and sitting down with his notes – along with a fresh pot of coffee. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he prepared to continue pouring over more books and parchments in his research. His self worth was at an all time low, and he could not believe that he had become so eager, so dependent on the word of another wizard. _It's not like I need anyone's approval for what I want to do. Guess I'll just have to suffer on my own. I am a Malfoy, after all. _

Draco pondered the decisions he had made at New Year. He didn't need any romantic entanglements in his life. They had been the cause of all his woes. The façade he always wore – the cool and detached face of pureblood sophistication - was wearing thin. Draco didn't think he really wanted to wear it any more. After all, it was a part of his persona that linked him to his family – to his father, and he hated that. Shutting himself away and throwing himself into his work had not been the most original way of dealing with his troubles, but it was all he could think to do at the time. He really wanted to talk to Flash about this, as the other wizard probably had much better ideas on how he could handle inner happiness, and love. The two things Draco craved most of all.

It was just then that Draco realised what he really wanted – he needed to be happy within himself. _Am I truly happy right now? Not really - but what else can I do?_ For many years he assumed the Malfoy fortune would keep him happy, but a couple of years without it, and he realised it would not make him happy – comfortable perhaps, but it would not be the root of his happiness. _No,_ he shook his head, _throwing myself into work is the only logical thing to do._ He rubbed at the unshaven stubble on his chin. In his preoccupation over the past few days, he had not bothered to shave, and only now realised the cause of the annoying itch on his face.

As he sat pondering the results of his latest experiments, his quill poised over the parchment, he felt a tingle of magic erupt before him. His journal started to tremble and shake as the pages ruffled before his eyes. It took him a moment to come to terms with the fact that the purple writing was suddenly appearing on the page. _Surely I'm not imagining it again? _Draco took off his glasses, carefully cleaning them before putting them back on. For two weeks he had imagined this very scene, as Flash wrote to him. This wasn't his imagination – the words were truly appearing before him. He became quite flustered as he eagerly grabbed his favourite eagle feather quill, and nervously scrabbled for the green ink to let Flash know he was right there. Propriety be damned, he wanted to talk to Flash!

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he read Flash's words. _So he's been in Italy._ _Merlin I'm a self centred fool. Of course he has his own life to lead. He's not at my beck and call._ Draco's smile broadened across his face as he realised that Flash had not abandoned him.

After a short pause, Draco quickly wrote a hello to Flash. He hoped that the wizard had not gone again – he had just been telling Draco how he wasn't a cad for dumping Devon. Flash was genuinely pleased to know that Draco was all right, and he also seemed pleased to be talking to Luc 'live'. _I really didn't scare him off – he seemed genuinely apologetic for not responding._ Draco felt so foolish and silly for being so obsessed over the other wizard's lack of reply. He had sounded needy enough in his last ramblings – he didn't think he wanted Flash to find out he had been acting even more selfishly. _After all, I'm not the only one who needs to talk about his feelings – Flash started this whole journal business._

The pair wrote back and forth for a good while, their conversation crossing dozens of topics. As time went on, Draco realised that a knot of tension was slowly being released from his shoulders. He didn't realise that he had been so tense, just because his new friend had not replied to him.

They were friends now; at least, Flash had accepted his hand of friendship, which had turned Draco's smile into a broad grin. As he sat watching the other wizard's words he thought long and hard – comprehension dawning within. _It's a friend I need right now – not a lover, not family. Emmaline is a true friend and my petite mère, but I can't talk to her about some things. Yes, I think Flash and I will make great friends. I wonder if we would have been friends if we ever met in person?_

He pondered this enigmatic wizard he wilfully opened up to. _Why do I feel so comfortable around him? Is it because he's anonymous?_ Draco shrugged. _He hasn't once tried to judge me, and he's even apologised for being human enough to make a mistake with his own advice – wow! He's almost too good to be true,_ Draco thought.

Draco had not felt so pleased in ages – just reading about the other wizard's life – knowing just that bit more about him had piqued his curiosity, and he began to lift out of his own self recriminating fugue. Draco could not help but feel slightly jealous of the other wizard's seemingly wonderful time with his partner, Ollie, but as his mood lifted, he realised it was only natural to feel a little jealous when someone had what you desperately craved. A little jealousy was healthy for the soul, but not the blinding type that he had often been involved in. He tried hard to not let Flash's musings about Italy dredge up memories of happier times – impromptu weekends away with Antonio were a common occurrence, but he could not begrudge Flash and Ollie their time together. Despite an unwarranted lingering doubt mulling in the back of Draco's mind, Flash seemed to be truly smitten and deeply in love with this Ollie character. It was plainly obvious.

As they wrote about unimportant things – books and Quidditch locker rooms and Muggle devices, Draco realised just how easy his words came – no holding back, no hiding behind his mask of indifference. It was a refreshing change. Despite this, he didn't feel quite ready to reveal his full name. He sensed that Flash was possibly holding back as well, no doubt for the very same reason. _Why complicate things with identities?_ After all, this guy was English, and Draco didn't know how Flash would react to knowing that he was talking to the son of one of England's most notorious Death Eaters. _No doubt he'd have some pre-conceived notion about me because of Lucius._ _I don't want that._ W_hy am I so drawn to him – so compelled to talk to him?_

Talking about Quidditch and school had brought Draco back to some happier times, despite some rather forgettable memories resurfacing. _Well there's no way this guy went to Hogwarts – he probably went to one of the smaller English wizarding schools. That Potions master he described is nothing like Snape, and he has taught at Hogwarts a good twenty years now. _The memories of Quidditch were bittersweet. He would dearly love to play again, but knew he would never get back on a broom. Still, he did miss the comradeship of his fellow Slytherin team-mates. They had been a close knit bunch of players, in more ways than one. Perhaps if his education had not been 'rounded out' by his experiences with his fellow Quidditch players, his love life may not be in the position it was currently in. Yes, some of the most interesting lessons were learned in the Hogwarts Quidditch showers, and the classes were not held by the Professors.

As their conversation progressed, Draco realised he had given away the fact he worked with potions, yet he knew nothing about Flash's occupation. After discovering he worked with Dark Arts, Draco sat back momentarily. _No wonder this guy seems so confident – so in tune with his feelings – he's obviously a lot older than I initially thought. Eleven years experience with Dark Arts. Must be in his late twenties or early thirties._ Draco surmised. _I wonder if he's an Auror? Boy, am I glad I never told him my name. No doubt those guys think I'm tarred with the same brush as my father, even though I spied during the war. I saw the look in their eyes when it was all over. They still didn't think I was trustworthy. Why else would I want to up and leave England, but to get away from their mistrust? _

Draco sighed with relief as he saw that Flash would willingly help him with those resolutions he had made back in the New Year. _After all, I don't really need anyone to 'make' me happy – at least I shouldn't. I've managed to survive these past two weeks, and I'm still here. Besides, what more could there be for me? Heaps of people manage on their own. Look at Severus._ Draco thought about his mentor, and fellow spy. They had worked closely during the war, and Draco suspected he knew the man probably better than anyone else alive, save for probably Dumbledore. _Perhaps I'm destined to be alone like him. At least I'll be in control of my own destiny. At least I won't be like my father – giving myself over in service to a complete madman._

Draco was pondering the idea of getting to know more about this Muggle television thing, when Flash suggested he talk to some of his Muggleborn friends. Draco was about to tell Flash he had no Muggleborn friends, when an unpleasant scent wafted past his nose. The unexpected smell preceded the thick pall of black smoke rising from his unattended cauldron. _Oh fuckity-fuck!_ Draco quickly scribbled a curse before dropping his quill and rushing over to the cauldron.

He knew it was too late before he'd reached the other side of the room. The antivenom he had been brewing had bubbled over and Draco could spot that the resultant mess was rather unstable and close to exploding. The colour and the pulsating pustules on the surface giving away that fact. Just as he was within striking distance, the cauldron's contents exploded all over the kitchenette – coating everything within its reach – his glasses and coat included. A yowl from the cat told him that she too had been struck by the dangerously explosive concoction. Petite Amie leapt away from the threat, and ran cowering to the relative safety of the bathroom.

Draco muttered curses in several languages, angry at himself for completely ignoring his cauldron. He was more stunned than surprised at his inattention. In all his years of potion work, not once had he ever left a cauldron unattended. Realising the instability of the rapidly cooling mess, Draco started to clean it up – without magic. Why had he stopped paying attention to his work? _Because Flash wrote, and you were so happy to see his words, all thoughts of reality flew out of your head like a lovesick fool!_ Draco chastised himself as he cleaned.

* * *

It was a couple of hours before Draco had his studio in a condition where he could finish cleaning with magic. He'd managed to save his other concoctions from that day, as the other cauldrons were surrounded by their own protective charms. The antivenom had been ruined, as had a number of odd ingredients lying on the benches. His jacket was completely ruined (not that that was a bad thing, Draco hated it in the first place), and poor Petite Amie was looking decidedly put out by the rather vigorous bath she had received. Draco was still profusely apologising to her, and offered a sizeable portion of the chicken he was planning to prepare for his own dinner in way of compensation.

By the time Draco returned to the journal, tired and overwhelmed at his inattention, it was a good few hours later. He hadn't expected Flash to hang around, and saw that the other wizard had indeed been concerned for his welfare. He smiled at the thought that his friend was worried for him. _Yes, he is my friend, and he does care._ That thought warmed Draco more than the fire in the hearth, and he composed a suitable apology for his abrupt departure.

The kinship he felt with this other wizard was something he'd not felt in a long time. He could hardly recall worrying this way about anyone else – at least none of his other friends. As for his former lovers, well, Draco immediately gave up on thinking about them – the memories were still too fresh and he was in too good a mood to dwell on such things.

_I'm glad he offered to help me. Flash seems so much more in touch with his own feelings, and I need guidance. I've been busy shutting myself away these past few days, and I'm not going to do it any longer. I have to stop dwelling on Devon._ Draco gulped at the memory of the impressionable young wizard. _Flash is right. Devon will be grateful in a few years when he does meet his Mr Right, and he'll know it was better that I ended it now than to string him on for months. I can't be that cruel and heartless. Perhaps there is hope for me yet!_

As Draco sat by the fire, warming his toes, he munched into his bruschetta. In his guilt, he'd ended up feeding all the chicken to Petite Amie, and was left with nothing else but his bread and other fresh vegetables. He ended up making the simple Italian bread, smothering it with the freshly baked tomatoes, garlic, basil and pepper. All that talk of Italy had made him hunger for the simple Italian meal – one that Antonio had taught him to prepare. Draco had prepared it unconsciously, and the sudden thought of Antonio held no pain for him. His past relationships were a part of him now – of who he was, and he was going to have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life.

Perhaps he was beginning to heal after all.

Pouring himself a refreshing glass of wine – one from his own vineyard – Draco sat back, and thought on memories he had long forgotten. The Quidditch showers had indeed been an eye opening place for Draco. It was there that he honed his skills for watching people; it was there he first learned many things about his own sexuality, and about the things that boys could share together. Still, the memory of a wet and glistening Harry Potter as he stepped from the shower was just as vivid as it had been six, nearly seven years earlier.

He would never forget that sight – well, at least he had tried, but to his chagrin, the memory would never fade. As he realised what he was thinking, the smirk on his face soured, as did his jovial mood. Even stripped bare, the bloody git had still been worthy of bodily adoration. Draco could never forget his reaction to that sight, and even now his body reacted at that initial thought. His scowl soon put paid to those traitorous thoughts. However, after Draco had initially caught Potter naked, he had experienced the hottest of wet dreams featuring the Gryffindor seeker. He'd woken drenched with the aftermath of that initial dream, and needed to relieve himself of his mounting pressure again before he faced classes that morning. Unfortunately for the Slytherin, it had been that same shower vision that had aided him in his morning quest as well.

Looking at the clock, he realised it was rather late and he was disappointed that his day's work had been less than successful. The antivenom would have to wait for another day. That would mean another trip for more billywig stings, and Draco decided he would work on other aspects of his research tomorrow. He made his way to bed, obviously forgiven by Petite Amie, as she was curled up on his pillow and moved down to lounge against his back as he got comfortable between his sheets. He had felt better for talking to Flash, not realising just how tense he had been about the other wizard's absence. He felt stupid for his crazy notions and self centred ideals about the other wizard ignoring him. He truly needed someone like Flash to be a true friend – a confidante. It was refreshing to get to know someone without all the added baggage. For the first time in years, he was truly getting to know someone, and it felt great. _Perhaps I should have tried to make more friends over the years, if this is the feeling that comes with making them._

Sleep quickly overtook his now relaxed body and mind. Not even Petite Amie could guess the relaxed smile on his face was brought about by the very hot and very wet Quidditch players featuring heavily in his dreams.

* * *

_Janvier 16, 2003_

_Bonjour Severus,_

_Apologies for not writing to you sooner, I've been rather – preoccupied, and it's only now that I realise I've actually been remiss in responding to your Yuletide missive. My most humble apologies for that. I did actually write a reply at Yule – Wizard's honour – but the inclement weather, and the reluctance of Melchett to deliver it would have meant that my meaningless tidings would have come late anyway. I do hope that you had a pleasant Yule in the castle. I expect that the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors are giving your ulcer a hard time. I trust none stayed back to annoy you over the holiday break. _

_I regret that I write to you for purely selfish reasons, and not just to apologise for my own misgivings. A few days ago, whilst faced with a rather disastrous experiment with Lobalug antivenom, I decided to turn my thoughts back to our pet project. Call it a hunch, but I had some success with further experimentation. If the results from my latest batch of tests prove successful, then I might consider taking it to my lecturers and registering it as my honours thesis project. Who knows what I'll be doing at the end of this year, so these tests had better succeed (I haven't really got any other topics up my sleeve)._

_I've attached my latest notes to this letter, and I was hoping that if you got a chance (in other words, lighten up on the detentions for a couple of nights – or at least pass them on to Filch), you might want to look over and test my latest hypotheses. I do think that altitude has a marked effect on the actual brewing and simmering times, and you're in a position to test that theory. If you check my Arithmancy, I think I've sorted out the key to this dilemma. Either that, or it's the inferior British cauldrons that make a difference. The bottom thickness in them has declined dramatically since the war. _

_I was hoping your willing volunteer might like to test these results again this month, if you find the results to your satisfaction. I think adding the ground vervain to the infusion should counteract the bitterness of the wormwood – without affecting its magical properties. I'd try it out here, but I'm lacking a distinct supply of werewolves, and well, you have such a willing guinea pig right there in the form of Professor Dumbledore's pet werewolf..._

As Draco wrote, he realised he was being rather callous about Remus Lupin. After all, if it hadn't been for his former defence professor, Draco would not be getting the constant and precise feedback on his pet research project – improvements in the Wolfsbane potion. In his seventh year, Draco had assisted Severus in the brewing of the difficult potion for Professor Lupin. He had been reluctant to do so at first, but Severus had pointed out that Potions masters always put aside personal prejudices when plying their trade. After assisting Snape a couple of times, he successfully brewed it on his own. Draco had been abhorred by the smell, and the lack of refinements that had gone into the potion. Surely there had to be a way to make it more palatable, without losing its effectiveness. He had always been curious about improving this potion, and often spoke to Severus about suggestions. For at least the past six months, Severus had been using Draco's recommendations to brew an enhanced Wolfsbane for Lupin.

Draco couldn't hate the werewolf professor - and he didn't - not really. He sighed. Perhaps it was a side effect of growing up – he no longer felt any animosity towards him. To be honest, he never really had anything against Lupin in the first place. It had been his father who had encouraged the negative thoughts towards the werewolf back when Lupin was teaching Draco. Draco could not really fault Lupin, after all, he had been a key member of the Order, and his war record spoke for itself.

_Besides,_ Draco admitted, _Lupin was the best defence professor I had in my entire schooling._ He quickly erased his past words, grateful that he had the forethought to do so and extremely thankful that the normal parchment allowed for the correction. He thought that writing in that journal would eventually teach him to think before he wrote, and that could only be a good thing. He had no reason to hate Remus Lupin, and would not demean the man on paper. He was NOT Lucius.

..._you have such an eager test subject in Professor Lupin. I don't know how he'd react to knowing that you have been brewing the Wolfsbane to my suggestions, Severus; I'm not sure that he would be so willing to test the changes if he knew that I was the one behind the enhancements you've been brewing. I look forward to your feedback soon. _

_Au Revoir,  
__Draco_

* * *

**Part 2: Wild Honey  
****January 21**

It had been a rather busy Tuesday for Draco, classes dragging on for what seemed like an eternity. A disagreement with one of his lecturers had left him in a grumpy mood. All he looked forward to was a hot and strong cup of Emmaline's coffee. He suddenly felt guilty that he'd not been helping his landlady out these past few weeks, but if he were honest with himself, this past week since he chatted to Flash, he'd felt much happier, but had become immersed in his studies, and felt much better that he was channelling his efforts into something more constructive. He was still eagerly awaiting a response from Severus about his latest batch of Wolfsbane. Draco was sure that he would be hearing only good news from across the channel soon.

As he turned the final corner to the dark and narrow street where he lived, he noticed something amiss. It wasn't until he came up close that he saw that the bookstore was closed. _That's odd,_ Draco thought. _Normally this is a busy hour._ He frowned, not knowing what was wrong. Peering into the store, he couldn't see anyone, and there was no sign of Emmaline – she didn't even have a lamp lit. Sometimes she would close up early – particularly if the weather was bad enough, yet today had been clear and perfect for shopping, despite a little wind. He went around the back and climbed the rickety staircase, entering his studio through the back landing.

He knocked on the door of her studio – perhaps she wasn't well. After a few knocks, there was no answer. Shrugging his shoulders, he went back to the comfort of his own studio, attempting his own efforts at coffee, rueing the missed opportunity for one of Emmaline's fine brews. _She never said she was going away. Usually she tells me these things._ It was a mystery why the store was closed.

A sudden noise from across the hall perked his attention. It sounded like it had come from Emmaline's studio. The thump and cough was distinctly unlike any noise Draco normally heard from his landlady's studio. The manly cough was easily distinguishable. He dashed as quickly as he could across the hall, and was again loudly banging on her door. "Emmaline! Are you all right in there?" The distinct sound of muffled footsteps could be heard in the studio, but she did not come to the door. "petite mère... is everything all right? I'm coming in." There was no reply and the muffled sounds ceased.

"_Alohomora!_"

Emmaline's door creaked open after the lock disengaged. Creeping in slowly, his wand drawn, Draco spotted the intruder first. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" The intruder – male – was stopped in his tracks. His wand was also drawn, but he had been leaning over the gaunt and pale looking face of Emmaline.

Draco rushed to her side. "petite mère... Are you all right?" the fear in his eyes was evident at the sight of her. Draco had seen that look before, and it wasn't good. Her ghastly pallor was only one shade away from the colour of death, and he had seen more than his fair share of that in his time.

"No!" Draco was about to lay his hands on her face, to touch the skin. He didn't want to confirm if his worst notion had come true. As he gently laid his hand on her cheek her eyes opened and Draco let out a sigh of relief. She tried to open her mouth, but no words came from her parched and dry lips. She tried to mouth the words instead. Not understanding what she was saying, he glanced over at the intruder and scowled. A look of sheer frustration crossed a pair of dazzlingly bright chocolate brown eyes.

"Neveu... medi-wizard..." The words were dry and almost unintelligible as Emmaline pointed at the intruder. Draco could see the man struggling fruitlessly against his body bind.

"What?" Draco couldn't understand what she was trying to say.

"He's my... medi-wizard... Draco, he's... release him, please." Emmaline used up a lot of strength to speak. Draco looked back at the man, who looked nothing like a medi-wizard. For one, he was way too young. Secondly, no self respecting medi-wizard would be wearing robes of such... bohemian design. He looked as if he had stepped straight out of a Bedouin caravan.

"Em, are you..." Draco was interrupted by her fierce nodding.

"Please Draco, he's helping me." Giving the other wizard one last distrustful look, he muttered a reluctant "_Finite Incantatum_".

A deep sigh came from the now released wizard, but rather than reacting and hexing Draco, he barely gave him the time of day, moving quickly to Emmaline's side. As he cast some identification spells over her, Draco was surprised at the level of concern on the man's face. At one stage, she tried to push his wand hand away, but he firmly chastised her. Draco was shocked by this brutal bedside manner. _What sort of medi-wizard is this guy anyway?_ He thought as he looked on, still with the distrustful glare.

Expecting the worst, or at least a few dozen potions to be poured down her throat, Draco was further surprised when the wizard rolled up his sleeves, and continued without his wand. _That's most unconventional,_ he thought. He had only heard of Reiki healing before – not being one for esoteric healing methods. Watching the energy ooze out of the other man, he noticed, for the first time, the rippling sinew of his forearms, and the amazingly large, yet elegant hands.

_He imagined those sensual hands gliding over smooth, pale flesh; the elegant fingers running through short pale hair; the hands grasping at tight, firm flesh..._

Draco snapped out of his daydream, realising that he was being addressed by the man. A modicum of colour had returned to Emmaline's face, and he noticed the man's extended hand. Draco looked dumbstruck for a moment, before realising the other wizard was looking to shake hands. He firmly grasped the hand, and was surprised by the warmth and positive energy still flowing through the gesture. Pressing flesh with the other wizard was just as exciting as his momentary daydream. Draco inhaled sharply at the pleasant touch. The sparkle in the other wizard's eye told Draco that he too felt something from their touch.

"Salut, I'm Jean-Paul. Tante Em flooed me. She's not been well. Not well at all." Draco noticed the other wizard's displeasure at his patient's condition. As he was going to comment on his harsh manner, he realised that she had called him nephew, and he called her aunt.

"Hi, Draco Malfoy." He jerked his thumb at the hallway. "I live next door. I've been busy at l'Institut, and haven't been to see her for a few days. She never told me she wasn't well." Feeling foolish for stating the obvious, he found himself momentarily dumbstruck in the heady scent of this man. The closer he got, the easier it was to be pulled in by his sheer energy. Draco would have loved to be able to see his aura – it was no doubt stunning. For lack of better words, he paraphrased Jean-Paul. "So petite mère is your aunt? And you're her medi-wizard? How is she? Really." Draco grabbed Jean-Paul by the elbow, leading him away from Emmaline's bed. Jean-Paul could see the look of true concern in Draco's face. Draco was sure it wasn't going to be good news, and he didn't want her to overhear their conversation.

"Oh, she'll be fine. Well, as fine as you can be at her age. Her magic is dwindling, Draco." Draco loved the way his name sounded as it rolled off the older man's tongue. He brought himself quickly back to the conversation at hand – as thoughts of tongues was not a good idea at present.

"Dwindling?"

Jean-Paul nodded. "She's going to get better, but she is going to have to start slowing down. I don't know what possessed her to buy this store; it's too much work for her to handle alone. I've told her she must stay in bed all week, and she's not to do any magic – of any kind." He said the last louder, for Emmaline's benefit. Even though she appeared to be now sleeping peacefully, Draco knew she would be listening carefully. Jean-Paul continued.

"You know, I'm rather glad you're here." Draco raised an eyebrow. "If she was completely alone, I would have insisted she be admitted to a hospital, but I can see you care for her..."

"She's like a mother to me," Draco interrupted. Jean-Paul nodded in understanding.

"Will you look after her? I can't stay." The medi-wizard looked around the room surreptitiously. "I'm really not supposed to be practising in Paris, but Tante Em was so ill when she flooed, I came straight over." He grabbed a parchment and quill, and quickly started writing.

"What do you mean you aren't supposed to be practising in Paris?" Draco wasn't so sure about Jean-Paul's credentials right now.

"I'm working in Marrakesh, and I could be struck off the Moroccan register if they find I've left the country to work." Draco accepted the explanation, relieved that Jean-Paul wasn't supposed to be forbidden from practising due to nefarious reasons. The medi-wizard finished making the list, and passed it to Draco. "I need you to get these potions for her." He pulled out a bag and put a number of galleons on the table.

Draco looked at the list. "No problem, these are simple enough for me to brew..."

Jean-Paul looked up at Draco in surprise. "You don't have to brew them – they are easy to get over the counter at any apothecary."

For the first time Draco smiled at the other wizard. "Hey, potions major here – I could brew these medicinal potions for her with my eyes closed. Why trust something from the apothecary? Who knows how old their ingredients are. Besides, it's nothing. I brew Wolfsbane in my spare time!" Draco had a sudden urge to show off in front of Jean-Paul.

He was rewarded with a smile, and a firm hand on his shoulder. "Well then, I guess I should be glad that you're around."

Draco could have sworn that Jean-Paul's tone was flirtatious. _Merlin, just what I don't need or want right now!_ He looked away from the other wizard and fidgeted – something he had never done before. _I promised Flash I wasn't going to get involved with anyone. The first ruddy wizard I meet and I'm already checking him out and he's flirting. Why now? Why do I always have to do things the hard way?_

The medi-wizard flooed away, but not until after he promised he would return to keep an eye on Emmaline. Draco gave him his own floo address, and it was a good few minutes after Jean-Paul left that Draco let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding the whole time he'd looked into Jean-Paul's eyes. He cursed inwardly. Why was he checking out the other wizard – didn't he just make a resolution saying he wasn't going to do that?

Shaking his head, he checked on Emmaline one more time before heading out to get what he needed to make her medicines. As he headed back out into the street, he realised it was probably perfectly natural for him to feel that way around Jean-Paul. _After all – I can look at the menu, I just promised myself I wasn't going to eat!_

* * *

"Draco. Wake up Mon Cheri." The words buzzed in his brain as he came to wakefulness. As he opened one eye, he saw Emmaline's smiling face – crooked but smiling. The crick in his neck told him that he had once again fallen asleep at the counter of the store. Emmaline's wand produced the only light in the room.

"Wha... Emmaline! You're not supposed to be doing magic! Stop that!" He looked over at the clock before extinguishing her light and lighting his own candles. "Oh, did I miss your last dose? Sorry. I better go and make it for you now." Draco turned to go upstairs, his eyes barely able to stay open.

"Draco Malfoy! You listen to me!" Emmaline's tone was firm. "As much as you have helped me this past week, I love you dearly – almost like a son." She cupped his chin in her hands. "But it's about time I put my foot down. Jean-Paul has been overly cautious." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Emmaline put her finger against his lips to stop the protest. "I cannot believe you have been missing classes to keep my store open, then attempting to do makeup work during the nights. I'm sure that was not what my nephew had in mind when he asked for your help."

Draco nodded in understanding. He had felt a little guilty that he had not seen Emmaline in the few days leading up to her illness. To make up for it, he opened the store in her stead, and sold the books, and made the coffee. Each night, after closing, he would come upstairs, prepare Emmaline's medicines, and then work on his missed lectures. After a week of this hectic schedule, Draco was running on pure adrenaline – and caffeine. He barely had time to shower and feed himself before it was time to re-open the store to customers.

Draco barely realised that Emmaline had dragged him up the stairs to his own studio, and was insisting he go to bed.

"But petite mère, what about you? You can't be better yet..."

The old witch laughed. "Oh, I'm more than fine. Jean-Paul is an alarmist. I just needed a couple of days rest. I'll be fine, and _I'll_ be opening the store tomorrow morning." She stopped Draco's protest in his tracks. "Besides, you need to concentrate on your studies. Far be it from me to be the one to cause you to fail."

Draco smiled at Emmaline. "Oh, I'm up to date with my schedule, I won't fail. But Jean-Paul said you should not be working hard. Nobody wants to see you run yourself into the ground. I don't know how you keep up. I've done this a week, and I'm exhausted!"

"How about we talk about this in the morning Draco? When I'm ready for my next potion." Neither Emmaline, or Draco would back down from their stance, so they would continue in the morning. Draco nodded, and closed the door behind him, as he heard Emmaline's door close as well.

It was all Draco could do to scrub his teeth before going to bed, but he persisted. "My dear, you look terrible." The mirror in the bathroom was used to paying out compliments, and feeding Draco's vanity. Draco scowled as he looked into the mirror, and saw that it was right – he did look terrible. A week with barely any sleep would do that to a person.

Draco felt better as he made his way down to open the store the next morning. Having managed a good solid six hours sleep, he was more rested than he had been all week. He was stunned to smell the coffee beans already ground, and see the blinds already up in the store. Emmaline was humming merrily as she carried a bag of coffee beans from the storeroom.

"Emmaline, what are you doing?" Draco snatched the bag from her, before carrying it the rest of the way to bench.

"I'm opening the store today Draco, and before you argue – I'm not having you get sick as well. Besides, Jean-Paul is coming over this afternoon, and he will be able to see that I'm coping fine."

Draco looked at her with concern. "But what about your magic – if you start doing too much, it might disappear." He was surprised by Emmaline's hearty laugh.

"Is that what Jean-Paul told you?" She brushed Draco away with another laugh. "He's a brilliant medi-wizard, but he's hopeless at seeing Muggle diseases when he comes across them."

"Muggle? What do you mean?" Now Draco was more confused.

"I think I caught some sort of flu – not wizard flu. But when you get the Muggle flu, your magic does dwindle. I'm feeling almost back to my old self. Now, why don't you go to classes for a change? There could be some handsome new student there you haven't yet been introduced to." Draco rolled his eyes at her obvious attempt at humour.

"You know there's nobody out there I need right now, don't you petite mère? I'm fine just the way things are." Emmaline pouted as she booted him out the door on his way to l'Institut. As she watched him head down the narrow street he turned and gave her a friendly wave. A wry smile crossed her face and she murmured under her breath. "Oh, but there is someone out there for you all right, you just don't know you need him - yet."

The day had been long, and Draco had been grateful for the notes he had acquired for his missed week of lectures. It was a rather tired Draco that opened the door to the store late that afternoon. As he crossed the threshold, he immediately noticed Jean-Paul sitting at Draco's favourite table up on the mezzanine. He took a moment to study the man's serious expression and the angular lines of his handsome face. The slope of his chin drew Draco's eyes down to the tiny bit of visible skin just below the man's Adam's apple. Draco fought with thoughts of licking that skin and tried not to look too eager as he slowly climbed the stairs to join the medi-wizard for coffee. A stern glare in Emmaline's direction indicated to Jean-Paul that he did not approve of her back at work in the store.

"Bonjour, Draco." Jean-Paul smiled at Draco as they sat down. Emmaline soon had coffee ready for both men.

"I'm sorry Jean-Paul, I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen..." Jean-Paul put a hand up in protest to stop Draco.

"It's all right now, Draco. She's already told me off for being a little overly worried about her. I didn't think she could have caught a Muggle disease – I just don't think of these things sometimes." As Jean-Paul stared, Draco could feel the effect of those eyes on his own body. He looked away quickly, not willing to let himself get involved in that way. Not one to be ignored, Jean-Paul put his hand on Draco's shoulder.

"I want to thank you my friend, for everything you have done for Tante Em. She is a stubborn old witch, and if you had not been here, well, I think I would have probably had a hard time keeping her away from the store."

Draco smiled back. This wizard was intriguing, and Draco didn't really know what he wanted to do. Shag him, definitely, but no, he promised himself he wouldn't think like that. "So you're back in Paris. What about the Moroccans? Won't they be upset?"

Jean-Paul shook his head and smiled, not bothering to hide his confident pleasure at the knowledge that Draco had remember this detail. "No, I gave my employers advanced notice of my trip, and that is okay with the sheik. I will have to go back soon. But I would like to come back to Paris again – soon." Draco could not mistake the flirtatious undertones of the smoky voice. "Perhaps you'd like to join me for dinner one night?"

Draco was thoroughly confused. Here he was, trying very hard not to let this man get to him, and he was being asked out to dinner. Mild panic set in as he pondered his answer. He really wanted to go to dinner with this gorgeous and intriguing man. He wanted to know all about living and working in Marrakesh. But the responsible part of his brain was telling him not to agree to the date. "I... I'm not sure that would be such a good idea." The dejection in his voice belied his words. "I'm not terribly good company these days Jean-Paul."

The older wizard nodded, as a small sign of disappointment crossed his face. "Well perhaps a drink instead. We've managed to make it through this one, and I don't find your company at all displeasing." Jean-Paul indicated his empty coffee cup, and Draco could not mistake his words for anything but flirtatious this time. "Perhaps dinner will have to wait until we've had a few drinks."

Draco sighed and smiled, relieved at the other suggestion. No promises were made and nothing was exchanged between the wizards, yet Draco would get to spend some more time in the presence of this amazing man. His smile was genuine, but he refrained from touching Jean-Paul again, still not trusting himself after their last meeting.

"I'd like that very much."

Draco was still shaking his head hours later as he was attempting research over his latest assignments. _Am I crazy? I promised myself I wasn't going to do this again. But then again – it is only a drink – not a shag. Hell, we haven't even snogged. Is that what I want? You can't be alone forever Draco Malfoy, no matter what crazed ideas you had earlier this year. You have to get out more. You don't want to end up as bitter and repressed as Severus, do you?_

Convincing himself had been hard, but he would go and have a drink with Jean-Paul. What harm was in that? After all, this was one gorgeous man, and his eye was firmly on Draco.

* * *

**Part 3: When I Look At The World.**

_January 27 2003_

_Dear Draco,_

_Despite years of being your teacher and confidante, despite years of working beside you in the worst working conditions in the world, and despite having to save your hide more than once, I find it disturbing that you now consider me unworthy of responding to the simplest of Yuletide greetings. I'd expect something like that from a Gryffindor. Since when have you been associating with the likes of them?_

_I've come to count on two things in my dotage – the imminent arrival of my retirement when the next Weasley enrols at Hogwarts, and the fact that I can usually set my clocks by the arrival of your ever so regular correspondence. I thought the worst when I did not receive a response to my Yuletide missive. Alas, I confess to not finding any obituaries about you, but I could not help but wonder if you had died. Either that, or you had succumbed to the siren of the debauched Parisian student lifestyle. Your recent letter proved my suspicion that it was most likely the latter._

_I wonder if your 'preoccupation' as you so kindly put it, had anything to do with trying to brew your own absinthe, as most potions students in Paris are wont to do. What is it with most potions students? Do you all think you are better than the most experienced Masters? Why do you all insist that it be more potent than the tried and true recipe? It's the most deadly libation on this earth! I for one have never been able to see the attraction, but then again, if you ever ask me about my own experiences with the green fairy, I will deny them unequivocally. _

_But I'm sure those French think they are the only ones who know how to brew the dreadful concoction. Why you chose to study with that bunch of idealistic imbeciles is still beyond my comprehension. You would have done much better studying here on home soil, but who am I to tell a Malfoy what to do? But then I'm sure you are sick of my constant stream of complaints about your lecturers. I'm sure half of them wouldn't have been capable of sitting through my NEWT classes. _

_As disappointed as I am at not having to attend your funeral, I thought I would return the results of the latest batch of Wolfsbane improvements. Professor Lupin was most eager to try them out (typical Gryffindor – goes in head first without thinking – you could have poisoned him for all he knew). I confess to not ever considering ground vervain leaves in the slightest form. Well done. _

_I am so grateful your 'preoccupation' appears to be over. Can I look forward to your regularly scheduled missives once more? As you know I have no life, and I do enjoy living vicariously through yours._

_Regards,  
__Severus._

_P.S. I've also enclosed the latest front page of the Prophet. No doubt this news will mean that it will be even longer before you return to these shores, which I regret sorely._

Draco was pleased to hear from Severus. He always hated how the mail took at least a day to arrive from England.

He always looked forward to the correspondence from conversing with the acerbic and witty professor. Having worked beside him during the war, he had seen a side of Professor Snape that very few had witnessed. The Slytherin Potions master was as perceptive as ever, and had surmised that Draco's lack of correspondence was partly due to alcohol, and no small part due to his own love life – which was totally correct. Draco suddenly realised that he could always claim Severus as one of his friends. A friend, but not quite a confidante. The only person he could think of in that way, incredibly, was Flash.

As he opened the results of the Wolfsbane experiments Severus had attached to the letter, he was pleased to note that they had been a success, and that the vervain had indeed reacted as he had anticipated. Feeling more than a little pleased, he unfolded the promised page of the Daily Prophet. Draco rarely read the Prophet these days, his interest in the goings on in England not that important to him any more. Every now and then, like now, Severus would owl him any important news. Extremely important news would be on the front of the French papers, but Draco had not read any this past week – he had been so busy with the store.

The pleased grin on his face soured as he saw the picture adorning the front page. A sea of Weasleys assaulted his vision, all smiling and waving happily. Draco barely saw the headline as he clamped eyes on the one non-redhead in the picture. _Potter._ The scowl returned to Draco's face, and for a brief second, he misread the article, and thought that Potter had been made the new Minister of Magic. He read the article announcing Arthur Weasley's ascendance into the coveted position. Draco was loathe to admit that the man would be ten times better in the position than Fudge. Draco would have even grudgingly admitted that Potter might even do a better job than Fudge, but he could see the cause of Severus' concern.

If Weasley was now Minister, then Draco knew that the trustees of his father's estate might have an even rougher time, and it would no doubt mean that more taxes would have to be paid to the Ministry. Draco knew that no love was ever lost between Lucius and Arthur, but as his gaze bore into that of Ron Weasley's, he knew that even now the stupid prat would be egging his father on to bankrupt the Malfoy Estates. He barely gave the smirking face of Ginny Weasley the time of day, but did manage to place his thumb right on her face as he read the article. The small hands flailed about as Draco got some satisfaction from this small yet fruitless revenge on the stupid bint.

Despite Draco's recent congenial behaviour, the scowl reserved for Potter was still filled with as much hatred as he had ever felt for the saviour of the Wizarding World. Even now, when the news had nothing to do with the overrated wizard, he has to get his smarmy mug in the paper. Always gatecrashing other people's glory, Potter was. Draco was ready to tear the offending picture to shreds, when he noticed the interesting byplay behind the scenes in the photograph. With so many Weasleys' in the picture, Draco had a hard time telling most of them apart. The caption identified the man in question as Charlie Weasley. Draco had not failed to notice the man's gaze as it wasn't directed at the camera, or at his father like his siblings. This wizard had eyes for only one, and it was Potter.

_See, even that prick's fan club doesn't stray far from him,_ he thought. But Draco knew that look – he had seen it before, on the faces of those in pubs and clubs. He had even seen it as recently as his disastrous trip to Roussillon. _He's eyeing up Potter – and the stupid git knows it! Look – he's even giving him the eye back._ It was true – the newspaper Potter was regularly turning and smiling at this Charlie Weasley in that knowing way. _Merlin! Even Potter's getting some, and with a Weasley! That's sick. _Draco counted any encounter with a Weasley as being sick, particularly after his own recent encounter with Ginny.

At the thought of Ginny Weasley, he ground his thumb harder into the face on the photograph of the sly witch, and his temper flared as he again saw Charlie Weasley wink knowingly over at Potter. Draco tore the paper to shreds. He couldn't bear to look at it any longer. He fed the shreds to the fire as he let out a frustrated scream.

He couldn't blame Severus for sending the paper to him. After all, the news that Arthur Weasley was Minister was certainly something Draco needed to be aware of. He knew for certain now that he would not be returning to England any time soon, and that he might just even make Paris his base of operations for the rest of his life. That idea seemed particularly appealing at present.

Despite the late hour, Draco grabbed his cloak. He needed to get out and clear his head. There were too many things going on inside his head. Jean-Paul had affected him in so many ways, yet he wanted desperately to be true to his word with Flash. He wanted to be happy within himself. Seeing the new Minister and Potter had just added more confusion to the jumble of thoughts in his over active mind. He needed to sort himself out. It was a beautiful clear night in Paris. The snow had begun to clear, and the stars shone brightly in the fading moonlight.

Draco thought on the enigma that was Jean-Paul as he walked. The older medi-wizard had affected Draco the moment he met him, but why now, of all times, did Draco have to meet this beautiful man? Especially after promising himself that he wasn't going to get involved with anyone again, at least not until he was happy within himself. _Merlin! Even Potter's getting some, if that photo is anything to go by. Why then am I so desperate 'not' to get involved with Jean-Paul? _Draco wasn't upset by the fact that Potter, the Boy Who Lived to be Gay, seemed to be eyeing up one of the Weasley boys. Rather, it was the fact that Draco was being presented with his own dilemma.

It wasn't hard to notice the overt gazes Jean-Paul had given him. Draco had felt the attraction from the moment he laid eyes on the man. But he had made a promise to himself – a promise that he intended to keep. He needed to talk to Flash about this man. His own mind was a confused jumble of emotions. At the forefront, was sheer lust. How could it not be when gazing at Jean-Paul? But he tried so hard not to think of him at all – he couldn't afford to. It was his sheer lack of control over his own lustful thoughts that had led him to the actions he was trying so hard to avoid.

Draco pondered this point for a long time as he walked. He didn't realise just how far from home he had roamed as he thought long an hard on what he truly wanted out of life, and whether or not Jean-Paul was included in that future. It was such a pleasant night for a walk in Paris. The moonlight added an eerie quality to the Muggle street lamps and Draco was nearly lost. Noticing the spires of Notre Dame in the near distance, he realised that he had wandered onto the Pont Neuf, and had crossed the Seine. The brisk walk – well, brisk by Draco's standards – had done little to improve his confusion over Jean-Paul. One part of him just wanted to grab the wizard and be shagged senseless by the man's grace and beauty, whilst the other part of him wanted to do as he had promised, and stick to his resolutions – being polite and friendly to Jean-Paul, just without anything physical.

As for Potter, well Draco had all but forgotten the bane of his existence. What did he care if the fool was shacking up with a Weasley? _The two gits probably deserved each other,_ Draco thought wryly. As the thought of Potter shagging anyone nearly turned his stomach, the wretched image of the git all naked and wet from the Quidditch showers invaded his mind again, and he shook his head violently to get rid of it. Damn that Jean-Paul. Draco's heart rate soared at the thought of Jean-Paul, and continued to race as that traitorous thought of a naked Harry Potter stepped into his head again.

As he walked along the park on the bank of the Seine, Draco avoided further thought. He couldn't trust his own thoughts to keep his mind off his woes, so he began to clear his mind, and looked around. His knee told him that he needed to take a short rest. He took the opportunity to rest on a low wall surrounding the park. He sat for a moment, looking down as the reflected moonlight rippled across the Seine.

A throaty laugh invaded his ears. It was a moment before he realised the sound was coming from under the trees. He turned to his left. The laughter had been replaced with the sound of low voices, followed by the unmistakeable sounds of kissing. The sound invaded his mind, and he scowled. He didn't need anything to fuel his erotic visions. The street lamps were a fair distance away, making it rather dark under the trees in the park. Squinting, Draco could just make out the outline of a couple – one with their back to the tree, the other pinning him there with strong arms.

The silhouette of the pair showed that they were obviously a wizard couple – their long robes wrapped around them against the cold, and the taller wizard moved to brush stray hair from the other's face. The relaxed laughter punctuated the couple's soft murmuring voices, and Draco could see from the bobbing Adam's apples that it was a pair of wizards involved in the embrace. It was too dark to see their faces, but from the sound of lust in their voices and the friction of their kisses, Draco could not help but watch. His own body reacted to the lustfully bold display of blatant sexuality.

As much as he would have loved to stay and watch, Draco stood quickly. That was the last thing he needed to see this night. Not that it was abnormal to find lovers kissing in Paris, but right now the last thing he needed to watch was two wizards having a seemingly raunchy good time whilst he was completely missing out on all the action. As he stood, his knee protested, and rather than continue the walk, which had done nothing to clear his mood now, he quickly moved back into the shadows and Apparated back to his studio.

* * *

He woke the next morning with the taste of old socks in his mouth. He groaned as he recalled his impromptu drinking binge upon his return home from his walk. The turmoil in his mind had only been exacerbated by his walk, so he did the only thing possible – he drowned his sorrows in alcohol. Luckily, he only had wine in his studio, so he had a devil of a time getting himself drunk. After three bottles of his finest wine (his own label, naturally) he was drunk enough to fall asleep.

As he began the almost routine steps in making a Sobrietus potion, he noticed the journal lay open on the desk. He smiled for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He made his potion first, then put the coffee on, allowing himself the ability to read Flash's words at his own leisure.

_**January 28th 2003**_

**_Luc,_**

**_I was looking back over our last conversation Luc, and it led me to thinking about Ollie. There's little that will stop me from thinking of Ollie at present, actually. In mentioning that he's got a certain refined quality as well as a slight roughness, I neglected to explain that there's something about that dichotomy which really intrigues me. It's not just Ollie; I remember having similar attractions toward certain schoolmates because there was a mystery about them, a dark, sexy side that excited me in the deep recesses of my fantasizing imagination. Yet they always had an air of sophistication and culture and poise that I found incredibly attractive and romantic. I've realised now that Ollie is a bit lacking in the poise and culture aspect. _**

**_I took him out for his birthday, somewhat amazed that he could actually get the entire day and night off from work. Your suggestion was perfect! That restaurant was exactly what I was looking for and offered lovely romantic ambiance and exceptionally delicious food. The wine list was so extensive and included such great selections. I imagine Heaven would have such a wine list! So, anyway, whilst the sommelier was explaining their top selections to us, Ollie was staring off into space. I settled on a Burgundy, excellent vintage, and was very impressed with it. Much to my chagrin, Ollie took a sip or two, and promptly ordered himself a beer. _**

**_I guess that makes me seem a little pompous and snooty, and I swear I'm not always like that. Hell, sometimes I'm just the opposite – or maybe I'm just schizophrenic. _**

Draco laughed as he read Flash's words. He too would have felt the same way had his date ordered a beer at Joël Robuchon's. This Ollie sounded uncouth and, had Flash not mentioned otherwise, totally Muggleborn in his ways. _Still,_ he thought, _this guy is smitten. Besides, if anyone had tried that on me in that place, I probably would have turfed them out the door. _Despite his pleasure at seeing Flash's words, he couldn't help but feel a little sad that even Flash was in love – everyone seemed to be in love, yet he was trying his hardest not to succumb to it.

**_Anyway, we had a wonderful dinner and went for a walk around Ile de la Cite. The Seine is so lovely at night. The moon reflected on the water by Pont Neuf and I felt incredibly cuddlesome and romantic. We stopped at one point, he'd said something about his work schedule and we just paused to discuss it. That's when we first noticed the way the moonlight shone across the river and the lights around Notre Dame reflected in stark blocks of colour. I felt so incredibly in touch with him at that moment, Luc. I'm only telling you this because…well you said you wanted details and frankly, I don't know that anyone else would understand it. _**

**_Anyway, Merlin! When he kissed me, somehow it was like the first time we'd ever kissed. Hell it was like I was truly being kissed for the first time ever! I may have wished for more poise during dinner, but the dark, rough side of him came out as we stood there. I had my back against a tree, and we were just in the edge of a shadow. I knew there were people around, people that could see us embracing and for just a tiny moment, I didn't care. I'm usually self-conscious about it, and it was exhilarating to realize that it could be so exciting, so arousing. I got caught up in the sensations, nearly forgetting our location, as he nibbled at my neck and ear and collarbone. When he pulled me closer and it hit me how aroused we both were, I decided it was time to cool things off. After all, I may be titillated for a moment by people watching me kiss, but I wasn't about to be shagged on a Paris street!_**

Draco sat back for a moment, realising just what Flash had said. Flash had been in Paris last night. Draco had been in the same spot – at Pont Neuf, and had wandered through the park overlooking Notre Dame. Flash's description of being kissed up against a tree was exactly what Draco spotted. _Did I see him? Did I really see Flash, and Ollie?_ He tried to work through the haze of his now dwindling hangover to recall the finer details, but could only recall the fact it was two wizards kissing – merely outlines and not faces he could hold on to. If Flash had been up against the tree, then Ollie was a couple of inches taller than him, and his hair was a little shorter. As for any further details, well, Draco was at a loss for those. He felt quite excited at the thought it was his new friend he had seen the night before.

**_To tell you the absolute truth, I'm not sure what happened next. I mentioned our hotel room, thinking it would be just the place to continue our activities. I had it all set up with candles and a whirlpool bath. I was envisioning a quiet romantic evening to celebrate his birthday and make up for all the time we would be apart. I thought that's what he wanted too, but suddenly he was griping and complaining about getting a beer and checking out Muggle clubs and animatedly proclaiming that last night's Manchester United victory needed proper celebrating. I don't even know when he became a football fan! _**

**_Well somehow this became an argument. Oh, we did indeed go back to the hotel (though it was hell trying to find a safe Apparation spot), and we eventually had the romantic evening, but it took some time getting there. It's a good thing that Wizarding hotels have sound charms on each room. I'm sure it's done more so for the sex sounds than anything, but our argument was pushing the barriers of the charms in our room. It was all about the dumbest little things, like how he can't stand to be alone but he doesn't like most people, or how I'm too particular and expect him to be someone he's not. He complained about my dead-end job and I complained about his lack of concern for anything resembling responsibility. He yelled about how I don't seem to have any ambition and I screamed about his inability to grow up and act like an adult. We fought about how well we know each other, or don't know each other, and whether or not it was a bad sign that I didn't know what he would have preferred to do for his birthday. _**

**_Just as it was all about to explode in my face and I was ready to tell him to bugger off, he asked me why in the name of Merlin I would take him to such a ritzy place in a foreign city, then drag him around for a walk in the dark! Despite the fact that the answer seemed obvious, overlooking his utter disdain for the romance of the evening, completely ignoring his ignorance in all things special or extraordinary, I answered him. _**

**_"Because I wanted to show you that I love you," I said to him. Yep. That's right, Luc. I told him I loved him, and in the middle of an argument no less. Of course, the moment I said it I wondered if I was crazy, if I was mistaken. What made me so sure of those words? I still have a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that I don't really know what love is, yet. No matter, I'm sure it's just my normal insecurities. _**

**_So of course, after flooring him with a statement like that, Ollie did what any sexually active, warm-blooded, adult male would do. He grinned like a loon and proceeded to attack me. Suffice to say the sex was amazing, the foreplay even better and I'm wearing high collars to work all week!Yes, I'm grinning as I write this. A big goofy grin that just seems plastered to my face. The best part of it is the look on his face just after he comes. It doesn't happen quite when he comes, that's just a normal screwed up orgasm face. No, the look I'm talking about is this incredibly sweet, satiated, blissful expression that just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I think it's a look of pure love. It's something that only I will ever see. It makes me feel a million things, only one of which is more precious than I've ever felt before._**

**_So, there you go. Details – you asked for them. I certainly didn't intend to ramble on for this long, but I do hope you've enjoyed the read. And how has your week been? I do hope the cauldrons are doing all right and you haven't had any more explosions. I meant to tell you, in regards to getting in touch with yourself and finding out what really makes you happy, I have an assignment for you. _**

**_Think about your past, everything you can remember about it and list the top five times you can remember being truly and completely happy. If you've got a really shite past, then go with as close to happy as you can imagine being. List them and write a couple of sentences about each; what made you happy, how long it lasted, why it ended, that type of thing. Think long and hard about it, as you stir your cauldrons, and then write it all down and look over it. Then, add one more thing that you think would make you even happier – something that hasn't actually happened. You might find a connection. Let me know. I'd love to read the list if you feel like sharing it, but I'll understand if you don't. _**

**_Until later,  
_****_Flash_**

Draco sat back, grinning as he reached the end. _Well, the night certainly seemed a success,_ he thought. _He told him he loved him! Merlin, that's a huge step._ Draco remembered the last time he told someone he loved them. Antonio – not long before they broke up. The time before that – well, he was planning on saying it to Millard, but the other wizard told Draco it was all over. The only time he had said it and it had been returned, well, that was so far in the past, he could barely remember her voice. The vision of Devon saying it was at the forefront of his mind, and he quickly exorcised the image.

He was quite surprised at the level of detail Flash gave him, but then again, he had asked for it. Just reading the words helped put his confused mind at rest. He really needed to put things into perspective. Here Draco was, concerning himself about Jean-Paul, when he should really be trying to be happy within himself first. He would think of Flash's assignment.

At first, he could not think of a single happy memory. This assignment would take time. At least it might take his mind off his confusion over Jean-Paul. Perhaps he could stop being so serious and start being the person he used to be – just without all the baggage he normally carried around. He wouldn't reply to Flash just yet. He wanted to do this assigned task properly, and he would hopefully find what he was looking for.

* * *

_Février 1, 2003 _

_Bonjour Flash, _

_I was reading about your wonderful night in Paris, and I must say thank you for your very vivid details of the night. I've started working on your assignment, but I've got loads of other things to tell you too. I just had to get some of them off my chest before I put all my effort into my 'happy thoughts'. Just where do I start?_

Draco paused for a moment. He wanted to tell Flash everything. It had been a couple of days since he read Flash's last entry. He thought he could take his mind off Jean-Paul, but he couldn't get the other wizard out of his head. Writing it down would help him get his thoughts in order. Adjusting his reading glasses yet again, he dipped the quill in the ink, but stopped when he saw the deep purple words begin to flow across the page.

_**Hello Luc! I was just rummaging around for a book to read and saw the journal open up!**_

_Oh, hey! rummaging around for a book - you mean you're not going to watch television? I thought you'd be rather busy with Ollie. After all, didn't you profess your undying love to him?_

_**No, unfortunately I'm alone tonight. Ollie's gone back to work, and well... I thought about turning on the telly, and watching one of my favourite shows or something, but I kept thinking about what you said... you know spending hours at it when I could get a good story from a book...**_

_I didn't think you'd take my words so literally. I thought you might have been a little upset about your little bit of a fight with Ollie before you ended up being snogged senseless. You two obviously have something special. It's unrealistic to think it will always be wine and roses, so your fight was probably quite normal. We all get frustrated at times. Perhaps he's not one for surprises, and the fight was the result of that. _

_**You know, you are right. I never really understood the meaning of 'make-up sex' before, but now – well, let's say that I'll let you imagine the details.**_

_Can't say I've ever really had 'make-up sex' before either, but you've just confirmed what I've been told in the past. I must confess that I've been thinking a lot about what you asked of me in your last entry - about my past and the times I have been really and truly happy. I have had to do plenty of soul searching for that, and I really have only come up with one time that fit your criteria, but I'll try to broaden my definition of happy just a bit. Just as I keep coming up with scenes where I thought I was happy, something, or someone has usually stopped me from reaching my ultimate goal._

_**I...I really don't know what to say to that, Luc. It seems so sad and lonely. I hate to think of anyone feeling that way. I mean, I haven't always had the best of times, but I can say that I've had some very happy times... I'm sorry, I wish I ... well, I'm sorry.**_

_Oh don't be too sad for me, I've managed to survive thus far, and I've still got the rest of my life ahead of me. I've come to realise that I am probably my own worst enemy. A lot of the time it was my own high standards that got in the way of happiness. I guess my family got in the way at other times - my father in particular, and since the war, well, things have improved somewhat. Of course, now, I've let my own libido ruin some good relationships, and any possible chance of happiness on that front. I'm trying very hard not to let it control me, and I am currently being sorely tested. Remember the resolutions I solemnly made at the New Year? _

**_Yes, I remember. I must say I think a year of celibacy is a bit much myself (I doubt I'd have the fortitude to maintain a vow like that!), but if you're determined, I'm sure you can do it._**

_Well, there's this amazing man I met - I wasn't looking for anyone, he's a medi-wizard and he was helping my landlady, who's been very ill. I've been trying so hard not to be overly eager - I'm trying to be very gentlemanly, but had I met him last year, we would have probably been shagging like oversexed rabbits by now... so far we've just smiled, and I shook his hand. That was hard to let go..._

_**All right then, are you leaving it at that because of the resolution, or because of something else?**_

_I don't know. I... I'm just perhaps too scared. I promised myself I wasn't going to let my libido guide me, and this man just oozes sex. He's about 30ish, and... well I'm sure if you met him you'd dump Ollie like a hot potato. He's got that air of confidence about everything he does - but I think perhaps I should take it slowly. I mean with all my past lovers, it's been all about the sex - then we developed our friendships around that - and then things just blew up. I'm thinking I should try the opposite approach, friends first. You say that that's worked for you and Ollie?_

_**Yes, I've always believed that any serious relationship must start with both parties understanding each other, and having an honest caring friendship. On the other hand, as long as both parties are both willing and have an understanding that there are no strings attached, I see nothing wrong with a sexual arrangement when a relationship isn't a desire or an option. So the question is, do you want a relationship with him, or do you just want to shag him senseless?**_

_It's so hard... I just want to shag him senseless, or let him shag me to the wall - preferably both - and on a regular basis. But he's so intriguing. He's working at the moment in Marrakesh. So exotic, and he seems well, almost too perfect. I think I'm just going to stick to my original plan, and take it one day at a time, and not let my lower anatomy do my thinking for me, as it has done so often in the past. I don't yet know if I want a relationship with him – I barely know him, but I'm feeling this amazing sexual attraction, and I can't stop thinking about him. I suppose at this point I really want regular sexual gratification, and nothing else. But I'm not letting my libido guide me. So the day by day plan seems to be the best thing, doesn't it?_

_**Yes - absolutely! I would suggest that you not take this beyond handshakes and tea until you know what you want, and preferably, what he wants as well. That way, you don't run the risk of following your libido and regretting it later.**_

_Glad you approve! Although I don't think he's a tea kind of man. He's a full bodied, rich and exotic blend of coffee with a hint of aromatic herbs and spices. But enough about me. Now, how's Ollie been since your little sojourn in Paris? Has he expressed his undying love back to you?_

_**Yes, he has. Well, he did that night and the following morning anyway. I haven't really seen him since I wrote, though. In fact, he owled today to tell me that he won't have another break until the 23rd of the month, so I've decided to surprise him for Valentine's day. I really don't want to miss out on spending it with him, especially after his birthday. It's a special day for those in love, so we should make the most of it, right?**_

_Oh, that's a brilliant idea. That would be such a nice surprise. You know, I just remembered this, but after I read your very thorough details of your date in Paris, I saw that you mentioned your little walk out by Pont Neuf, and that Ollie was thoroughly kissing you up by a tree, and you didn't care that anyone saw you? Well... I was out for a walk then as well, and I think I saw you. I can't be sure, but how many wizards would be lip locked up against a tree in that particular place on that particular night? Don't worry, I couldn't see terribly well... It was awfully dark, and my reading glasses prescription might need a little adjusting (If you ask me that tomorrow, I might not admit that!)... but after I read your words, I thought it had to be you and Ollie. He's about two inches taller than you? dark hair? you've got dark hair?_

There was a rather long pause before Flash replied. For a moment, Draco thought the worst. _Oh no, I've managed to freak Flash out. He's probably sitting there cursing and swearing. _He was more than a little relieved to see the purple words appear again.

_**Um, yes, I do believe that was us. As you said, how many wizards would be there... and we both have dark hair, though I don't know why you assume he's the taller one.**_

_I caught a silhouette... he seemed to be a little taller than you... anyway. well, there you go. It truly is a small world. I wasn't the best of company that night. Jean-Paul (that's Monsieur Amazing's name) had me all confunded, and I'd just read something that put me in a rather bad mood. I needed to go for a walk and clear the air. I guess I was a little miffed that I was the only one not getting any action (albeit I was trying not to) and I think just watching you after what had been going on all day just put it all into perspective for me._

_**Sorry, I just realized that you could guess I was the one by the tree because I mentioned it, and therefore you could easily deduce that he was the taller one. You took me by surprise for a moment there. I'm sorry you were having a bad night, I do hope that whatever you read wasn't anything too horrible, but feel free to talk about it if you'd like. I must say I was a little excited by the prospect of people who could be watching, but it's something else entirely to know that you were watching. I guess that sounds strange, and I've never thought of myself as a sexual freak, but it definitely stirs up some interesting ideas. Oh Merlin - I do wish I could get into the habit of thinking before I write. Now I've got myself blushing again.**_

_Ha ha ha, and your writing has turned red again... you changed your ink - no wait - it went red the last time you blushed. Come to think of it, back in your last entry, when you were describing your romantic interlude at Pont Neuf, it went crimson then too. Hmmm. That's interesting. Well, I would have stayed to enjoy the show you boys were putting on, and normally I would have (being such the voyeur that I am) but it was like I had been bombarded by all these images of people in love all day - people kissing, hugging, even coy looks. The entire day. I'd been trying so hard not to think of Jean-Paul, yet everywhere I looked, people were kissing and I'm sure if I looked through windows I would have caught everyone shagging. Hell, I even saw the front page of last week's Daily Prophet, and it looks like even the Boy Who Lived is being shagged regularly, if that picture of him was anything to go by... _

**_Oh? What kind of picture was it? I don't keep up with the Prophet much. It seems they aren't very newsworthy on most things, you know._**

Draco paused for a moment and smiled. Another wizard who really doesn't care much for the Daily Prophet. _I knew there was a reason why I liked this Flash fellow so much. He's obviously not keeping up with Potter's gossip column. _

_Oh, someone sent me the news about your new Minister Of Magic. I'm sure that one of his sons was eyeing off Mr Potter in that photo, and I do believe that the coy looks were being returned. I'm usually pretty good at reading people, and I suspect that something's going on between them - not that I keep up with the gossip pages. It just made me feel like I was the only person in the world not sharing in the love. Ah well, I did promise it to myself, so no sympathy there. I guess the harder I tried not to think about it, the more it was being thrown in my face._

_**And an incredibly sexy, exotic man like Jean-Paul just makes it harder, doesn't it? I wonder about that ink thing - if the journals alter the colour of my ink when I get embarrassed, would they do it if you got embarrassed, too? You seem to know more about these things, do you know why the ink would change when I blush?**_

_Not a clue. I don't know any more about these journals than I've already told you. I suppose I could ask my landlady. She was the one who acquired it before me. I wonder who used them before? I know there was writing in this one just before I opened it. The writing hastily disappeared, and the pages became blank. But I don't get embarrassed easily, so we'll probably never be able to test your hypothesis. However, I do 'insanely jealous' and 'melodramatic' terribly well to make up for my lack of embarrassing times. I can't recall the last time I was embarrassed... _

_**Hmm. This journal had writing in it, too. I can't be certain, but as the journal was in a vault of my godfather's, I think it was his writing. He's long gone now, so I suppose we'll never know. I'm curious, do you do 'insanely jealous' and 'melodramatic' on purpose? And if so, do you do them simultaneously, because that seems like it would take a lot of energy.**_

_Oh I've been known to do both since I was a child... the curse of the only child I think. I've probably done both together, but I can't really remember doing it lately. Melodramatic – yes – I'm slowly getting off the Devon melodrama bandwagon. I last did 'insanely jealous' when I thought someone was eyeing up Antonio in a restaurant, and I dragged him home. But not after I hexed the other guy with the wandering eye._

_**Hmmm, I'm an only child, too. I wonder if I have those tendencies and just haven't noticed that about myself. I've been meaning to ask you, do you have any special plans for Imbolc? I had hoped to spend it with Ollie, you know, as a symbol of a nice fresh start for things to come. Of course, even if his schedule allowed it, he wouldn't have wanted to. He's incredibly anti-holiday, despite his very traditional upbringing and wizarding heritage.**_

_Hmmm, well now that you mention it, I was invited to a bonfire tomorrow night. I wasn't sure I wanted to go, but now you've had me thinking about happiness, and I've been delving into my past. I really should go - I've got a lot of things I need to get out of my system, and like you say - a nice fresh start. So yes, I guess you've convinced me to go tomorrow night. What about you? Planning on going anywhere alone? Or is this good book or the television going to keep you company?_

_**Oh, if I do go anywhere, it'll be with my best mate. His family is huge and they've sort of adopted me. Of course, if I don't hear from them, I'll just dive into a book or something. I think it's good that you've decided to go. I've noticed that you seem like a bit of a loner, hardly mention anyone but your landlady. Oh - you said earlier she was sick, I hope it's nothing serious?**_

For the first time Draco realised that he really was a loner. Watching people constantly was enough to ensure Draco was always wary of making friends. But when he was with his lovers, he wasn't such a loner. _Oh be honest with yourself Draco, they were always Antonio's or Millard's friends you hung out with when you were together. The only reason you get asked out at any other time is by you classmates, and they only do it because you've most likely intimidated them into that position._

_Oh no, my Landlady is better, but she overworks herself, and I have been keeping busy this week looking after her store in between studying and research. I've had to throw myself even further into my work to keep up with everything. I did get a little run down, but a few pepper-up potions, and I'm back on deck. You are right about me being a loner. I guess I never made any really close friends. I have a couple, but they are more mentors than friends. I suppose the closest friends I've ever had have always been my lovers. I was always a little wary of friends - before and during the war. Guess old habits die hard. Although, to be honest, I can't believe I've told you so much about myself. Had we met face to face, I probably would have not spoken to you for a long time. I would have watched you and drawn you out before telling anything about myself - these wretched books... I'm forever saying things I normally wouldn't dream of saying. _

_**I know what you mean. There's definitely something about this journal that brings out the inner thoughts when you don't even realize it. I've found myself surprised by them on a number of occasions, the things you say, the way I react, even the fact that I tell you things before I tell others... It's more than a little disconcerting at times. Honestly though, in spite of my normal inhibitions, I can't truly say I regret any of the things I've told you. I mean, I've been thoroughly embarrassed a few times, but not to the point of true regret. It's my reactions that confuse me the most I guess. And this - another prime example of my inner thoughts that I normally wouldn't share.**_

_You know, when you didn't reply for two weeks, I honestly thought you'd abandoned the journal - and I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I became a little obsessed about checking out the journal for a reply... call it typical Virgo behaviour, even though I'm a Leo/Virgo cusp... I probably do border on obsessive about some things. Still, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but at the moment, you are probably the closest friend that I have._

_**Oh? I thought you didn't get embarrassed? **_

_I did say 'almost' embarrassed._

_**Yes, that's true. Not to worry though, unless of course, the 'wrong way' to take it involves being honoured. I'm still sorry about taking so long to reply. I felt awful about it.**_

_You don't need to. It gave me plenty of time to realise that the world doesn't revolve around me (much to my melodramatic chagrin). You were having a wonderful time with your man, and you are so lucky to be able to have that. I think I'll be all right with Jean-Paul. I'm pretty sure I can do this - be his friend first that is.__ Perhaps that's a change in the wind that will come after Imbolc. Who knows?_

_**I have faith in you. You'll do fine, just look at us. We're friends now, and you haven't shagged me!**_

_Oh dear! You are a regular comedian. I haven't laughed that hard in ages! Just as well the coffee is long gone - I don't think I could have swallowed it after reading that! But you're right! We haven't shagged. Not unless you are Millard, or Antonio or Devon in disguise, which I'm pretty sure you're not - none of them are English! _

_**My, my… do you often have trouble swallowing? Perhaps that should be your next assignment… Sorry, sometimes I just fall into suggestive comments without thinking about them first. **_

_You're determined to make me blush, aren't you? You're right. That was **very wicked, and terribly suggestive, and I'm not going to tell you any more about my swallowing habits**, at least if I had any to discuss... You're right though - a year of celibacy is pretty harsh. I know I never managed it through my later school years, and during the war, so why start now? I'll just be a little bit more 'discerning' about my choices... _

_**Wow, your ink turned red for a moment! I have succeeded! Sorry, I don't mean to get us off track here. I think I've mentioned where my train of thought goes when Ollie's not here to let me act on it. I think your plans regarding Jean-Paul and your choices are perfect. Just remember, it's the reasoning behind the resolution that's really important. You don't want to let your sex drive guide you, you don't want to hurt people who might take casual sex as more than it is, you don't want to feel like the pompous cad Antonio was. Those are the important reasons that led you to such a decision. As long as you keep those things in mind and be sensible about your actions, I think you'll do just fine. I also think that if and when things head into a 'friendlier' area with Jean-Paul, you'll be more conscious of your actions and the reasons behind them and that's a good thing. Do keep me up to date on that, and remember you'll be owing me details in return!**_

_Oh I will, I promise. I think I should probably get to sleep soon Flash. The cat is ensconced in my lap, and she's terribly comfortable, and I can barely stop yawning (it's not your company, not by a long shot!) It's going to be a long day leading up to tomorrow's bonfire, and I've got plenty to think on. Did you get around to finding that good book? And don't worry, I'm sure that 'WHEN' Jean-Paul and I get together, you'll be sure to get it in vivid detail – even though you said you weren't a voyeur..._

_**Well, I also said that a man's got to do 'something' to stir the imagination when the boyfriend is out of town. He's gone so much, there will be plenty of opportunity for me to live vicariously through you! I haven't found a book yet. I think I may have to ring an old bookworm friend and ask her for a suggestion. Just can't seem to find anything around here that strikes my interest. I've also got a lot of planning and preparation to do for Valentine's day. Do let me know how the bonfire goes, okay?**_

_I sure will. Why not try Tolkien again? It works for me every time. You keep me up to date on Valentines too!  
You take care, Flash!  
Au Revoir!_

_**G'nite Luc!**_

* * *

**Part 4: All that You Can't Leave Behind.**

As the sun rose over Paris on the morning of February 2, the more traditional members of the Wizarding community were eagerly cleaning, sweeping and generally preparing their homes and workplaces for that evening's celebration of Imbolc.

As all the Wizarding stores in the _Le Quart De Sorcier_ were closed for the occasion, Emmaline could be found sweeping and lighting candles in the store, all in celebration of the return of the light and Brigid's anniversary. Draco had other things keeping him busy. He had readily agreed to attend the bonfire with her, much to Emmaline's delight. Draco hadn't been to the bonfires for any of the wizarding holidays since he was a young boy – long before he attended Hogwarts. His mother usually took him to the celebrations. Lucius didn't approve of such public displays of 'the old ways', even though as a traditional pureblood, he was a true Pagan.

Draco felt guilty he had nothing to 'offer' to the spiritual bonfire, having cleaned his studio in his rather overzealous purges during the past month. He offered to help Emmaline clean her store so that she could begin the annual re-purification of her workplace, before her own spiritual purification that evening. "Oh, I'll be fine Draco. You just stay there."

"Oh you're not cleaning on your own Emmaline." Draco frowned at Emmaline's stubbornness.

"I tell you what. You stay out of my way today, and I'll let you boss me around tomorrow as we cleanse and purify the store for the coming summer months. Perhaps you should consider your own spiritual cleansing today – why not prepare for the bonfire?"

Draco considered the idea, and that's how he found himself sitting at his favourite table, his reading glasses firmly affixed to his face, his quill in hand, writing down all that he wanted to offer up to the bonfire. He wrote of his hopes and desires for the coming year. That task was quite easy, considering his correspondence with Flash. Very soon, he had a pile of parchments, each containing one hope or desire for his future.

The second part of his task wasn't quite so easy. Between quiet contemplation and furious writing, he was eventually satisfied with the list of items he wanted to expel from his life. That list was quite long, but Draco knew what he wanted to purge from his system. Writing it down was just the hard part. At one stage, he went back to his room, and came down with his journal, busily cross referencing his words with what he had written to Flash.

Draco never saw the satisfied smile on Emmaline's face, not even when she constantly kept him plied with coffee and hot and crusty bread for lunch.

* * *

By sunset, the weather had cleared, but a chill wind still blew from the north as they Apparated to a field somewhere on the northern outskirts of Paris. A good few witches and wizards were already standing around the bonfire, the flames being stoked magically. They would start their sacrifices once the sun had full set beyond the horizon.

Emmaline held out her hand to Draco as she led him towards the bonfire. She was excited – the playful gleam in her eye making her look years younger than she appeared. Draco could not help but be affected by her joy. There were no lingering traces of her recent illness, and for that Draco was glad. They were early enough, as the bonfire was only still small. The sacred flames of inspiration, transformation, and healing would soon be ready to accept their sacrifices.

An hour later, the sun had completely set, and a team of witches began the chant, opening up and asking the fire and Brigid to accept their sacrifices. One by one, the leaders began burning their Yule decorations. The holly, mistletoe and parchment decorations fed the flames as they rose high in the sky. Soon everyone was invited to add their sacrifices. Draco stepped up to the edge, holding his parchments tight.

In one swoop, he threw into the fire all his parchments containing the things about his life he wanted to forget, or to expel. The tied bundle of parchment landed atop the blaze, and caught fire quickly. As the smoke and flames took the seemingly innocent pile of parchment, Draco could feel the heaviness lifting from his heart. He let go of all the baggage he carried from a rather forgetful winter, and he realised he had more than his fair share of it. He cast aside all his hindrances as the flames rose higher and higher.

The pile of his hopes and dreams were carefully thrown into the flames, as he asked the goddess for guidance in sowing the seeds of his future. As he watched the parchments curl up and the ash blow away on the breeze, Draco's thoughts returned to his new friend Flash, and he hoped that in the coming months he would get to know this mysterious, yet truly wonderful wizard even better.

As they sat around the dying bonfire, drinking the remains of the hot mocha coffee blend, Draco began to feel the heavy veil lifting from within his heart. Now was the time for the real Draco Malfoy to come forth. He smiled and nodded knowingly at Emmaline. _Yes,_ he thought. _These coming months are going to be special. Very special._

* * *

**Part 5: I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For.**

_Février 14 2003_

_Bonjour Flash,_

_As I write to you here in the early hours of Valentine's day, I can't help but think about you, and your plans for Ollie this day. I'm sure that he'll love your surprise and it will make him rue all that time he spends away from you. _

_You know, I'm beginning to think I would not take terribly well to having a partner who was away as much as Ollie is. Tonight I was just so excited, that I had to write to you. I saw Jean-Paul tonight – for the first time since we last spoke. I was dreadfully hard... er, it was dreadfully hard not to ravish him there on the spot – even though we've exchanged no promises and I haven't even kissed him yet!_

_The advice you have given me has finally started to sink in and I have decided to stop hiding myself away. I know that you'll probably say that all work and no play... and you will be right. I decided I would go out to dinner. Not with Jean-Paul – I'm not ready for that step just yet, despite his open ended invitation, but I did take my landlady out for dinner. It isn't something that a person my age would normally do, but she's a bit more special to me than just my landlady. She's been like a mother to me since I've been here, and I was terrified I was going to lose her when she was sick. _

_After putting on my finest dress robes, we went to a little wizarding restaurant in Montparnasse. Muggles occasionally get in there, but they just think the wizard clientele are just some of the more bohemian folk who live in that part of the city! It was a lovely meal, then we followed it up with one of her favourite pastimes – ballroom dancing. I hate to admit it, but I actually had a wonderful time, even though I stuck to the simple dances (I don't dance well at all) she was very happy. I've started letting my barriers down – slowly, and this was a first step. _

_Valentine's is for those you love, as you reminded me, and petite mère is my mother, and I love her. I suppose she has adopted me, very much like your friend's family have adopted you. I'm sure you must feel the same way about them as I do about my petite mère. _

_But getting back to my original story. As I waited to escort her out, Jean-Paul turned up (I did tell you he is her nephew, didn't I?). I think I may have made a grand impression with my dress robes and all the accompanying finery. He asked me out for a drink the other week, and now we will be going the next time he's in Paris. I'm as giddy as a schoolgirl. He has my floo address, so I'll try not to be too obsessive about waiting for the call. No promises, just a drink... and endless possibilities. I find him so fascinating, and I can barely stop thinking about him. _

_But enough about Jean-Paul and my non-existent-but-slowly-improving love life. I was actually wanting to tell you about Imbolc. Since the bonfire, I've done all my spring cleaning, and I've exorcised the demons in my mind. I've had a while to think over your assignment, and I've come up with my list of happy times. Like I said to you a couple of weeks ago, I've had plenty of times that were happy, but something or someone got in my way. I guess the two happiest memories revolve around my family – my mother, and my father. _

_Mère and Père were terribly old fashioned purebloods. Everything was about prestige. I'm fairly sure they only married out of duty – you know the sort of pure-blooded nonsense that goes on with some of the older families – trying to keep the family totally pure and untainted. Well, I'm fairly sure that love didn't exist between them. Père was never one to show affection, and I'm pretty sure he never showed Mère more than the business end of his wand. She always seemed so lost and forlorn, only coming alive when he wasn't home. _

_You'll probably hate me for writing this, but it's the happiest memory I have. It was the day during the war that I found out that my father had been killed. I knew then that Mère might actually get some peace from him and possibly get on with her life. I was so happy for her, and I was looking forward to the end of the war, which wasn't far away at that stage, so that we could try to be a real family. But her peace was short lived – she was murdered by some of Voldemort's associates a few days later. I never got to see her again, and the war ended only a few weeks later. It was a bittersweet memory._

_The only other happy memory I truly had, also involved love, but it too was soured by the war. If the war had not happened, I'd probably be married to a woman right now, and fathering a whole tribe of children. Yes, you read me correctly. My first true love was a woman – one of my school friends - Queenie._

Draco sat back as he thought about Daphne Greengrass - Queenie; his pet name for her. He really thought he loved her at the time, and perhaps he did. All he knew at the time was that her death truly affected him. Despite his sexual experimentation with his fellow Quidditch players, which at the time he thought was just harmless fun, he honestly thought that Daphne was the one for him.

_Queenie was a truly amazing girl, and I honestly loved her. I know she loved me too, we said it often enough during the last few months of school. Alas, she too was taken away from me in one of the earliest battles of the war, and I guess that spurred me on to being so passionate about what I did during the war. Suffice to say that I took comfort where I could get it after that, and now, well, there isn't a witch on this planet who could ever live up to her image, and I still miss her, but I know I can live without her. _

_Even my happiness at the end of the war was soured by an injury I took from a misplaced hex during a skirmish – a skirmish that should not have happened. Voldemort had been killed, yet the Death Eaters whom I faced decided to go down in a blaze of glory rather than surrendering. So instead of celebrating like the majority of the Wizarding World, I was stuck in the hospital for quite a while. By the time I got out, the celebrations were long over. _

_Merlin, I'm such a depressing sod, aren't I? If I hadn't had a few years to get over this, I'd be a blithering mess right about now just thinking about all that. _

_I realise how shallow some of my other happy memories are when they are measured up against those, but looking back, my supposedly happy memories are just vindictive childish games. Beating a fellow classmate in Quidditch, or having a better broom than everyone else, or being the best dueller in my class. All these things seem so shallow and childish now. I've grown up, and I'm pretty sure that I will find my happiness, but I don't think I can force it on myself, not like when I was a child. Money doesn't buy happiness – I should know – my family's inheritance is causing more trouble than it is worth. _

_I guess I am a bit of a loner, as you mentioned the other day, but I've always been highly selective of my friends, and I guess I've not met too many that meet my very exacting standard. I've always hidden myself behind a façade – something I learned from my Père (of all people), but now I want to get rid of that, I want to stop trying to over analyse my feelings – as you can see, I've been doing plenty of that since I've had this journal. I know it's terribly Virgo of me, although at other times I can so relate to being a Leo._

_But you asked me about the one thing that hasn't happened yet that would make me happy. I know that there is something 'missing' in my life – for want of a better word. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know that these past few weeks it's slowly starting to hang about my conscience – an impending sense of anticipation describes the feeling quite well. Whatever is going to happen, I'm sure I'll know about it, and I guess then I will be truly happy. The bonfire felt like a bit of a turning point, and I felt really refreshed after that night. _

_So there you have it Flash, I've spring cleaned my soul since Imbolc, and exorcised a few nasty little mind demons. You mentioned the other day that you've had your share of misery with happiness. I just hope you haven't had them both at the same time like I have. The war really did sour my life, but I'm not the only one. Surely we were all touched by it in some way. _

_So you have your Ollie now, and I've got the mysterious and totally gorgeous Jean-Paul to make friends with, so we really haven't done too bad, have we? Say, you already know I'm a Leo/Virgo cusp, what star sign are you? Oh Merlin, that sounds like such a come-on line. Now you're a friend, I'm using it on you. Watch out, or I might have to shag you... you never know – if I'm using such corny lines as that!_

_Oh, and by the way, I know you wanted me to see some of this Muggle television. I tried it once this week – I ventured out into Muggle Paris, and caught some of it in an eklectronics store. Must say it wasn't appealing – all these women standing around like a gathering of pureblood witches, all whingeing and carrying on as if it were the end of the world because someone divorced someone else. Rather sad really._

_But I did make a very different discovery. As I sat drinking my coffee (the Muggles don't make it nearly as well as they do here in the Wizard Quarter), I saw a movie place – a cinema I think it's called. They have made a film for the Lord of the Rings. I decided to check them out – it was apparently two movies shown back to back, and they will be releasing a third film later this year for the final part of the book. (I overheard one of the Muggle girls talking)._

_Well, I see what you meant when you said the filmmakers could make a scene look almost real. I could not believe the thing – I was in there for nearly six hours Flash! My eyes are still smarting from just staring at the screen. They did a brilliant job, although they didn't quite get the story right – I mean we all know the elves didn't go to Helm's Deep. If your television was more like that, then I might just have to get my hands on some eklectricity. Although I'd prefer that guy who played Boromir, he was rather... fetching. I never dreamed in a million years that the Muggles could be so clever. Although, when all the names came up at the end, I'm fairly sure that I recognised a few wizards amongst the credits._

_So there you go. Another task undertaken by the new and improved Luc. I've exposed myself to more than just Muggle restaurants, and I didn't come back like a dribbling mute. I might just have to venture out into the Muggle precincts, and beyond the restaurants more often. Although I don't know about these 'Movile fones' Who would I talk to? I don't know anyone who is Muggleborn, so I'm relying on you for my education. I honestly don't know of any Muggleborn students in my course at l'Institut. _

_Okay, I've drabbled on for long enough. I'm going to bed, and you've got a very big day ahead of you if you're going to be surprising Ollie at work. I hope he likes your surprise, and if you startle him, just remember that the 'Make-up sex' is amazing. I'm just quoting your own words there Flash! Have a great Valentine's day!_

_Au Revoir,_

_Luc _

* * *

TBC

**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 3-April-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005

**Review Thank You Notes for Chapter 5:**  
Azhure apologies profusely for another War and Peace length epic, but every word just had to be said! We are so inspired by everyone's words - you make the writing process so enjoyable when you all say such wonderful things!  
So thanks to:  
**DarkJade1:** Welcome, and glad you are enjoying the fic!  
**Verisimilitude:** Oh, there is a lot going around before these guy's get together, and hmmm... you might be right about that cousin of Draco's... ;)  
**Nilblaze:** We're very glad you found this fic too, and so glad you want to give Ginny a swift kick you-know-where. As for Devon's physical appearance... Hmmmm... perhaps it reminds him of someone he hasn't seen in quite a while, but used to watch often - every day at school in fact... er - I shouldn'ta told ye tha! Although it will be a while before Draco meets that certain person, and the connection will be made... Don't worry, we aren't leaving the story to dust. But real life does get in the way of our writing schedules. I'm currently working on winning the lottery, so I'll be free to write daily!  
**Jen Red Robe:** Ah Jen! Glad you love Draco's method of cleaning. Doesn't work in my house unfortunately. As for Ollie... I'm leaving that one up for Wintermoon... you might be pleasantly surprised in upcoming chapters...  
**Fayee:** See what happens when I spend a weekend at your place, 20,000 word ruddy chapters... I tell you... crazy, I know, but I'm becoming more sesquipedalian every day! (go look that one up!)  
**Rena:** Oh, Draco is being honest with himself now, and I think you might just find that Harry will soon be waking up to reality... sooner than you might think!  
**Kaaera:** Bingo on your guesses about Devon! You were also right about the dreams. What I want to know is when is our muse visiting you, and can you please send her right back home... she does go AWOL at times and we miss her! So honoured that we can inspire you! Wow!  
**Goddess Moondragon:** Thanks for reading - we hope the story remains fairly unique - Wintermoon's original idea was brilliant, naturally... hope this keeps feeding your chapter addiction!  
**Cheer4life:** Thanks! We are glad the story has plot and great writing too - we spend far too much time chatting about the plot on MSN. We could tell you right now what is going to happen in chapter 14, or 24, but we'd have to kill you... As for Draco thinking Devon was familiar, read my reply to nilblaze... ;)  
**Jiro:** Thanks about the writing. I dunno if it's getting progressively better, I do know it is getting progressively LONGER from my part... ;)  
**Silviasilver:** Hope you haven't had to wait too long for these chapters. Thanks! Glad you are checking weekly. But with RL and wintermoon's study schedule, it could be a little longer between updates!  
**CuriousDreamWeaver:** Yeah, the Ginny bit just came to me as I wrote... the muse wouldn't let it die a natural death, so it had to be written... Glad you think the writing is emotive and evocative. We sure try to make it that way!  
**Queen Antigone:** Glad the images of Ginny and the smoking jacket Draco were so vivid. It is interesting to think of Wizards wanting to live like Muggles. Draco now has a little bit more of an interest in a few Muggle things, thanks to Flash, and he might pursue those interests in upcoming chapters! As for Devon, Hmmmm, will he make a comeback at a later stage... I say no, but the muse is nudging me and making other suggestions... Hopefully this chapter wasn't TOO long for you! ;)  
**Sailor Grape:** So glad some people are happy with the long chapters. Draco is so complex and he likes to let everyone know about it. He's promised to shut up a bit now... it will be Flash's turn soon enough. Er. I shouldn'ta told ye tha! Sorry that he won't get to 'meet' Flash for a while, but when he does... well, it's going to be very 'interesting' to say the least!  
**Ravenfrog:** Glad you are enjoying it. Harry does come across sometimes as a bit needy and weak only because he's still not sure what he really wants. Soon enough he's going to figure it out and then... well you'll just have to read on to find out! Watch out for chapter 8, I think you will thoroughly enjoy it!  
**Trivium:** Well hopefully you clicked refresh today and got chapter 7... and that you enjoyed it as much as chapter 5! As for the ending... well according to our plans, we are now about a quarter of the way through the story, so there will be at least another 18-21 chapters in the pipeline. As to when they meet up, well, you'll just have to read on to find out about Flash and Luc's first meeting! As for the American/Canadian thing, I'm so careful of that here in Australia. I fell into the trap a few times, and ended up with some scowling Canadians who were upset I thought they were Americans... I learnt to ask the question "So which part of North America are you from?" That covers all bases, and they aren't insulted! As for the inclusion of random Olivers and Americans, well hopefully this Jean-Paul guy won't muscle too much in on our Draco... but he is a rather pleasant diversion! ;)  
**Themaraudersdragon:** Glad you love the story, yes the angst was for real in that chapter! Hope Draco's treatment of Ginny's pic in the paper satisfied you desire to be nasty to the little witch. As for Remus and Sirius... well, you'll just have to keep reading, won't you? J  
**CelestialDrgn:** Yes, Draco's chateau is in the beautiful countryside of the south of France... it is truly beautiful! Hope you are now well over your cabin fever. Thanks!  
**Malfoy Snogger:** Well, Ginny is now truly long gone, but she was necessary for that part of the story. We haven't discussed yet whether or not she'll make some sort of comeback, and what would happen if Harry ever found out... Hmmm. Will think on that one. Glad you loved Devon - he really was wintermoon's idea, I just provided the scenery all the way... Thanks for your lovely review! ;)  
**louise4:** You are right - Draco wasn't as horrible as he thought by letting Devon go... he just needs to see that for himself. I think Ginny is just a very confident and sensual woman, but with possibly just a teensy bit of emotional scarring. She just likes the conquest, and Draco was a notch on the bedpost she'd been waiting on for a very long time...  
**menecarkawan:** Oh he's learning to be happy with himself, but he needs a little diversion now and then. Hopefully he's learning to make friends now that Flash has shown him how, and that Jean-Paul can take care of his 'other' needs. Glad you are enjoying the story!

Thanks again to everyone. We love feedback (subtle hint!). Thanks for taking the time to read, and we look forward to hearing more from you!  
Cheers  
Azhure! & Wintermoon!


	8. Tainted Love

Note: Due to formatting limitations on this site, the following key is needed to read the diary entries.

**Bold **Flash's Diary Entries  
_Italics_ Luc's Diary Entries  
Underline something 'special' happening in their entries  
Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone   
Chapter 8: _Tainted Love_**

_Sometimes I feel I've got to run away  
I've got to get away   
From the pain you drive into the heart of me  
The love we share seems to go nowhere  
And I've lost my light  
For I toss and turn I can't sleep at night_

Once I ran to you   
Now I'll run from you  
This tainted love you've given  
I give you all a boy could give you  
Take my tears and that's not nearly all   
Tainted love

Don't touch me please  
I cannot stand the way you tease  
I love you though you hurt me so  
Now I'm gonna pack my things and go

--ooOoo--

The time between Oliver's birthday and Valentine's Day had been a busy one for Harry Potter. Naturally, just when he wanted time to make plans to surprise his lover on Valentine's Day, he found himself thrown into a busy patch at work. He was quite pleased to find that his input was requested as his superiors began to review plans for the next semester of Auror training. Harry found himself spending hours at the office just fine tuning the curriculum and preparing lesson plans. It didn't matter that he would only be teaching a part of the course – just the fact that they had asked for his input and had barely questioned his ideas, made him feel really special.

In between this extra surge of work and his Valentine's planning, Harry managed to find time to pick up a couple of new books, and found himself delving in areas he never thought possible. All this discussion with Luc had made him feel guilty over his own lack of potions knowledge, so he found himself revisiting his old potions school books. There was no valid reason why he shouldn't at least attempt to learn more about such an important subject. A conversation with a few of his colleagues also had him checking out a book on Elemental Magic. That topic had never been covered at Hogwarts – the war had replaced the subject in their syllabus with more defensive work. He found it a fascinating topic, and was keen to learn more.

In an unexpected trip to Hogsmeade, Harry found himself scouring a second-hand store, and chanced across a very old, yet charming I Ching set. Harry had never been one for Divination, but the set seemed compelling, and he found himself handing over the few Sickles for its purchase. It was one of the more ancient and well respected methods of Divination. Considering how wizards had been using it in China for centuries, he found a begrudging respect for that Divinatory way. How difficult could it be to simply throw the coins, record the results and look up the hexagram? His last attempt was a bit confusing, though. He'd thrown hexagon number twenty-three; "Tear up old ideas and eliminate what is unusable. An unavoidable period of collapse, misfortune, and destruction." It made no sense to him, especially since everything seemed to be going so well in his life. The sheer dearth of activities Harry found himself enjoying gave him a pleasurable feeling of accomplishment – as if his life was finally starting to settle down.

Harry was getting ready to Apparate over to his long-time favourite restaurant for lunch with Ron, when he heard the chime that accompanied the floo.

"Hey there Ron! Nearly ready?" Harry enjoyed the fact he could still have a boy's day out with Ron, and Hermione didn't begrudge them this time together.

"Sorry Har, I just got a call from the boss. They need me to come into work. Something urgent has come up." Ron sounded disappointed, yet mildly intrigued.

"But it's Saturday Ron, don't the Goblins understand the concept of a weekend?" Harry seemed a little disappointed.

"Har, you should know by now not to mess with the Gringotts Goblins. If they told me to come into work at 2am, who would I be to argue? Can we take a rain check on lunch?"

"Merlin Ron, I thought you said this job of yours at Gringotts was going to be nice and quiet. You didn't want any more excitement after the war."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, I did. But the entire Special Investigations team is being called in on this one. I suspect it's something to do with the Ministry Treasury, but I'm not supposed to know that. Dad may have accidentally let something slip at dinner the other night, but I have to act surprised when they tell us." Ron tapped the side of his nose to let Harry know that he shouldn't pass on what he just heard.

Harry nodded. "Sure thing Ron." He tried to hide the disappointment on his face, but with so much to keep him busy, he certainly wouldn't be lazing around doing nothing all afternoon. "You have fun now. Don't get too excited from counting other people's money, now will you?" It was the standard joke between Harry and Ron. After Ron's role on the head strategy team during the war, he felt a quieter change of pace was needed. A plumb job in what was called the Special Investigations team at Gringotts had fallen into his lap, and Ron now worked to audit and double check the large transactions that came through the bank nearly every day. Not a single Knut slipped through the redhead's fingers – a legacy of his money pinching childhood. Harry just referred to him as a glorified bean counter, but only Hermione understood the context of that remark, and they kept trying to tell him that accountancy was in his blood – his mother's second cousin had been an Accountant after all.

Harry stood around for about five minutes, wondering just what to do with his afternoon, when he realised he didn't have to cancel lunch after all. A quick handful of floo powder and one call later, Harry found himself looking into the DADA staffroom at Hogwarts, and at the visage of a very happy Remus Lupin.

"Harry! How are you! I must say I was thinking of flooing you in the next few days!" the werewolf sounded genuine.

"Beat you to it! Hey, you got any special plans for lunch today? It's just that Ron and I were planning on lunch, but he's just piked out at the last minute. I thought you might appreciate the lunch instead. Besides, I'm starving, and you won't find a better Italian meal this side of Italy!"

Remus couldn't deny a sales pitch like that. "Well, I was thinking of heading down to the Great Hall, but I guess I just got a better offer! Where are we headed?"

"Oh, I'll just leave the floo open, and we can walk from here. It's Muggle though, so you might want to rethink the robes." Harry checked over the simple, yet well cut robes Remus was wearing.

"No worries Harry. Give me ten minutes."

Harry nodded, and took his head out of the fireplace, checking out his own appearance once more. He was glad he remembered the day he ran into Remus at the ministry, and their promise to soon have lunch. He had intended to talk to Luc about the unexpected desire he'd felt for both Charlie and Remus that day. He'd hoped that Luc could help him put it into perspective, see some sort of logic in it that would show that his feelings for Ollie could be very real and he could still have this reaction to other men. Harry glanced at his desk, wishing he had time to write about it now. It had been a week since his last conversation with Luc, though, and nearly two weeks since the incident in question. Surely he could handle this on his own. After all, Valentine's Day was just six days away. He'd be surprising Ollie for a wild night of love and passion. That would surely get these urges out of his system.

Satisfied with his train of thought, Harry heard the werewolf as he stumbled out of the fireplace. How he managed to change into the Muggle attire so quickly, and look so good, Harry couldn't begin to contemplate. The simple tan trousers and white shirt, teamed with a simple suede jacket suited the werewolf, who was looking much healthier than Harry could remember. The colours accentuated his own colouring, and brought out the amber highlights in his eyes. Harry's stomach grumbled embarrassingly and both men laughed.

"See, you've just saved me from death by starvation." Harry said happily as they walked the short distance to _Punicelli's_. As the two men entered, they paused a moment just inside the door to take the obligatory deep breath. The freshly baked garlic bread always sent the most mouth-watering aroma wafting through the place. Harry sometimes wondered if the food was really that good, or if it was power of suggestion because the bread smelled so fragrant and heavenly. The pair chose a table in an unobtrusive, yet light and airy corner.

"Harry, this place smells wonderful. If their food is as good as it smells, then you've found yourself a gold mine!"

"I told you it was my favourite place. You didn't think I had bad taste, did you?" Harry remarked with a hint of mischief in his voice. Harry, in all his innocence, missed the raised eyebrow and lascivious grin.

"Of course not," was the only reply he got.

Thankfully, all thoughts of sexual desire were far from Harry's mind as he and Remus perused the menu and engaged in casual small talk. They both decided on the daily special of Seafood Linguini and were thrilled with the large bowls of steaming pasta and creamy sauce that were delivered to their table. Harry speared a lump of crabmeat and swirled his fork through the pasta as Remus reached for a slice of garlic bread from the basket in the middle of the table.

"And what about the teaching you've been doing? Have you managed to add to it?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "Actually, I've been reviewing their lesson plans, making suggestions on how to re-order some of the lessons, hopefully make things more efficient."

"I've always thought you would be an excellent teacher, Harry. You picked things up so well when I taught you in your third year. Such patience and determination. And from what I've heard, you were quite the competent teacher by your fifth year."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose so. I was sort of thrust into that. You know the DA was all Hermione's idea, right?" The werewolf nodded. "Well, once I agreed to it - hell once she suggested it - I just felt like I had no choice. I had to do it. We had to be prepared and there was no way Umbridge was going to do any of us any good. I must admit, now that Mr Weasley is the Minister, I'm looking forward to some changes and improvements at the Ministry. I've requested that I be allowed to be more involved in the training sessions, but I don't know if they'll accept the change in my position. They're quite willing for me to write the curriculum, and are happy for my suggestions for changes, but I don't know if this will get me more time in front of a class. I really don't have the desire to keep pushing quill and papers for the rest of my life. Where's the fun in that?"

"They'd be fools not to give you more classes Harry." Remus spoke emphatically, showing his confidence in his best friend's son.

Harry grinned, "Well then, it should be a cinch, now that they've replaced the biggest fool of all. I've never really used my position or my contacts to get my way, but a word or two in the Minister's ear might just be the thing." The two of them had a good laugh over that and continued to catch up as they finished their lunch.

--ooOoo--

Harry went flying that night, just trying to clear his head, enjoying the sensation of tension draining out of his muscles as if the breeze were carrying it away. He felt a surge of energy as he worked muscles he hadn't used in ages, dipping and twirling and swerving around in the night sky, thankful for the public pitch in a nearby wizarding town which offered him a local place to fly undisturbed.

_He was flying again, but this time, he was chasing a snitch. It was late at night, with the barest wisps of clouds in the sky and a nearly full moon. The moonlight glinted off the tiny golden ball, offering Harry the briefest moments of knowledge about its location. He knew he could do this, though. Knew he could find the snitch, despite the late hour and the limited lighting. It was instinct. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his surroundings and was struck with the knowledge that the snitch was roughly five metres below him, over to the left side of the pitch. Quickly turning his broom in that direction, Harry caught another flash of reflected moonlight and knew he was on the right track. The snitch put up quite a chase, but after a few more minutes of zigzagging around the pitch he finally closed his fingers around those fluttery little wings. Pulling his broom up to an abrupt stop, Harry smiled to himself as he opened his hand. The smile quickly faded, though, when he realised that he held, not the snitch, but a slug. _

Harry started awake in his bed, gasping at the image of the slime-covered creature in his hand. _What in the world was that about?_ He pondered the dream and the question for a moment before sliding out of bed, realising that he wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon.

--ooOoo--

By the time Valentine's Day finally rolled around, Harry was anxious, excited and frustrated. He'd spent hours stressing over his plans, worrying that Oliver would be upset or offended again. His sleep had been increasingly sparse, as the strange Quidditch themed dreams had continued throughout the week. It seemed he was always chasing the snitch in these dreams, which was the only part that made sense to him. The dreams were so real, so vivid, he felt his heart racing in excitement and anticipation, felt the twitches in his stomach as the broom swerved up and down, felt the energy of the crowd cheering him on as he reached for that one little golden ball – the one thing that the crowd knew he should have. The location varied, but there was always something familiar. His team was often wearing Gryffindor robes, frequently included one or more Weasleys and nearly always included Oliver. Sometimes they were at Hogwarts, but at other times they seemed to be flying over some meticulous gardens situated behind a stately manor home. The endings were quite similar in that he always caught the snitch, but it turned out to be something else. Harry had finally decided after the fourth or fifth dream that he was supposed to be getting a message from this, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The snitch turned into slugs, spiders, soap bubbles that popped and disappeared, flobberworms, even lemon drops or cubes of sugar. In retrospect, he began to notice that these items always fit one of two categories; they either faded away quickly or they were some nasty creature that he would rather not deal with. A further toss of the I Ching coins and a consultation of the hexagram, and Harry found that he had again thrown twenty-three, with its accompanying fortune that rivalled Trelawney for its doom and gloom. He didn't need anyone to tell him that perhaps it was trying to tell him something.

Harry padded around the kitchen, brewing a cup of English Breakfast as he pondered these revelations. Last night's dream had broken the trend. After having as many as four of these dreams every night for a week, Harry had awoken this morning with quite unexpected images in his head. He had dreamed of being back at Hogwarts, standing on the Quidditch pitch in his scarlet robes. He wasn't flying this time, wasn't chasing anything; he was just standing there, waiting. Off to one side, he saw a flash of green, and suddenly, in a moment fairly reminiscent of his first year face-off with Voldemort, he felt an unexpected weight in his pocket. He reached in and gingerly grasped the cool, round item, and pulled it out; somewhat surprised to see that it was the snitch. Closing his hand around it (because his dream self remembered the other dreams), he waited a moment, then looked again. It was still a snitch. From somewhere, although he couldn't quite discern where, a voice seemed to whisper, "it was there all along."

Harry was jolted from these memories by the hot dribble of tea running down his bare chest. He quickly grabbed a kitchen towel to clean up the mess, then headed into the living room to finish his tea, thankful that he hadn't spilled enough to soak through the blue flannel lounge pants that served as his regular sleep attire. He sat at the desk and almost absentmindedly opened the journal, surprising himself with the enthusiastic reactions when he saw that Luc had written just that morning. By the time Harry finished reading, the last droplets of his tea were long cold and he was feeling at least a little more awake and functional. He decided to take a few moments to reply to Luc's entry.

_**February 14, 2003**_ _**Luc,**_ _**I must admit that I'm more than a little nervous about my plans to surprise Ollie. What if it blows up in my face like his birthday? I think of it as an important holiday for lovers and that this is a romantic notion, but he and I don't always see things in the same light. Of course, I'm sure that even if he doesn't hold Valentine's Day in as high a regard as I do, things will still work out all right. After all, the wine and music and candles are just a part of it, right? The wild abandon and passion of the evening is the ultimate goal. And I most certainly intend to take full advantage of his passionate tendencies. Surely he can't say no to that?**_ _**Wow, the dinner with your petite mère and the chance meeting with Jean-Paul sound wonderful! It certainly seems that you are taking your time with this man; do you think maybe he's 'the one'? I've always thought the relationships that start off really slowly with lots of intrigue and anticipation and getting to know one another and overcoming hesitations and finally culminating in a beautiful and mutual declaration of love were the most romantic. I sometimes wish my relationship with Ollie were more like that. I mean, there was interest and friendship, and now I love him, but I used to imagine things would be more exciting, more intense. I guess that's what I get for imagining things, right?**_ _**Anyway, enough about that. About your happy memories. How could I possibly hate you for how you feel? You are entitled to your own views and emotions and I certainly wouldn't be much of a friend if I were going to judge you on them, now would I? Besides, the story of your parents and your own desire to see your mother happy is beautiful. It's sad, but the feelings behind it show a depth of love and strength of character that you apparently don't realise you possess. Those poignant images you paint of Queenie and your love for her also tug at my heart strings. I'm glad you were able to identify these happy memories, even if they are bittersweet. Luc, honestly, I wish I were there in person; I would give you a hug. **_ _**Do you really think that analysing your feelings is a bad thing? It seems like it's helped you get in touch with yourself and understand what you want and need. That's what it takes to evolve as a person, Luc. And you are more than welcome to continue it within the journal, especially if this is the only time you open up and examine yourself like that. You can't know yourself unless you learn, and you can't be happy unless you know yourself.**_ _**I know what you mean about that 'something missing.' I have that sensation often. Perhaps that is a part of knowing yourself. Once you begin to understand yourself better you'll know what that missing thing is. I think maybe, now that Ollie and I are in love, that my missing piece will finally click into place. I mean, this is what people wait their lives for, right? I know I've been waiting for a while.**_ _**I have a few really close friends, all of whom seem to have found a peace within themselves. Most of them have also managed to find their ultimate love, waltzing around like they haven't a care in the world just because they love someone and that someone loves them back. It's almost nauseating at times. But then I suppose I get that way about Ollie and just don't realise it. My point, though, is that I don't know that I've been as discriminating in choosing my lovers as I have in choosing my friends. I tell you this because it sounds like you may have the same problem. Consider your reasons for being so selective when you decide to make friends with someone. Did something happen that caused you to be that overcautious when offering friendship? Is it because there are certain types of people you enjoy spending time with? Certain values that you believe those close to you should share? Certain interests you want to pursue with your friends? If these types of ideals are criteria in choosing to form a friendship, shouldn't they be just as important in choosing a lover? Think on that. Consider it your next assignment.**_ _**As for the Muggle television, it sounds like you were unfortunate enough to run across what's called a soap opera. That is far from quality television in my opinion and not the best first impression for you to have had. If you are ever interested in trying again, let me know and I'll tell you exactly what you need to watch. And yes, the Lord of the Rings movies are fabulous! I, too, am certain there were a few wizarding names involved in the making of those movies. Technology in the film industry may be well advanced, but I think it takes a magical touch to make it that real and captivating. I think of it, in a sense, like potion making. You could hand a Muggle a cauldron and a stack of ingredients and a sheet of instructions, but you won't get the same results. The innate magic of the brewer accentuates the ingredients and brings out the magical qualities of the potion. Am I right? You know I didn't do well in potions class, but I think that's one detail that my snarky git of a Professor managed to drill into my head. That, and always wash your hands after handling potions or ingredients. **_ _**Anyway, I should be off now, I'll be late for the date that Ollie doesn't even know about. Oh, and in answer to your question… I'm a Leo. Does this mean we should shag now? grins**_ _**Take care,**_ _**Flash**_

--ooOoo--

Harry listened to the end of the game on the Wizarding Wireless Network, gleefully cheering his boyfriend on with every announcement that Wood had blocked another shot by the Magpies. He was pleased to hear that Puddlemere won the game by 240 points. It was a resounding victory. As soon as the game ended, though, Harry was quickly gathering his things for the evening. He knew from experience that he would have somewhere between two and three hours from the end of the game to the time when Oliver would arrive in his rooms. Harry had a great deal of preparation to do in that amount of time.

Harry Apparated to the hotel and quietly let himself in to Oliver's suite in Montrose. Looking around the room, Harry couldn't help but understand what Oliver had meant when he said Puddlemere United really appreciated their players. It was huge! The sitting area was the size of their living room at home, and through the archway on his right, Harry could see a decent sized kitchen with an eating nook. The cosy little table looked perfect for a candlelight dinner. _Not that I intend to spend that much time eating,_ he thought with a sly smile. Along the left wall, a fireplace stood alongside the open door to the bedroom. A set of French doors at the back of the sitting area lead to the balcony area. Being on the 14th floor of the exclusive Wizarding hotel offered a lovely view of the city and Harry could just imagine how it would look at night with all the city lights twinkling. The sun was just beginning to set, reminding Harry that he didn't have much time left.

He stepped into the bedroom, carefully stowing his overnight bag in the closet after retrieving a few specific items from it. Into one nightstand drawer he placed a bottle of the ultra-sensitive, flavoured lubricant that he and Ollie had grown to love, and the scented massage oil he would later use on Oliver. Every Quidditch player held a deep appreciation for a warm, slick and thorough massage after a long game, and this is exactly what Harry planned to give Oliver. In the bathroom cabinet, he stored the bath oils he had brought, pleased to see that the suite had a large tub - more than accommodating for the two of them. Harry left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He was pleased to note the strength of the silencing charms in this hotel. Not only was each suite warded to avoid disturbances, but each room appeared to have additional layers of silencing magic surrounding them. A very expensive hotel indeed.

Harry quickly reached into the additional bag he'd brought with him and retrieved a tiny package. After enlarging it to its original size, he checked the contents to ensure that the dozens of candles within were unharmed. A few flicks of his wand and these candles were distributed all around the room, even some on the balcony in tall glass containers so they wouldn't be blown out by the wind. Checking the clock again, Harry rushed into the kitchenette. He set out the fresh sweet cream and the bowl full of ripe, juicy strawberries. Conjuring an ice bucket, he carefully placed the champagne inside, speeding up the chilling process with another quick charm. After thinking about Oliver's birthday, Harry had decided to indulge the Scotsman with his favourite beer and brought himself the best bottle of wine he had on hand. Placing the wine and beer in the magically charmed icebox, he surveyed the kitchen and decided that his work in there was complete.

Back in the sitting room, Harry was in front of the fireplace carefully arranging the satin covered throw pillows he'd just enlarged from his bag when he felt a subtle shift in the wards around the suite. He looked up, expecting to see Ollie walking through the door, hot and tired from the game, but Ollie wasn't there. After a few moments, he shrugged and went back to the pillows. When he was satisfied that it was just right, he stood and surveyed the room again. _Perfect. Now for the final touches._ With a few simple waves of his wand, he had a blazing fire in the fireplace, all the candles glowing and flickering around the otherwise dim room, and a never-ending charm set to play ballads and love songs from Ollie's favourite musicians. Now there was nothing left to do but head back into the bedroom to change into the black jeans and royal blue silk shirt he'd bought for the occasion.

Humming along blissfully with the music, Harry crossed the room and entered the darkened bedroom. He'd made it about halfway to the closet when his mind alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. Harry turned quickly and was about to smile, but his mouth remained open in a half smile. Ollie was there – on the bed. Harry stood in stunned silence, some rational part of his brain recognizing that the earlier shift of magic must have been a result of the wards being breeched for Apparition. The rest of his brain was gogging at the scene before him.

Oliver Wood was on his knees in the middle of the large, scarlet covered bed. He was naked and sweating.

Harry felt a cold hand, mildly reminiscent of the Dementors, reaching into his chest and grasping at his heart. Before he could speak, or even remind himself to breath, Oliver leaned over, gasping "Oh, yes, Simon!"

Harry couldn't be sure – perhaps he needed new glasses, but something else blurred at the corner of his vision. Blinking rapidly at the moisture clouding his eyes, Harry finally became aware of a third body in the bed. This man had his head thrown back, his light brown hair hanging past his shoulders.

All three of them held their positions for a moment or two as they came down from their zealous activity.

Through it all Harry just stood there. He was suddenly and rudely awakened from his dazed stupor when he recognised the blissful expression on Oliver's face. It was **that** look. The look that was all for Harry, the look that Harry had believed was born from pure love and satisfaction. Harry gasped, crying out in devastation as he felt the icy hand squeeze harder and tear at the tortured heart within his chest. The wand in his hand quivered in outrage as he raised his arm high. The last thing he saw before casting the spell and Apparating home was Oliver's face, looking up in staggered shock and recognition.

--ooOoo--

Harry stood in front of his own hearth, unable to move, unable to think coherently. He wished several times to wake up from this horrid nightmare, but the cold lump in his chest told him that he really wasn't dreaming.

_I can't believe that utter bastard said he loved me. He had the nerve to say he loved me and to, to… he made me love him!_ Harry sniffled and looked up to wipe the tears from his eyes. The first thing he spotted was the photo of him and Oliver that took pride of place in the centre of the mantelpiece. Harry picked it up, looking at the sheer joy on his own face, and the happiness that was on Oliver's face. Harry watched the photo as renewed tears clouded his vision. _Was he lying to me? Was he ever faithful? How do I know he wasn't always with someone else? All that time he's been away. _He wasn't surprised when the glass in the photo cracked, then shattered into smithereens. Harry's anger peaked at the force of the anger that fed his wandless magic. Tossing the remnants of the photo into the fireplace, he knew what he had to do.

Harry stormed through the flat, methodically gathering up everything that belonged to Oliver. A few items spontaneously combusted or shattered just from a look, but Harry took little satisfaction in their destruction. He knew on some level that he was being irrational, perhaps even childish, but this is what he felt he needed to do, and the anger fuelled his rage. The potent magic was crackling throughout his body. _On Valentine's Day! Of all days to cheat on someone, Valentine's Day, birthdays and anniversaries are the worst. Ah fuck. Any day is a bloody wrong day to cheat on someone you said you loved. You'd think after knowing him all this time I would have realised that he's an utter, heartless, tosser! I can't believe I told him I loved him! _ Harry hastily shoved an armful of Oliver's clothing and personal belongings into the fireplace before pointing his wand with great satisfaction.

"_Incendio!"_

--ooOoo--

Oliver was bright enough to stay away from Somerset for a full twenty-four hours. He had seen the look on Harry's face and was none too proud of himself for hurting Harry that way. He hadn't truly thought about it, hadn't realised Harry would be so upset by his having a little fun, but then again, he hadn't expected to get caught. Somehow, though, he just felt like it would all be okay. Harry would forgive him, after all, hadn't he just professed his love a couple weeks ago? And Harry obviously wanted to stay together, considering the surprises he'd been preparing all over the hotel suite. Deciding that yes, he could explain it and make Harry understand, and that a full day was long enough to let Harry calm down, Oliver Apparated to the familiar flat. _It must be okay, he hasn't locked me out of the wards!_ Despite this confident action, he was utterly unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

The flat was empty, but Oliver could tell that Harry hadn't been gone long, as a cauldron was bubbling away on the stove. He hoped the younger man would be returning soon and decided to make himself comfortable while he waited. In the kitchen, as he tried to identify the source of the odd acrid smouldering smell in the air, he reached for his favourite coffee mug, only to find his fingers sliced open by the sharp ceramic shards that were in its place. Confused, he left the cabinet alone, and ran cool water over his hand to try and ease the stinging. He walked through the flat toward the bathroom to get the healing ointment, only to be shocked by the state of their bed clothes. They had been shredded, torn into nearly unrecognisable strips of useless fabric. The lamp on his side of the bed was broken in two, his favourite books ripped in half and his first medal from Puddlemere had been magically melted into an asymmetrical glob.

His sense of dread was increasing by the moment. He had a hard time believing Harry would do this, but it was confirmed when he ran to the closet to find that all of Harry's clothes were still hanging in their normal orderly fashion, but his were nowhere to be found. Something finally clicked in his head and he ran back to the sitting area to check the fireplace. There, just as he had feared, scattered about in front of the fireplace, where the smouldering stench still lingered the strongest, were the charred remnants of Oliver's wardrobe. He recognised the scrap of Armani robes that hung from the edge of the grate, the bit of his souvenir Gryffindor Quidditch robe that lay in the ashes, and the sleeve of his favourite casual shirt that had been thrown onto the hearth. It was this discovery that made him realise that Harry was not going to be the sweet, insecure and understanding young man he'd been throughout most of their relationship. And it was at the moment of realisation that the young man in question decided to come back home.

"Get the hell out of my home." Oliver turned quickly at the low and steady voice and was momentarily taken aback by the fury in those familiar green eyes.

"Harry, wait a minute. Just calm down. I know you're upset abo…"

"You don't know anything about me – about how I feel, and I'd like to keep it that way. Just leave."

"And go where? This is my home too. Not that I have any belongings here. You took care of that, didn't you?" He hadn't intended to fly off the handle, but Harry was being completely irrational. "What were you hoping for Harry? That I would be devastated because you burned my clothes? That I would cry over our ripped up bedding? I'm sorry honey, but that's not going to happen." Oliver was as pissed off as hell about it, but he didn't want to give Harry the satisfaction of knowing that.

"All I was hoping for was that you would stay far away from me. I thought you had plenty to keep you occupied for a while. Oh, and don't you dare use any endearments on me – you've lost that privilege."

"My, my, don't you seem all high and mighty." Oliver's next words were quickly cut off when Harry stepped up to him. They stood toe to toe, Harry's index finger resting ever so gently at the base of Oliver's sternum. Harry never raised his voice, but rather, lowered his tone. To Oliver, it was somewhat similar to Professor Snape's deep, steady timbre, complete with the eerie sensation that suggested it took much more anger to bring out this control than it did to bring about a shouting rampage.

"Listen to me, Oliver. We're through. I've worked my butt off trying to please you, only to have you throw it all in my face. I don't give my heart away easily, and I certainly don't intend to allow someone access to it unless they are going to cherish it. I don't want to hear your excuses or explanations and I certainly don't want to hear your apologies or your insults. You've played me for a fool, and nobody does that. You have proven yourself to be a gormless shite with no sense of compassion or common sense or consideration for anyone else's feelings. You're a contemptible little bitch who deserves nothing better than the likes of that Simon wanker and that other bit of fluff. I hope they were fun and I hope they were worth it. You all deserve each other. Now, get out."

Harry put his hand down and stepped away from Oliver, motioning toward the door. Oliver considered a moment, and decided that Harry really meant what he was saying. They were through. For now anyway. He sighed in resignation and started toward the door. Just before leaving, he paused and turned back to his lover – ex-lover now. "Harry, just so you know, you need to do some personal inventory. You're a mess kid. You don't have a clue what you want, or how to deal with a perfectly normal situation. I guess it's because of the way you grew up, but it just seems like you're clingy. You attach yourself to someone when they offer the least bit of affection and you give your heart away in an instant. I know you say you don't, but that's not quite true. I've had your heart for months now, you just couldn't admit it aloud. That's another of your problems. You have to learn to be objective in loving, but express it when you do love. And you should know that the wizarding world doesn't look at relationships in the same way Muggles do. What I did yesterday is normal. It's called being open." He took a step closer to Harry, gazing deep into his eyes. Harry, despite the ludicrous words he was hearing saw nothing but sincerity in Oliver's eyes. _Merlin! He really believes what he's saying!_ "You think about this stuff and let me know when you're ready to try again, okay?"

Oliver turned to leave again, but was stopped short by Harry's snort of laughter. "Oliver, don't hold your breath for that, _darling_. Oh, and by the way, you know that nice, new Firebolt HP model that you have? The model that was named after me?" Oliver's eyes widened in panic momentarily as he thought about his beloved broom. He realised quickly though that it was still in his motel room in Montrose, so there was no way Harry could have placed his hands on it. "Be sure you hold on to that broom – it'll offer you the only chance you'll ever have to ride Harry Potter again."

--ooOoo--

Harry puttered around in a bit of a daze for the next week, barely paying attention to anything at work, not bothering to contact any of his friends, and not even showing interest in his DVD collection, or any one of the dozens of half started projects he had around the house. Once or twice he considered writing to Luc, but he wasn't sure what to say. He kept running Oliver's words through his head. Was he really a mess? Did Oliver have a point in all that, or was Harry just letting his insecurities get the best of him? He finally got around to some quick cleaning charms a few days after the confrontation with Oliver, glad to be rid of the evidence of his rampage. He slept on the sofa, unwilling to face _their bed_ alone and completely unmotivated to replace the bedding he had destroyed.

He had been somewhat grateful on Saturday morning when he received the message that there was a minor problem which left the local Ministry office short handed. He spent the better part of the day filling in at work with plenty of mindless activity to keep him occupied. However, once he returned home, Harry was left to face his maudlin thoughts again. Alone. He was so tired of being alone; tired of waiting and wishing for someone to just be there for him, no matter what. He was tired of second guessing himself, worrying over every word said to him during their fight. By dinner time that evening, the thing Harry was most tired of was thinking - of Oliver. He picked up a bottle of wine, deciding that perhaps getting out of his own mind would help him to get the Scottish bastard out of his mind as well.

Two bottles of wine and the better part of a bottle of Brandy later, Harry was feeling quite self-pitying and suddenly determined that what he really needed was to talk to someone. He should have spoken with Ron much earlier than this, but the thought of seeing him so happy with Hermione had put him off. Besides, he was busy with whatever new project they had him on at work. Despite this, he knew that Ron could set him straight. Ron had years of experience helping Harry to deal with his feelings. Thinking about this brought about thoughts of Luc, and how easy it was to open up to the Frenchman. He smiled as he thought of Luc's comment about how Charlie was checking him out in that Daily Prophet photo. Harry had since watched the picture again, and discovered that Charlie had indeed been watching Harry more often that his own family. It had been somewhat enthralling to know that out there, someone actually did want him that way. He couldn't help but remember his own thoughts about Charlie that day.

As his thoughts wandered to Charlie and away from Ron, he inadvertently cast the Apparition spell at the wrong moment, when his focus was divided between the two Weasleys. A moment of doubt during the transportation led to the suspicion he might be splinched. Perhaps he really had drunk too much and should not have attempted to Apparate – it felt like an eternity before he found that all movement had ceased, and he was firmly in one place. He breathed a sigh of relief after opening his eyes and verifying that he was indeed in one place, and unharmed.

Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived as he realised that he was not in Ron's living room – he wasn't even in the country, and the head of red hair that had been sound asleep only moments before did not belong to his best friend. His loud gasp of shock woke Charlie from his slumber with a start. After all, it isn't every day that someone Apparates into your bedroom – especially when that bedroom is in Romania, and the traveller was previously in England.

"Harry?" Charlie blinked and rubbed his eyes as he cast a low light charm.

"Sorry, Charlie," came the sheepish and embarrassed reply. "I wash thinking Weashley, and washn't thinking clear enough… or thinking, or something." Harry was obviously uncertain as to his coherence, and therefore refrained from speaking any further.

Charlie stood, wondering why Harry felt the need to Apparate to any of his family members in the middle of the night. "Is everyone all right? Has something happened?"

Harry nodded his head in answer to the first question, then shook it rapidly side to side in answer to the second. This, of course, reacted to the wine and brandy in his stomach and they threatened to retaliate. He stopped moving his head and stumbled before placing one hand on Charlie's chest to steady himself.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" Charlie's voice was gruff, slightly rougher than normal as a result of having been woken up. The quiet, sensuous tones shot straight through Harry's system and into his groin. He swallowed heavily and smiled up at the slightly taller redhead. His hand was still on Charlie's chest, and he began to curl his fingers around the soft, reddish chest hairs he found there.

"I suppose you could say I don't have much blood in my alcohol stream," Harry grinned stupidly as he looked up at the dragon handler.

Charlie mentally translated that sentence, before nodding. "Perhaps I could help you with that Harry." As Charlie walked back over to grab his wand, Harry couldn't help but notice the strong muscles of his back and the firm curve of his buttocks.

"_Sobrietus._" Charlie murmured to Harry, helping his brother's friend to sober up. Harry gasped and faltered, not ready for the sudden sobering effects of the charm. His head swam, but his equilibrium soon returned. Harry looked up to Charlie to thank him, but he stopped. All thought ceased as he looked into those brown eyes – a memory of what he had seen in that photograph took hold, and Harry suddenly realised what he wanted – what he needed at that moment.

Charlie deliberately took a step back after seeing the feral desire in Harry's eyes. Unfortunately for Charlie's intentions, that step back caused him to bump into his bed, which knocked him over a bit and sent him directly into Harry's arms as he overcorrected for his lack of balance. Harry took a deep breath and smiled at Charlie coyly. Charlie's mental voices warred over the appropriateness of touching the man who was his youngest brother's best friend, not to mention the man who had been too inebriated to Apparate properly. Desire and the twisted logic it sometimes creates finally won out and Charlie leaned forward to close the distance between them.

The first kiss was tentative, Charlie hesitating in case his advances were unwelcome. The second kiss was harsh, needy, and hot with fingers tangling in hair and tiny, whimpering moans echoing from both men's throats. Harry pulled back and looked at Charlie intently. "I want you to know that I know exactly what I'm doing and you are not taking advantage of me." Charlie nodded, grateful that Harry understood his hesitation, then took the man at his word and proceeded to ravish him.

Harry grabbed at Charlie's pyjama pants – pulling their bodies to align perfectly. Harry felt the warm flesh ripple under his touch, and the telling hardness pressed against his thigh. "You want this too." Harry murmured in a husky voice – a statement more than a question. Charlie's fervent writhing against his body and a low hum against his neck was answer enough for Harry. The pyjama pants were soon gone, with Charlie standing firm and naked and throbbing in Harry's arms.

NC-17 scene deleted

Charlie rested his head against Harry's back as he regained his breath. Harry quickly fell back to the bed, his own spent and abused body disconnecting suddenly. Charlie promptly fell beside Harry, his arms reassuringly surrounding the younger man's chest. He watched the strange play of emotions flicker across the green eyes momentarily as he felt Harry's heartbeat return to normal. _The look. It's not there, _Harry thought absently as he realised he was waiting for something he really didn't expect to see, or particularly want to see again.

The emotions churning through Charlie's mind were evident as Harry looked across into his face. "I meant what I said Charlie. I knew you wanted me, and thanks to you, I'm sober enough to know exactly what I wanted." Harry smiled and kissed the tips of Charlie's fingers, before yawning deeply. He was soon asleep, and Charlie laid a soft kiss on his brow as he lay awake a bit longer, wondering what in the world could have brought such a totally enthralling yet emotionally confused young man to his bed at two in the morning.

He knew it wasn't a dream – those pleasurable aches and pains were not something from any dream. The smooth and steady rhythm of Harry's breathing as he curled into Charlie's willing arms helped deliver him to his own slumber.

Only a few hours later Harry was once again waking Charlie. It wasn't quite daylight, but Charlie found no room for complaining when he came to consciousness with Harry's hands roaming his body and Harry's tongue doing unimaginable things along his spine. From the sporadic movements of the warm, wet tongue on his back, Charlie guessed that his tattoo had been discovered. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to capture the wizard drawing of a golden snitch, Harry sighed in frustration. "Let me just say that this tattoo is a helluva turn-on. I'm not sure I've ever had so much fun chasing a snitch." Harry caught the pleasured moan as his tongue travelled lower and lower on Charlie's back while his hand mirrored the same movements along his stomach.

NC-17 scene deleted

"Charlie." Harry's voice was slightly tentative, a striking contrast to the surety he had exhibited earlier. Charlie simply smiled at him, hoping to be reassuring. "You don't know how long I'd wanted to do that. I gave up hope long ago of ever…"

"Shhhh." Charlie put a finger to Harry's lips, not wanting to hear any apologies from Harry's lips.

"You know, I used to have this particular fantasy… about you…"

"Oh?" Charlie grinned and winked, wondering what subconscious secret Harry had just inadvertently revealed.

"Well, sleeping with you in general used to be a fantasy of mine," Harry ran his fingers along Charlie's bicep and collarbone, forcing himself to hold eye contact. Charlie's wink and comforting embrace emboldened Harry and his voice grew stronger as he found the courage to continue. "Another fantasy of mine was to wake you up with sexual attentions… I even thought about sneaking into your room at the Burrow once, when you came home for the holidays during my seventh year… Anyway, I have another, if you're willing… and up for it…" At this, Harry's voice trailed off, embarrassment quickly gaining momentum again.

"I'll admit to a few similar fantasies. Tell me what you want, Harry."

Harry paused, unsure if he wanted to tell one of his deepest and darkest secrets. Seeing that Charlie wasn't running screaming in the opposite direction, he gathered all his Gryffindor bravery. "I want you to tie me up, blindfold me, tease me and taunt me and tempt me and torture me and then finally, I want to you to fuck me so hard that I feel you for days, my glasses are useless and I don't know my own name."

Charlie's eyes dilated slightly and his heart rate rose at Harry's words. He paused for the length of a single breath, then reached for his wand and cast the charms that would bind Harry's hands and feet to the bed. He grabbed a woollen scarf and transfigured it into silk before tying it snugly around Harry's eyes. Harry lay there, shivering with anticipation as he heard Charlie rummaging around for a moment. He was about to ask what was going on when he felt the bed dip as Charlie rejoined him. Harry tingled where his thigh was pressed against Charlie's nude hip. He felt something incredibly soft sliding gently across his chest, around each nipple, down his torso, tickling him and bringing those nerves to attention. That was quickly replaced by a slightly rough surface mapping a similar course around Harry's body. It felt slightly scratchy and Harry couldn't imagine what it was but it was the most erotic sensation he'd ever felt.

The sensory depravation from the loss of sight heightened each and every touch, and Harry began to crave anticipation of the next feel of the dragon tamer's touch. Charlie began placing random kisses on Harry's torso, hips and thighs as he continued to tease the sensitive skin with a variety of textures. Harry hadn't even noticed when the scratchy feeling went away; he was too distracted by the tongue that swirled slowly around the inside of his upper thigh.

NC-17 scene deleted

--ooOoo--

When Harry woke up later that day, he could tell by the sun shining through the window that it was late afternoon. What he didn't know, at least for a moment, was where he was waking up, why his vision was blurry and how he had acquired the feeling that his body was full of jelly. When he remembered the entire night (and the early part of the morning), he felt a wave of fear. _What will Charlie think of this? What kind of needy idiot would show up in another country, wake a person up and proceed to throw himself at that person? Oh gods, oh Merlin, oh fuck, Oliver was right! I have to get out of here. I can't face him right now._ Harry sat up gingerly, realising that despite his post-coital trepidation, he had definitely been physically satisfied. Charlie had indeed fulfilled Harry's fantasy wishes, and fortunately, seemed to be as worn out as Harry felt, considering the fact that he barely moved while Harry searched around, disoriented, for his glasses, then quickly threw on his jeans. He grasped his wand in one hand, his shoes and shirt in the other, and Apparated home.

Once there, Harry immediately locked the floo and closed his wards so that no one, no matter how close they were to him, could get in without his permission. He sat down on the sofa and proceeded to stare at the wall, silently berating himself for adhering to the dismal picture Ollie had painted of him. Harry thought back, considering the fact that none of his relationships lasted longer than a few months. In fact, Oliver had been the longest. It seemed that dumping the Boy-Who-Lived was a favourite pastime of many of Britain's most eligible young men. For some, the novelty and notoriety of being his boyfriend wore off quickly. Those few who had seen beyond the scar and the glasses had later dumped the young man's need for no obvious reason. One said he felt stifled by Harry; another couldn't deal with the yoke of fame that surrounded him; yet another was frustrated by Harry's desire for attention and simultaneous lack of trust.

Finally, he had grown to trust Oliver only to have that trust shattered in the worst way he could imagine. Now, it seemed, he had once again reached out, subconsciously seeking attention, and in the process had likely alienated a good friend. Possibly two, if Ron ever found out. Harry couldn't help but think back to his days in Snape's classes when the Potions master accused him of enjoying his fame and seeking out the spotlight. He briefly wondered if that were some deep psychological truth that he'd never learned to recognise.

Harry sighed and considered a good stiff drink to take his mind off the stupid mistakes he'd made. Of course, thinking of that, brought about memories of last night after a few drinks, and the events that followed. _What is wrong with me? I should know better than that._ He glanced at the journal sitting on his desk, thinking of the many conversations he and Luc had shared through those pages. The troubles Luc had with Antonio, the mistakes he'd made afterward, and the regret he expressed all came flooding back to Harry's memory. _And to think I tried to advise him about those things! I told him when he should go find someone to shag. I told him when he shouldn't. I suppose I've taken my own advice and now I see just how stupid it was._ Harry's gaze wandered across the room as he briefly considered various activities that might distract him from these maudlin thoughts.

He still had no interest in watching his DVD's, even his favourite show, "Buffy," just didn't strike his fancy at the moment. Everything that reminded him of his school days also seemed to remind him of Oliver, so his photo collection was out of the question. Finally, his eyes rested on the I Ching set he'd found weeks ago. He thought about it, remembering the odd compulsion that led him to buy it. _Tear up old ideas and eliminate what is unusable. An unavoidable period of collapse, misfortune and destruction._ As he thought back over that description of hexagon twenty-three, Harry finally realised why it hadn't made sense to him before. He'd had no idea that his love life was about to fall apart, no reason to think that his sense of stability and safety and love was about to be ripped out from under him. He had certainly torn up some things though, and while he wished there had been a way to avoid the collapse and misfortune, he felt quite vindicated by the destruction he had wrought.

His thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of pages at his desk. He glanced over and saw the journal had opened. He could just make out the green colour of the writing that was now appearing on the blank page. Looking at the clock, he was amazed to see that he had been sitting there, brooding for nearly two hours. After a pause, he finally meandered over to the desk to see what Luc had to say.

_Février 23_ _Dear Flash, _ _Hey there. Thought it high time that we caught up. I guess it's been quite a few days since your grand plans for Valentine's Day. I'm guessing from your complete silence on the matter, and from your complete absence, that you have other things in hand at present. Ollie no doubt has been keeping you very busy, I'm sure... _

Harry snorted sardonically at that, considering the notion that Luc couldn't be more wrong. Deciding that perhaps a chat would do him some good, he found himself reaching for a quill and wondered briefly where his purple ink had got to.

_I have actually spent a lot of time this week thinking about you – wondering. You seemed so excited about your Valentine's plans. I was even excited for you, and I must confess that I've thought often about how wonderful it must have been. I actually was insanely jealous of Ollie for a bit - not having anyone who cared enough to think to do something like that for me on such a romantic day, but I'm not totally unhappy about being unattached at present. What I mean to say is that I really don't have much to say about my own love life, but I do know that Jean-Paul has been constantly at the forefront of my own romantic thoughts._

He finally located the small pot, only to have it tip precariously and come close to pouring its contents across the journal and his lesson plans. He managed to catch it and ended up with a small spot of ink on his right thumb, so small, in fact, that he didn't notice it until it rubbed off onto the journal, creating a purple smudge at the edge of the page.

_Flash? You there?_ _**Luc! Sorry, nearly spilled the ink all over the desk. I'm here.**_ _I ahem, didn't interrupt anything, did I?_ _**No. I was just staring into space. And let me just say before you ask, that your reasons for being jealous of Ollie were misdirected.**_ _Misdirected? Why? Didn't you go ahead with your plans? You sounded so sure of what you wanted to do._ _**Oh I was sure, and I did it. I set up candles, I lit the fire, I had champagne and strawberries and cream. I charmed the suite to play his favourite love songs. I planned to give him a massage and then get in the bath with him; I bought a new royal blue shirt to wear because he told me that's his favourite colour on me. Unfortunately, things didn't work out as I had hoped and planned. Ollie was otherwise occupied by a couple of fans...**_

Harry paused. He hadn't talked about this yet, but he knew he needed to get it out, express his hurt to someone, and he knew that Luc would listen.

_**in his bed!**_ _What? You mean occupied as in occupied - and fans - plural? He cheated on you? Why the duplicitous cretin!_ _**Yes, he cheated. I walked into the bedroom to change clothes, only to find that he and these two bits of fluff had Apparated in and were drilling into one another like they were looking for oil.**_ _Merde! Oh Flash, I'm so sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how you felt. I've never been in that situation. I've never cheated and I don't think my ex partners ever did that when we were together. They probably knew what I 'could' do to them if they had. I'm guessing you didn't put your extensive Dark Arts experience to the test, did you? You aren't in Azkaban for murder? Sorry, bad humour... I just... I just honestly can't write words to express how sorry I am._

Harry was momentarily confused as he watched Luc write. For a moment, the whole journal was blurry, then, when he blinked his eyes, the overall effect faded, but one spot became blurry, then another, and another. He finally realised he was crying, something he couldn't remember truly doing in years.

_Oh Merlin, hey Flash, it's okay to cry. Let it all out. _ _**Thanks. I don't know what was worse - walking in on that… that… scene, or arguing with him when he came home the next day. You try telling my uncle that it's okay to cry - he raised me to believe crying is for sissies... Of course - since I'm a useless poof, I guess it just makes sense.**_ _Why did you feel bad about arguing? Didn't you tell him exactly what you thought of him? I hope to hell that if you didn't throw every Unforgivable his way you threw him out (not that I condone the usage of the Unforgivable curses, but I'm sure the Wizengamot would allow for extenuating circumstances in your case!) _ _Hey, now don't let anyone tell you that you are a useless poof. Even those over blown macho women loving types need to cry now and then. It just shows you are human. It's a perfectly natural reaction. _ _**Sometimes I wonder about that, too... the human bit. I didn't feel bad about arguing with him, I just didn't like it. I didn't feel like facing all that. I came home and destroyed everything he owns, breaking it, crushing it, melting it or burning it. That felt good, but only for a few minutes. Then he came home and started acting like he could just give me a reasonable explanation and I would accept it and everything would all be okay. He started talking to me about open relationships and my being insecure and all sorts of shite. He had the nerve to tell me that it was a normal part of wizard relationships to be open. First I've heard of sleeping with two other guys behind your boyfriend's back as being normal. He tried to tell me that I would want him back after I thought about it and learned a few home truths. I told him in essence, to get stuffed and that he shouldn't hold his breath waiting for me.**_ _Well good for you. Open relationships – what a crock. If you told him you loved him, then he should have been faithful. Please tell me you didn't take his words to heart? Merde, I should talk, I believed every word Antonio told me. What exactly did he say to you about being insecure? Would you like me to mix up some potion to make him impotent, or perhaps make his gonads shrivel up and die? Sorry, that was uncalled for. I can't believe he'd do such a thing!_ _**Oh he said I'm clingy, I attach myself to people the moment they show me any affection, I don't understand wizard relationships and that I don't know what I want. At the time, I would have taken you up on that potion offer in a heartbeat, but now - no. I think he's right. And I can't seek revenge for his accuracy, can I?**_ _Oh, you are right. Vengeance is fun for a while, but not healthy for long term happiness. You know there is nothing wrong about being in touch with your inner feelings. You have always seemed to be quite in touch with them, which is refreshing. Thinking back on all those things you wrote in this journal - those troubles you've had with him in the past - it seems your original instincts were right. You thought that something was amiss a while ago. Just remember that. It seems obvious that he's easily lead by his dick (hmmm, guess I should know about that!). He's making me so angry now. My wand hand is twitching to throw some curses at someone. Think I'll have to vent after this. I hope you have managed to throw a good fit of anger over him. You threw him out I assume? _ _**I did throw him out. I haven't seen him since, either. Hope I never have to again. I can't believe you're getting this angry about it, though. You don't even know him.**_ _Oh, I think I'm just angry on your behalf. I'm guessing from your reticence that you've been wallowing in self pity for the past nine days? I'm angry because you threw your heart on the line and told him you loved him. He's got to be a low life to cheat on you after that. You were so excited – he built your hopes up, and because I was living vicariously through you, he had my hopes up too! _ _**I suppose. I mean, I got angry that night and let it out by destroying his things. Then I held my own the next night when he came home. I told him I didn't intend to let anyone have control over my heart unless they were going to cherish it and that he was a contemptible bitch with no feelings. It wasn't until a day or so after that when I started to wonder if he was right about these things. **_ _**Then of course, I don't know if I made things better, or worse. I drank myself into a stupor last night and ended up Apparating to the wrong house. I know, I know - it's stupid to attempt Apparition under the influence, but I was hoping to talk to my old school friend, and then thoughts of his rather sexy and very gay brother entered my head, and so I ended up at his brother's place by accident. That was just another horrible decision on my part - I slept with him.**_ _Sweet Merlin. He was willing, wasn't he? Or did you..._ _**Thank you, though, for your anger and concern on my part. It really …**_

Harry paused again, sniffling as he watched two more tears drop onto the paper, giving it a slightly wavy, warped affect.

_**Damn I'm crying again... it really means a lot. Yes, he was willing. And I was more than willing. Truth be told, I'd had some interest in him before, but the opportunity never arose. Now I'm regretting it, though. Not because it wasn't good, but just because it seems like such a rash and needy thing to do. **_ _Now that I can help you with. Does the name Devon ring any bells? Biggest mistake I made on the rebound. I take it you and your friend's brother haven't really talked yet? Is he likely to want to talk to you? _ _**You know, the worst thing about it... when Ollie **_

Another tear fell, despite Harry's efforts to hold them in.

_**Damn, after he and his little tossers were finished, he looked up... **_

Harry paused again, looking at the damp smudges scattered across the page from his tears. Damn, he couldn't seem to control it, though he was beginning to feel as if something deep in his chest was unclenching as he wrote, and that urged him to continue.

_**And he had that look on his face!**_ _Oh Flash! That look you thought was only for you? _ _**Yeah - that's the one. And Charlie - well no, I haven't talked to him since... I kind of panicked when I woke up and just left as quickly as I could.**_ _But you obviously needed the emotional and physical release with your friend's brother. I'm sure you'll still remain friends with him if you let go any guilt. You have NOTHING to be guilty about. Ollie is the foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach in this scenario - not you. Perhaps you need to talk to this Charlie. He hasn't tried to contact you?_ _**Umm, I don't know. I've got my floo heavily warded at the moment - don't really feel like company, you know? It's only been a couple of hours since I got home. Hell, he doesn't even know why I was there or what's happened. I just showed up, drunk. We kissed, I told him he wasn't taking advantage of me, and then we acted out a few of my old fantasies. I had never imagined I'd have that chance, but it was fabulous, and just went on and on and on... so it was well after daylight when we fell asleep, and I woke up this afternoon and came straight home without waking him.**_ _And now you're full of guilt and regret? Merlin Flash, aren't we a pair. I say don't wallow. Take that lock off your floo and talk to him. _ _I'm guessing you're still stuck in the place you and Ollie lived? Perhaps you need to get away for a while. But don't torture yourself over what you did with Charlie. Talk to him! Take the floo wards off now!_ _**Yes sir! **_

Harry sighed with trepidation at the thought of opening his floo and allowing the outside world to reach him again. He had closed himself off because he was so uncertain of himself. His doubts and insecurities led him to believe that he would react horribly to seeing anyone in person… after all, he certainly hadn't handled things with Charlie the way he had intended. Despite his fantasies, he wouldn't have actually **planned** for that to happen. Luc's concern made him feel better though. Somehow, he couldn't help believing that this friendship with Luc was healthier than many of his other relationships. This thought brought a small smile to his face as he dutifully unlocked the floo and lightened his wards just a little.

_**Okay, done. You know - I can't believe this, but I am feeling a little better. Even crying. I mean, I never really thought about it. I've never cried much, about anything, even during the war with all the friends and family I lost - I don't remember crying. You brought that out in me. And I didn't even know how much I needed it. I just smiled, and I think it was the first time since leaving Ollie's hotel.**_ _Hey, you know I'm always here to talk to. I could get angry and say that you should have talked earlier, but it wouldn't help. I thought I'd do the gentlemanly thing and give you some time for what I thought would be other activities. Crying is good. I admit it feels good. Although don't ask me to admit that in public. Hey, isn't that why I'm here? You sure helped me get over my own silly mistakes. We both know who's the better man from all of this, and it isn't Ollie. You know what you need to do next? After talking to this Charlie?_ _**What?**_ _Can you take time off work for a bit?_ _**Probably. They're pretty flexible with my position. Is this where you suggest that we meet up and shag like bunnies, now that we know each other's zodiac signs?**_ _Well, take a holiday. Get right away from everyone and everything. Do something totally indulgent for yourself. I'm guessing everyone and everything is reminding you of that prat. You said in your last entry that your friends all are in relationships? Well, you need to get away from them too. And no, no shagging like bunnies. I suggest a celibate path for a little while, unless your friend Charlie is more than willing to carry on from last night. Nah, you know I'm no longer one for indiscriminate shagging, no matter whether our star signs are totally compatible. I see you are a little more cheerful if you are joking! (Besides, I'm the one who's supposedly sworn off shagging, remember?) Besides, if Ollie is an Aquarius (you said his birthday was Jan 27), then you should have foreseen this. He was either going to be the one for you, or it was all going to come crashing down in a great big screaming heap._ _**A holiday. That does sound nice. Just me and the world, away from everyone. Any suggestions?**_ _Well, somewhere you've never been before. A REAL holiday. You should talk to a travel agent. I mean, if money is no problem, you could go anywhere in the world. The south of France is lovely this time of year, but I'm biased. Indulge in all the things you loved that you knew Ollie hated – get your revenge that way. Show the prat that you've moved on without him. Don't give him the satisfaction of giving in to his harsh words. He only said them to hurt you. Hang on. I'll be back in a moment. I just need to look up something. _

Harry sat and thought about that for a moment. He did need to get away. The four walls of the flat were getting to him, and a change of scenery and faces would allow him to get out of his head. The idea of payback to Oliver by getting on with his life sounded so – rational and adult.

_Okay, you need to contact Trimble's Travel - my agent Pierre, here in Paris, used to work for their London branch. I think they are in Diagon Alley. They always suggest the best destinations. My family always used that agency for their trips when I was a child. Indulge yourself! Or why not the Muggle world? You seem to know your way around there comfortably. That would be a total change of pace, wouldn't it?_ _**I would like that. Perhaps I can find a wizarding hotel in or near a Muggle city... then I can have the best of both worlds.**_ _See... and you could go and see Lord of the Rings every day. Or even watch television. But you know, I think you need to go back and read what you first wrote in this journal before you do that. You were questioning your relationship with Ollie then. Just remember that perhaps these horrid things happened to you for a reason - I know you don't want to hear that right now, but let me play devil's advocate. What if you didn't surprise him? What if you gave away more than your heart to him, only to find out the truth in a year or two years, or Merlin forbid, even ten years from now? _ _You have limitless opportunities ahead of you. Don't let horrid cads like Ollie control you anymore. Live your own life - please only yourself. If you do find Mr Right, then make sure before giving away any more of yourself. None of this was your fault._ _**Thanks. You're right, of course. And offering such sage advice. I'm lucky. I'm lucky I found out now. I'm lucky it wasn't worse. I'm lucky to have a friend like you. I do know that I could have come to the journal earlier, but I was well and truly stuck in my own little rut – guess I didn't want to seem clingy and go running to you. I haven't done much of anything this past week. Then tonight, I saw the journal open and I thought about ignoring it. I've just been so depressed that I haven't felt like doing a bloody thing. And you've been so considerate and so helpful. I guess... well I'm starting to sound quite sappy now - but I guess it just means a lot to know that you care that much. I felt upset for you when I read your last entry – all those bittersweet memories, and I wondered if it was just me. If I was taking things to extremes, especially after all the things Ollie said to me about being clingy. I'm rambling senselessly here, but what I'm trying to say is thank you. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your friendship.**_ _Hey, I was feeling a little guilty that I seemed to be telling you so much about my own troubles, and not reciprocating. I guess I've hopefully made up for it now. Besides, as we've both said, we really can't hide behind these journals, can we? I mean, the words just want to flow. I think our own emotions are also sucked out into it. If you were just in the coffee shop, as one of my friends, telling me about all this, I probably wouldn't have been half as helpful. Hiding behind my masks and trying to put on the usual act in front of everyone. Guess we can't hide at all here. But in response to your thanks - you're welcome. I'd say 'anytime' but I know we won't need to have this same conversation again. Neither of us is going to make those same mistakes. _

While Luc was writing, Harry reached for his coins, deciding that another I Ching hexagram might give him an idea of how to proceed, or what to expect. He felt a sense of poetic irony when he read the notes for hexagram fifty-one. It was just what he needed to hear.

_**Let's hope not! I've written down your travel agent's name and will be contacting the London branch tomorrow. I'm thinking that a week or two of near solitude will help me get in touch with myself and overcome the doubts Ollie planted. I've just checked with the I Ching - the only divination I care much for, and it tells me this is a time to start all over - it will bring storms, but they will clear the air and enable new beginnings.**_ _I Ching eh? Well perhaps divination isn't totally useless after all. Not that I ever paid it much mind – I never really studied more than the horoscope, and that's aligned with Astronomy, which is much more grounded than some divination methods. But I'm sure you don't want to hear my own dissertations on the faults of divination, do you? _ _Now, are you going to floo this Charlie and talk to him? I can tell you all about my rather mundane existence another time. Everything I was going to tell you today pales in comparison with what's been going on in your life._ _**Well, I'm in no incredible hurry to face him again, but if you really think I should, I suppose I can. Your existence can't possibly be that mundane though. It's your life; therefore it's got to be important and interesting!**_ _Hmm, let's see... working here, school work, then helping out in the store - having a couple of very polite coffees with my Petite Mere and exchanging the odd owl with Jean-Paul - I'd say it's mundane. If he were here I could just drop down on my knees and ravish him at any moment mind you, but I'm definitely not letting my hormones run wild - except in my imagination. Guess they can't do any harm there._ _**Hey, if you're up to exchanging owls, I'd say it's moving out of mundane territory with Jean-Paul. That's special! You'll have to be sure to keep me updated... oh - floo chimed... **_

Harry quickly looked at the fireplace, patently unsurprised to see Charlie's face there. "I'll be just a moment, Charlie." He turned back to the journal, thankful once again that Luc had managed to get him to open up and get through the beginnings of accepting what had happened with Oliver.

_**Well, speak of the devil - Charlie's calling. Thanks again Luc, I'll be in touch soon - I promise! **_ _**Flash**_ _Hey, well his ears must have been burning! I'll write soon.  
Take care, and don't forget that I'm here and you don't need an excuse to write how you're feeling! Remember, the words will just flow!_ _Your friend,  
Luc._

Charlie was waiting patiently when Harry made it back to the armchair closest to the fireplace. "Hi, er, sorry about that. I was just… finishing up some stuff."

"That's not a problem Harry. I'm just glad I finally got through. I've been trying to reach you for a while."

"Yeah, about that… listen Charlie, do you want to just come on through? It seems silly to have this conversation through the floo."

Charlie nodded before his head disappeared, and only moments later he was stepping from the green flames and gently brushing his clothes off. He had obviously had a great deal of practice with the floo network, because, like his sister, he still looked amazing. He hadn't bothered with a robe and the tailored black slacks he wore hugged his hips, hanging just right to accentuate the firm body Harry had discovered last night. The white button-up shirt was only buttoned about halfway up and when Charlie raised one arm to run his hand across his hair, Harry noticed that the bottom two buttons were also undone, offering a glimpse of his toned abdomen. That little triangle of skin captured more of Harry's attention than he cared to admit and he shook his head, trying desperately to rid himself of the notion that he should go press his lips against that skin.

"Have a seat." Harry motioned toward the other armchair, grateful that he'd had the forethought to avoid the sofa. He didn't think he could handle being that close to Charlie; his body was still tingling from their earlier activities and he wasn't completely certain he could trust himself to keep things on a platonic level. The comfort of forgetting was too tempting. "I guess you're wondering about…"

"Harry, there's no need to be nervous. If anything, I should be the nervous one. You're roughly a decade younger than I am, and my little brother's best friend. I know what you said last night, Harry, but I can't help thinking I took advantage of a situation that I didn't even know about. I won't say I regret anything we did, just some things we didn't do."

Harry just raised an eyebrow at that, wondering what on earth Charlie could have wished for.

"Talking, Harry. We didn't talk. I know you well enough to know that something had upset you, and it wasn't until after I woke up and found you were gone that I realised what that something probably was. You were dating Oliver Wood, weren't you? Did something happen between the two of you?"

"Yes. No, not exactly. To be precise, something happened between Oliver and a couple of his fans. I guess it seems silly to you for me to be upset about it, but no matter how common it is for wizards to have those kinds of open relationships, it's not something I can handle. I want someone who doesn't want anyone else, you know?" Harry tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he mentioned the events that had brought him to where he was now, but he wasn't terribly successful.

"I can certainly understand that sentiment. But where did you get the idea that open relationships are common? I mean, yes, some wizards do it. Some Muggles couples do it. Straight couples, gay couples, but it's not the standard." Charlie sounded a little confused by Harry's words.

"Oliver said…" Harry trailed off as he realised that Oliver's snide comments had been intended solely to cover his back and demean Harry's intelligence. Oddly enough, that came as a relief to him, simply because it provided him with the knowledge and comfort that he wasn't even more unusual for wanting a monogamous relationship. "Well, never mind. It doesn't matter now."

"Harry, I should have talked to you about this before… well… but I have to ask…" Charlie seemed more uncomfortable than he had since arriving. "What are you hoping for?" And suddenly, that sense of discomfort made perfect sense to Harry.

"Oh! Nothing. Really, Charlie, I'm not hoping for anything special. I mean more special. I mean, last night, and today, was really… er… well – wow! And thank you, I really think I needed that. But now, I just want to be me, you know? I'm sorry; I didn't mean to… that is, I hope you weren't…" Harry stopped, forced himself to stop actually, not wanting to hear himself babble in such a nonsensical manner any longer.

"No, I wasn't planning on anything else, either," Charlie smiled. "Like I said earlier, I'll admit to having had a few fantasies about you – Hell, I got so caught up in it once that I even considered using a couple of hairs from your pillow in Ron's room to have someone make some polyjuice. I wouldn't, of course. I mean that's hardly fair. But last night, that was great, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but I'm in no position to offer my heart to anyone, and I get the feeling you aren't either."

Harry was struck by those words. He momentarily put aside the notion of Charlie having sex with a polyjuiced Harry Potter. It was the rest of his statement that truly caught Harry's attention. Having just had his heart broken, he hadn't put any thought into Charlie's love life and what the older man might have been dealing with recently. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you seeing someone?"

"No, just too wrapped up in my own life at the moment to spare that much attention for someone else on a regular basis. And you know, the thing is that I really enjoy it. I love my job, and how busy it keeps me, and I love the freedom of living on my own where I can spend my free time doing whatever, or whomever, I please. Oh, someday I'll find the perfect guy for me and we'll settle down and have a quaint little house and a puppy. But for now, I'm perfectly happy living out my life as I see fit and learning more about myself. So long as I throw in a good shag with a close friend every so often, I don't feel I'm missing anything."

Harry relaxed at that, pleased to know that he and Charlie could still talk to each other, and that he was still considered a close friend. He also noted that Charlie's description of his life sounded thrilling, like just the thing Harry had been looking for. If Charlie was still happy to live like that, and he was so much older, then perhaps Harry was being a little too rash in trying to settle down. He would have to think more on that when he had the time.

With the initial awkwardness out of the way, Harry went about playing host, offering Charlie a drink, and eventually dinner, while the two of them simply talked, catching up on each others lives and behaving, to all intents and purposes, like old friends should behave.

--ooOoo--

Harry was practically skipping on his way home from work that Monday. His request for a two-week vacation had been approved and he immediately contacted the travel agency recommended by Luc. Sharon, the agent he spoke with, suggested a beautiful chateau in Roussillon, France. The owner had just recently had the place checked out and arranged for a portkey to be available for use by guests. Harry had never been to the South of France, but was anxiously looking forward to it. He thought it best to follow Luc's advice – that the South of France was beautiful at this time of the year. This place was situated in a wizarding village, but also within an area that catered to many Muggle tourists, and – perhaps the one thing that completely sold Harry on the idea – it had its own vineyard.

He quickly packed his bags and set them by the door, anxious to be on his way. He stood at the desk, looking at the journal, debating whether or not to take it with him. _It might be nice to have someone to communicate with while I'm there._ He nodded in agreement with his thoughts as he picked up the book and reached for his inkpot. _On the other hand, if I'm truly left to my own devices, I might find out more about myself._ Harry cocked his head to the side, considering this as he ran one hand through his hair. Finally, he decided that two weeks of solitude and self-reflection may well lead to the need to get things off his chest or talk things through with someone understanding. That settled it. He picked up the inkpot, a couple of quills, and carefully placed them, with the journal, in his bag.

After checking around the flat to be certain everything was just right, Harry reached into his pocket to retrieve the small velveteen bag from the travel agent. Sharon had instructed him to use this portkey to reach Apt, and that the office there would be able to give him the portkey directly to the chateau. Taking a deep breath to steel himself against the unpleasantly familiar tugging sensation, Harry firmly grasped his bags in one hand and the pocket knife from the velveteen bag in the other hand. _Freedom and self-discovery… here I come!_

* * *

-TBC-

**_Publish Date:_** _24-May-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005_

_**Censoring in this chapter: You may have noticed that there are three, yes 3 sections that say censored in Charlie's Scene. In Oliver's 'big scene' there are also a few sentences taken out and replaced by … just to be on the safe side. For those of you who want to read the uncensored version of this chapter, **a full nc17 version is available at the Skyehawke archive under Azhure's profile._

**Author Notes:** _Well, thank you all for joining us on yet another excursion into the hearts and minds of the wizarding world's finest. I would like to quickly take this opportunity to mention that while there were a number of requests and speculations regarding Oliver's activities of this chapter, these actions were set in motion long, long ago! I can't even remember how many of you guessed precisely what would happen, but I hope you still found it an engaging read despite your magical pre-knowledge of the events. grins And now, on with the replies!_

**Emily22, Serpent of Light, Benjis VIP, AncientHistory, DarkJade1, Maridale3, Kyaukii, Kaaera, CuriousDreamWeaver, **

**Adventure Diva:** _Thank you and welcome to the story!_

**Silver-sunn101:** _Thanks! I hope your geography homework went all right for you!_

**Dragonphly** _Yes, indeed! It will be a while yet before they realise the identities of their pen pals. I suppose your curiosity about Oliver has been taken care of now._

**Menecarkawan** _Well, as you no doubt have learned, they didn't 'exactly' see each other on Ollie's birthday… just a little tease to keep you guessing! Thanks so much for following this and reviewing and all… I love hearing from you! grins Are you glad Oliver is gone now?_

**Jiro: **_Thank you! That's incredibly sweet!_

**Louise4:** _Thank you thank you! Trust me when I say you are not alone in wanting them to meet soon, but these things take time. Patience… or just lots of anxious waiting, whichever you prefer. As for the slashfest… well, consider this part one, I suppose. And as for Harry/Remus – all I'll say is that Harry hasn't been a student for quite some time now. evil grin_

**Fayee** _You know, I didn't used to be this evil and wicked and bad… I think Azhure has rubbed off on me. Okay, fine, I admit I was always a little wicked and bad, but she's still rubbed off on me! Glad you liked it though!_

**CelestialDrgn** _Thanks! Yes, our Harry is **always** leaking pheromones… haven't you noticed? Glad to know that you can appreciate the wonder and beauty that is James Marsters!_

**Sailor Grape:** _Yes, he does have a way with that, doesn't he? Thanks for the review!_

**Tainted Androgyny: **_Well, who's hotter can be debatable, but I'll have to agree on the deserving bit. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!_

**Trivium** _well, this answers your question, doesn't it? A little secret… that wasn't truly an autograph, it was Ollie's info so the 'fan' could find him during an upcoming game… It makes me grin a big goofy silly smile to know that our work can make you shudder in anticipation. Thanks so much for the review and don't worry, there's plenty more to come before this story ends!_

**Silvia-Silver:** _I'm glad you're still enjoying the show! Yes, coming between Harry and Draco can be a negative point to the lovely Scotsman, but just remember that as of now, there is no "Harry and Draco" to come between! I don't know why you would think either of us would want to kill you, but I can tell you that we don't have any plans for them to meet for at least a few more chapters. It's all about the anticipation, you know!_

**AlongCametheSpider** _Well, we'll just have to find ways to drag more reviews out of you! We both love to know what our readers think about the events as things go along! Thanks for reading! _

**The Mauraders Dragon: **_I'm sorry, I hope some inclusion of Lupin doesn't turn you away from the story. Harry's talked to me about it all and he's just really confused about a great many things right now. It's not his fault, you know. Poor boy has led a difficult life and really doesn't know which way is up sometimes. And especially after this chapter, well, he's just confused and downtrodden and trying to find himself. You remember trying to find yourself? It's a rough time, isn't it? Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Do keep in touch and let us know what you like and don't like as the story continues to unfold!_

**Roguemessenger** _Thanks! You're wonderful and lovely, did you know that? I do hope this chapter helped with your 'issues about Oliver' and that you are still working on the patience in regards to H&D getting together. That deliciously slow pace you mentioned would be non-existent if we put them together now, you understand. blushing Thank you ever so much for the compliments. I assure you, we are having so much fun with this fic that it's like playtime! Now, get up off your knees (unless you have a more interesting reason for being there) and just relax until chapter 9 comes out. I don't think it'll take too long. I have it on good authority that Draco has been telling Azhure all about his life lately and he's quite anxious to get it all out there to share!_

**Romie** _Thanks! I do thank you dearly and sincerely for pointing out Harry's impossible perfectness. The thing is, it's not so much that he's perfect, as just that he doesn't have any major physical flaws. As for his other flaws, well, have you noticed how wishy-washy and insecure he is? The poor boy has major self-esteem issues and is trying to work through them, but it's taking some time. I hope the adjustments in Harry and Draco's love lives during the last two chapters have eased your mind a bit about the fairness of the situation. I know that Azhure and I both greatly appreciate this kind of feedback. It allows us to check over our plan and see if there are changes needed, etc. Never fear… this is, essentially, a Harry & Draco fic… it's just taking its own sweet time getting there! Keep reading and reviewing and thank you!_

**Tangledhair** _hehehe, eating, sexual, spoon, what a suggestive sentence! I'm so thrilled that you liked it! Thanks for the review, and the appreciation of the smut, the likes of which would indeed never been seen here on grins Be sure to check out the group page for more inappropriate smut!_

**Jen Red Robe:** _Nope – they won't be finding out this soon. Yes, the conversations are actually written between the two of us using MSN! I would have added you to my contacts, but I don't have your email address. Thanks for the review, always a pleasure to hear from you!_

_**Okay – thanks again to all those who reviewed and also to the anonymous and invisible readers! There were over 1,000 hits on this chapter alone! I'm in awe that there are so many of you out there reading this! Remember that we love feedback and enjoy knowing what you think about it, like, don't like, etc.**_


	9. Friends of Mine

Note: Due to formatting limitations on this site, the following key is needed to read the diary entries.

**Bold **Flash's Diary Entries & letters to Draco  
_Italics_ Luc's Diary Entries & thoughts or emphasis  
Underline something 'special' happening in their entries

* * *

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone**  
**Chapter 9: _Friends of Mine _**

_Oh no not me I'm not too late,  
and I know that I'm not waiting any more.  
**Friends of Mine, Duran Duran 1981**_

oo0oo

**March 8 - Saturday**

Draco always knew that Paris in the spring was indeed a sight to behold. Situated in the heart of the student district, the small, yet quiet café played host to a myriad of customers that Saturday afternoon, including one very thirsty wizard. Sipping a well needed espresso, Draco's musings turned to the wonders of the fabulous city he lived in. The other patrons were oblivious to the beauty surrounding them, their attention seemingly drawn inward on such a sunny and mildly warm March afternoon.

Judging by the number of people out and about – both Muggle and Wizard - it seemed that everyone in the city had come to the conclusion that it was too beautiful a day to be stuck indoors. Even Draco, in his current quest for academic greatness, had succumbed to the sunshine as he moved out of the library at l'institut. With his ability to enjoy a good, long walk hampered by his injured knee, Draco usually chose to Apparate between the halls of learning and the Wizarding Quarter of Paris. He rarely stopped in at this particular café – preferring to get his coffee from Emmaline - but today, he too felt the pull of the spring sunshine. His journey took him away from l'institut, down Boulevard St Michel towards Notre Dame, on his way across the river to the Wizard library deep within the bowels of the Louvre.

Much of Wizarding Paris was very old, dating back to the founding of the city. Wizards dwelled side by side with Muggles, with many of the major Wizarding sites scattered throughout the sprawling city. _de l'étudiant en Sorcellerie_ was based around the bustling student section of Paris, situated in the Fifth Arrondissment. L'institut des Magies was situated within the campus of The Sorbonne, the premier Muggle Parisian University. The actual Wizard shopping district, Le Quart De Sorcier, was situated across the river in the Eighth Arrondissment, between the Champs Elysees and Avenue Montaigne. It was just a little too far away for Draco to walk every day to classes, but he honestly didn't miss living so far from the distractions of the student lifestyle.

The Sunday afternoon crowds had thinned as Draco sat watching the passing parade of Muggles and Wizards from his vantage point near the front window. A sense of normalcy had returned to Draco's life since he stopped concentrating on his love life. He found it easy to once again slip into the habit of people watching.

The blond had found that he no longer had the time to wither away and melodramatically mourn the loss of a partner in his life. With the last semester of his studies well underway, Draco had only another ten weeks until he would be finished with his studies. A year of intense research, or three years of apprenticeship would have to come before he could consider himself a full potions master. The closer he came to the end of his course, the more he knew exactly what field of research he wanted to follow. The research at the library had been to tidy a few loose ends for his thesis, '_Wolfsbane: Benefit or Bane?'_ With the thesis almost completed, Draco had turned his mind to the focus of his studies beyond university.

Despite most Potions graduates seeking apprenticeships with a master, Draco had always been disinclined to follow that path. He couldn't bear the thought of having to spend another three years working at the behest of another person – he had never seen himself doing that. It was extremely rare that apprentices be allowed to follow their own interests, as the potions masters they served expected constant assistance in other areas of expertise. Malfoys had always been ambitious, and in that respect, Draco was no different to his forebears.

He was going to be his own man; after all, he had worked too hard to disassociate himself from his father not to be. Even his own actions during the war were distasteful to him now. Draco had seen and done things as a spy out of necessity, but never with any enjoyment. He'd been raised to believe that Malfoys didn't do the dirty work, and therefore could never understand why his father had been so eager to follow a megalomaniac like Voldemort. He thought, perhaps, that it was the promise of glory, but Draco had never shared that plan or desire with his father. He didn't want power, or glory, or followers. Draco just wanted to do what he could to redeem the Malfoy name if possible, to be recognised for his own efforts instead of the actions of his father, and to be at peace with himself.

Lucius' ambition had been world domination. Aligning himself with Voldemort had been the easiest path to that perceived power. Draco didn't desire world domination as much as he desired world recognition. The most prestigious path to gaining recognition in the academic world was through research. All the greatest potions masters came from research backgrounds, and he wasn't about to let someone else get all the credit for his own hard work. No, he wasn't going to become an apprentice, not to anyone. With his thesis all but finished, he was already working on a research proposal to obtain an honours grant so that he could study, develop and hopefully patent an improved and more accessible Wolfsbane potion.

Although the war was well and truly over, hundreds of victims still suffered from the effects. Some more silently than others. In the darkest times, Voldemort had let dark creatures run free, and the number of werewolves, vampires and banshees grew rapidly. It was an obvious ploy to increase his own forces. Those victims who survived the war were shunned by most of the world. The number of Werewolves had increased more than any other, yet the European Ministry and British Ministries were desperately trying to sweep the problem under the carpet. Draco knew that an affordable and accessible Wolfsbane potion would help many of the victims to return to a somewhat normal existence. As it were, the potion was currently only available to those who could afford it. It was an inequality that Draco sought to rectify with his own philanthropic sensibilities. He believed that he had found his calling. Indeed, it might even help rectify the sins of his father.

With the Malfoy inheritance coming closer every day, Draco had no need to work, but the thought of research and development was something he could envisage filling those empty hours of his future. He wasn't delusional enough to think that he could develop a potion to cure the curse, but he knew that he could do everything possible to ease the victim's suffering during the transformations. His trip to the library at the Louvre was to scour the archives for historical data relating to werewolves in the ancient texts. He was going to perfect the Wolfsbane potion and the key could very well lie somewhere in the ancient tomes.

With the fine weather, most patrons had preferred the tables outside the now bustling café. With so few diners inside, Draco had the best of both worlds as he had a bird's eye view of everyone passing by whilst maintaining his own privacy. Lost in thoughts of werewolves and potions remedies, Draco was startled when a commotion coming from one of the outside tables interrupted the tranquil afternoon atmosphere.

His attention was drawn from his crusty baguette by the wild screeching of car brakes. Looking up he saw a car pull up suddenly in front of the café. A young Muggle girl strode out glaring and yelling wildly at a young couple sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Draco sensed something was wrong long before the girl stormed up to the man and slapped him hard across the face, all the while yelling obscenities at him, and his female companion.

Most patrons averted their gaze from the warring party, avoiding embarrassment, but Draco watched on in fascination.

"You sleazy good for nothing liar!" the young woman was vehement, her hands gesticulating wildly. "You go around flaunting yourself with this – this floozy!" Draco sensed he would be slapped again before the confrontation was over.

"This isn't what you think..." The young man protested his innocence, but anyone could see that he had been caught red handed. The behaviour and body language of the other girl was not helping his feeble protestations. She cringed and tried to slink away, but to no avail.

"You are my fiancé. I thought that might have meant something to you!" the young woman was on the verge of tears. "Aren't we soul mates? I thought we were. You go and throw it all away, and for what?" She looked the other girl up and down, before dramatically tossing her engagement ring in his face. He stood there dumbfounded, but realising that she was storming off, he made another feeble attempt to follow her, but she had again got back into the car and had screeched off into the traffic, narrowly missing several other cars and pedestrians in the process.

In the dramatic silence that followed, the cheating Muggle turned, looking back towards the café, suddenly realising there was quite an audience to his romantic infidelity. He ran his finger along the inside of his collar before squaring his shoulders and sitting back down. His female companion tried to hide from the prying eyes, but to no avail. It was doubtful, judging from the look on her face, that she had been aware that she was 'the other woman', and she watched her young man warily.

Draco didn't blame her one bit. The man in question was obviously a two timing cad. He deserved the humiliation of a public break-up. His shame at his behaviour was obviously short lived, as he was now attempting to charm his companion, and judging from her shy smile, he was soon back to his winning ways.

_What a bloody bastard,_ Draco thought. _He's as bad as that cad, Ollie._ As Draco thought on Ollie, he thought back on the torrid time his friend Flash had experienced nearly a month before. Draco had spent a lot of time since Valentine's Day thinking about Flash. The other man's plans for surprising his lover had seemed so romantic, so true. Draco could only begin to wish that he could have someone to do that for in his own life. But after witnessing that scene, and thinking on Flash's thoughts, he was momentarily grateful to be without a lover.

He had given Flash a couple of weeks of privacy after Valentine's Day, and naturally he assumed his friend would be busy with his lover during that time. It had stunned Draco to learn that Flash had caught his lover in the throes of passion with not one, but two other men. Draco shook his head at the image. He had been holding off on writing to his friend, but fate must have intervened when he did choose to write. Flash had indeed been suffering and wallowing, yet he had not opened up to any of his other friends, instead, choosing to spill the horrid news to Draco first. Draco could understand Flash's reluctance to talk – he had been in that position himself.

It had been nearly two weeks since Draco received a quick note from Flash. It appeared that he had taken Draco's advice and gone on a holiday. The brief message explained that he was off work for two full weeks and had just arrived in a quiet little cottage. He was looking forward to the solitude, but assured Luc that he would try to write some more whilst he was there. However, it really was not surprising that there hadn't been any further messages. Draco assumed that, just as he had done, Flash was using the much needed time to find himself. No doubt the time would be needed to heal the wound that Ollie ripped wide open in the other man's heart. The Englishman was probably taking the time to sort himself out – Draco's voice of experience knew exactly what Flash needed. Flash would write when he was ready, so Draco didn't worry about their lack of communication.

Draco shook his head at the thought of his own trip away after Antonio. He wasn't worried for Flash – at least he didn't think that the other man would go off and do something as stupid as he did with Devon. He said he'd already done that with his friend's brother Charlie, but they appeared to have made up and remained friends. The thought of having such a 'friend with benefits' was something that Draco only dreamed of at this point in his life.

The thought of Ollie's behaviour still stunned Draco whenever he thought on it. If he were being totally honest, Flash had suspected for a while that something about his and Ollie's relationship wasn't quite right. The Englishman was right to get out and break ties now, although Draco honestly thought he let Ollie off lightly. Draco would have hexed the bastard's balls off if he had been the one to catch him in the act.

Flash had seemed so bereft in their last conversation. Draco couldn't fathom why he had spent so much time thinking about this other wizard. He shrugged to himself as he realised that he and Flash had some parallels in their lives, and he couldn't bear to see such an intriguing friend end up emotionally devastated.

As he sipped his coffee, he pulled the journal from his satchel. For the past week he had taken to carrying it around with him, in case Flash replied to him. He wasn't desperate to hear from Flash, he was barely able to keep his eyes open when he got back to the studio these days, that he didn't want to lose the opportunity to hear from his friend. _Friend?_ Draco still surprised himself by thinking of the Englishman in such a way. It felt... good. Good to know someone out there actually cared for what he thought. It was... refreshing.

Draco thought more on the notion that he was making friends with a complete stranger, and he hoped that his new friend was also getting on with his life after the horrid discovery of his cheating boyfriend. Looking at the clock on the wall, he realised he should be making his way to the Louvre. He stuffed the journal back into his satchel. Perhaps he would see a new entry from his friend later. He threw a few coins on the counter as he paid the bill. The more he thought about the term friend, the more he was reminded of the task that Flash set him - the task of looking at his own friendships and why he had so few people he could truly call friends.

Draco had a fair idea of why he had so few friends, although he always avoided thinking about that particular event. _But why not? You were only children. Was that the reason why you always set the bar so high for friendship? Because the boy-who-ruddy-well-lived turned you down? You really have let that git rule such an important part of your life, haven't you? Or was it father's constant litany of pureblood and power? 'You can tell the measure of a man by those he associates with. By all means Draco, choose your associates, but be very sure about those you choose to call friends.' _He could still hear his father's words clear as a bell in his head, despite the decade since he had heard them the last time.

Although he had known no better than to follow that advice when he was younger, he had made the right decision to do so. Just as well he didn't make friends with any of his fellow Slytherins. Most would just as soon turn around and stab you in the back than be a caring friend to you. He ended up killing a good number of his classmates, and had he made one slip as a child, he would not have lived to see the start of the war.

The patterns of his childhood conditioning were something Draco found hard to break – especially after the war. He had been trained to distrust everyone. At first, he had been wary of approaching his classmates at university. Draco was so used to people wanting to associate with the prestige of the Malfoy name, especially when he was in the Death Eater ranks, that he wasn't sure how to approach people normally. When he did manage to get closer to a few of those classmates, his fears were realised as he found that he was, indeed, only doing so to get something from them. Those who approached him first were also drawn by his name, not because he was the son of Lucius Malfoy, or because he was Draco Malfoy, Death Eater. No, these people were approaching him, putting up a pretence of friendship and casual conversation, only to pick his brain for potions information. His reputation as the best potions student at university had quickly spread, and brought him a new level of fame, but nothing in the way of new friendships.

Draco shook his head. No, he had really had very little success with making friends. Until now of course. If he were brutally honest, his only true friend (other than Flash,) was Severus. The horrors they had witnessed and endured together as spies in Voldemort's service was something that banded them together – something nobody else could possibly begin to understand.

Having looked up to the elder man as a mentor for so long before the war, Draco had absolutely no issues with trusting Severus. That and the fact they had saved each other's lives on several occasions helped in that regard. Despite Draco's trust issues, he had somehow allowed a few – supposedly well chosen – people to make their way through to his heart. That was before they stomped all over it and wrecked his life. Draco knew that his friendship barometer was undoubtedly skewed when it came to matters of the heart.

Flash had often talked about soul mates. Was there such a thing? Draco doubted it. As he wandered out of the café to head across to the Louvre via Notre Dame, he glared at the slimy two timing Muggle still sitting in the café with his 'current' girlfriend. Draco's glare was followed up with a firm desire to put some sort of hex on the man, but he wisely chose to keep his wand hidden in the busy Muggle street. Still, all the other patrons had given the man disapproving frowns and glares as they too left the café. Draco was yet to meet anyone who was even remotely close to being a soul mate, and he was beginning to doubt that it would ever happen.

He wasn't cynical enough yet to be lost on the whole idea of love, at least, not any more. His friendship with Flash was helping him to see the world through another person's eyes, and it was refreshing. As he walked along, he wistfully patted at the contents of the pocket in his new leather jacket. Being out and about on such a day in Muggle Paris meant that the robes had to be sacrificed for something a little more modern and less conspicuous. Often many less enlightened Parisian Wizards could be found wandering around the city, oblivious to their seemingly 'odd' clothing. Most Muggles just shrugged them off as just another member of the city's rather eclectic and eccentric population.

Draco had been in an entirely frivolous mood the previous week. Something he had not been in a very long time. He had just received notice from his realtor that the chateau had been rented out again, so he had a pocket full of Galleons. Whoever was staying there must have paid extra for the privilege. Perhaps the rental agency had increased the rent. Either way, Draco didn't complain. The sight of the leather jacket in the window of the fashion house had been too good an opportunity to pass up. So good in fact, he impulsively bought matching jeans and boots. The boots were a little tight, but a good resizing charm had solved that problem. As he handed over his Gringotts credit card (for those wizards who straddled the Wizard and Muggle worlds), he secretly thanked the tenant of his chateau for their patronage.

In the past few weeks, ever since his interest in Muggles had been piqued, Draco had found himself spending more and more time in the Muggle areas of the city – just browsing through the shops and observing the behaviour of the non magical folk. His father would be rolling around in his grave at Draco's fascination, but he was long past caring about what Lucius had liked and disliked. Draco realised that for all their perceived failings, Muggles had managed to get along rather well without magic. Their concept of communication was fascinating, if somewhat primitive, as was their fashion sense.

Not only had the jacket looked fetching, it was the most comfortable jacket he had worn in a very long time. It was so comfortable that he had barely taken it off in the week since he bought it. He had even turned up to class a couple of times wearing it; the strange looks his way were soon outnumbered by the wistful sighs of many witches (and a goodly number of wizards as well).

Besides, those wistful sighs had only fallen on deaf ears. Draco didn't need to read the letter that was safely tucked away in his pocket – he knew the contents off by heart. He felt a little silly, carrying around a simple letter from Jean-Paul, but he couldn't help himself. It was an affirmation that out there, someone wanted him. It was a good feeling, and something that kept Draco from the shallow wallowing that had haunted him in the earlier part of the year.

'**_Bonjour Draco,_** **_I confess to being unable to stop thinking about you...'_ Jean-Paul's opening words had set the tone of the letter. '_I wish I could floo right now, but the floo system in this area is rather unstable, and it is best to avoid using it during such times, hence the letter. Besides, reliable International Floo powder is hard to come by here. You looked positively ravishing when I saw you with Tante Em on Valentine's. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn you had designs on my aunt! (not the first time she's taken a younger lover, but you didn't need to know that, did you?)_** _**I just wanted to write to reassure you that my interest is genuine, and that I couldn't forget you once you were out of my sight. I find myself thinking about you at odd (and sometimes extremely inappropriate) times and places. My invitation to get to know you was not a bunch of empty words. I would love to get to know you better, and I am endeavouring to get myself back to Paris soon. Naturally, the more eager I am to get away from here, the harder it is proving to do so. **_ _**I thought this note might help tide you over until we meet again, and to let you know that I for one will be looking forward to our next meeting. **_ _**Bien à vous,  
Jean-Paul.'**_

It had been hard to move the grin from his face every time he thought about that letter, but the stunningly handsome medi-wizard had been right – the letter was helping him greatly, and he was actually looking forward to the time when Jean-Paul could come back to Paris. They had only spoken over coffee the last time he was in town, but Draco knew that he needed and wanted to have this man in his life. Despite all his promises to Flash that he was going to be a perfect gentleman, and not think with his libido; Draco knew that it would be impossible to resist the other man when they met again. But he also knew that he didn't want to stuff it up – not if he had a hope of getting it right this time.

The one thing he did know is that if there was even a whiff of romance in the air, then Draco was going to control himself and not get carried away. He planned on taking one thing at a time. There was no thought of 'long term' or 'happily ever after'. Draco had made that mistake in the past, and it had only led to disaster. Flash had asked if he thought Jean-Paul might be 'the one'. Draco wasn't even considering that at all – he hadn't even kissed the man – hell, he barely knew the man. But a small voice in the back of his mind was often suggesting that if he were, then Draco wouldn't mind one little bit.

oo0oo

**March 9 - Sunday**

The library was quiet for a Sunday afternoon, but that made it all the more better for Draco. For the second day running, it had not taken him long to quickly become engrossed in his study – the books and parchments were things he had always felt an affinity for. The library had always been a place for Draco to escape to when his father had been on a rampage. Malfoy Manor's library was exceptional in its grandeur. He dearly missed being able to sit in his favourite Chesterfield underneath the window, looking out over the view of Narcissa's immaculate gardens and the Wiltshire plains beyond. It was about the only thing in England he could honestly say that he missed.

Draco sat at one end of the long table in the middle of the library. He doubted the wizened old librarian had seen the sun in the past century, but he was surprised to see another young witch deep within the walls of the library. She had been there the previous afternoon as well, although she didn't look like she wanted to be in the library at all. Draco recognised the worry lines across her face brought on by stress and a distinct lack of sleep. She seemed fretful and distressed for the second day in a row. Draco couldn't quite place where he had seen her before. Glancing at the pile of books beside her, he recognised the spines of a dozen references used by students in their first year at l'institut. He assumed he had seen her around the potions labs at l'institut.

Engrossed in his study as he was (the works of Wildegard the Werewolf Alchemist, and his treatise on '_Herbs And Preparations To Aid In Transformation Recovery'_ were just as dry and hard to digest as the herbs in question), Draco couldn't help but notice the young witch's audible sigh of frustration. Finally looking up, he noticed she was surrounded by a haphazard pile of crumpled parchments. Another broken quill was thrown hastily onto the floor as she cast a hasty erasing charm on the last piece of parchment.

Running her hands through her hair, she buried her face in her hands – a look Draco had seen on the faces of many students when the pressure was getting too much to bear. He cleared his throat as he made his way over to sit next to her. He couldn't stand to see another student under such pressure. "Excuse me," he interrupted.

"Oh!" she looked up at him startled. "Sorry, did I disturb you? I just... this bloody paper." She threw her hands up in the air in a gesture of frustration.

"I couldn't help but notice, you're studying potions?" he asked helpfully.

She nodded, but as she turned to look at him, she realised who he was. "You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you? Sorry, I just recognised you – I've seen you around campus." Draco nodded. He was well known amongst most students and faculty.

"Urgh! This is no good. I've sat here nearly all weekend. I still can't work this ruddy thing out. I'm going around in circles!"

Draco looked over the parchment and the books spread out before her. "Arithmantic equations if I'm not mistaken?" Draco asked. "Any chance you're in Professor Lefèbvre's class?"

"Yes. How'd you know?" she nodded.

"Well, I've seen you around campus as well. Besides, he's the only one cruel and arrogant enough to use his own unproven theories as set texts. He expects everyone to follow _his_ way of doing things." Draco explained.

"Oh? The whole premise of this assignment just doesn't make sense," she sighed in frustration as she tried to explain the problem.

Draco nodded as she explained. Looking over her shoulder, he saw where she had gone wrong. He attempted to guide her to the correct conclusion, and it must have made sense, for he could see the sudden flash of understanding in her face as he explained the underlying problem.

"So you're saying that I just add 12 to each of these numbers in this pentagram?" she simplified his background.

"Yes," Draco nodded. "Only Lefèbvre would be arrogant enough to use a 600 year old diagram in his book, and not take into consideration the shift of the planets over that time. Add the 12 to account for each half century shift, and then apply that to your combinations of ingredients, and the results should work."

"You make it all sound so easy. I never understood this side of making potions. Give me the ingredients and the amounts, and I'm fine." She sighed. "I'm just a frustrated herbologist at heart." She smiled. He found the genuine smile warming, and he found himself returning it.

"Don't worry. I'm the opposite. Just give me the ingredients already grown and prepared. I'm afraid I don't do herbs the justice they deserve." Draco was feeling decidedly modest. "Degas Lefèbvre is a tosser, and even the rest of the faculty think so. You should be right to finish the assignment now." He added hopefully.

She nodded. "Thanks again. You know, you explained that so well. None of the tutors even thought to suggest that. I was beginning to think I was thicker than I thought I was." She stopped momentarily, making sure her words made sense. She suddenly looked at Draco. "Oh, gosh, I'm dreadfully sorry – all this time and I didn't even bother to introduce myself! I know who you are. I'm Arianna – Arianna le Roux."

"Pleased to meet you Arianna – Arianna Le Roux." He grinned at her gushiness and made her smile. He looked back over at his own research. "I guess I should be getting back to my own dry and dusty tomes." He indicated the other end of the table.

She nodded and let go of his hand. "Sorry I disturbed you, but you've truly been a great help. Thanks again!" He watched in satisfaction as she ploughed into her work in renewed vigour.

"Anytime," he murmured. For once, Draco truly meant it. It felt good to help someone, and not expect anything in return. As he turned back to his books, he saw a faint sparkle of light coming from his bag. _The journal!_

_**Sunday,  
March 9, 2003**_ _**Luc,**_ _**Wow, I can't tell you how much I needed this vacation. I brought the journal with me, thinking perhaps I would feel like writing, but I was so busy and distracted that I never got the chance. I've only just got home, but I feel like I've finally sorted out enough things in my head that the time felt right to now share them with you. **_ _**For starters, I just want to say up front that I'm an idiot. I think I have a few things I need to express and explain to a few different people; making amends for my actions, I guess. But I want to talk to you about it first because you're the safest person I can think of for this discussion. I don't know that I handled my break-up with Ollie very well. I mean, he was a total bastard, and I know that ending it then and there was the best thing for me, but my reactions after he left were awful. You were right, of course. I was wallowing in self pity for a while, and then there was the night with Charlie. **_ _**That shouldn't have happened. I say this in retrospect, thinking of how emotional I was at the time, and how much Ollie really did mean to me. What does that say about me? I'll tell you what I think it says… I think it says that I have some serious growing up to do. I think that's why this trip and the solitude out here has been so helpful to me. I think I've begun to see what I really need. Ironically, as I read through my previous entries, I've apparently been talking about what I need for some time; determining to live my own life, find out who I am, and gain the independence that I've never truly had.**_ _**This time of reflection and heavy emotion has simply given me the impetus I needed to actually put those thoughts into action. I said that I don't want to rely on having a lover to make me happy and that I know I need to be happy on my own before I can truly be happy with anyone else. It's high time I find out how to be happy on my own.**_ _**I've discovered a few things as I looked through here and thought about my life. One of these things is that I do love Ollie. I don't think that the feeling is as strong as I originally believed, but it's there. I don't even think I can truly say I was 'in love' with him – I can't be sure. I guess I'll always hold a small place in my heart for him, just as I'll view trust differently because of him. I used to believe in a magical love, something that would just sweep through me and leave me with an undoubtable feeling that it's absolutely right and pure and good. I gave up on that idea when I started dating Ollie, thinking I was holding out for something that would never come. **_ _**Over the past two weeks, as I've looked back on everything that's happened, I've decided that it won't come if I don't believe in it. I want it to come, I want to believe that I can have that kind of relationship someday: one that will just fit, no doubts, no questions, no anxiety. I need that certainty, that unwavering connection that leaves no room for question. So, whenever I find myself facing a new relationship, I'm determined to approach it with caution until I have reason to believe that it'll be safe, and will possibly develop that kind of love. The thing worrying me is that I have this little voice in the back of my head that says it's not possible to approach that kind of love with caution – you just have to grab on to it when it hits you.**_ _**In the meantime, I fully intend to follow that advice of yours, and hell, of mine! I want to find my new hobbies and develop them. In fact, I have realised in recent months that I have a rather large photo collect (much of it inherited) and I want to sort them into scrapbooks. I went into the nearest town and bought myself a camera last week. I took some pictures during the last bit of my vacation, wanting to preserve the beauty of that place. I plan to start taking some other new pictures as well, new photos of myself and the few friends I still have, photos of this time in my life, learning about myself, finding and creating new interests that can develop into new and happier memories. The first photo I took was of this journal. I know that may be a little cheesy, but there are very few people that are close enough to me for me to consider them true friends. I want photos of my friends, and as the journal is the closest I can get to a photo of you, there you have it!**_ _**I'll say now that the agency you sent me to is fantastic! I've really enjoyed being away from everything. That cottage is truly – breathtaking. I found a wonderful little café and ended up eating lunch there nearly every day. The lady who runs it even packed up a lunch for me one day because I was going out on my broom. That was exhilarating! The air was just cold enough to make me feel slightly numb, especially if I got too high, but it only served to remind me how alive I am! Touring the wineries in the area and attending a couple of tastings were some of the high points for me. I suppose I fancy myself a bit of a connoisseur and I'm always thrilled to try new labels. The one downfall about that area is that it's next to impossible to find a decent cup of tea! The coffee wasn't bad, but next time I visit that area, I'll have to make sure to take some tea with me.**_ _**I suppose that's enough rambling for now. I'll be heading back to work tomorrow, and I'm making plans to discuss a change in position with my supervisor. You see, that's another thing I've decided on – my job needs to change. Ollie was right about something – I am in a dead end job. There are a couple of aspects I really like about it, namely the teaching side of it. I'm hoping to make that aspect a full time job rather than just a small part of my overall role. Knowing that's where my interests and strengths lie, it's where I'll be happiest.**_ _**I do hope you've been doing well. Hope to catch up with you soon!**_ **_Your friend,  
Flash_**

Draco smiled at the sense of relief that flooded through him. His friend was going to be okay. Life was going to be okay. They were both learning to move on, and that thought brought a smile to his face as he returned to his studies.

oo0oo

**March 11 - Tuesday**

The potions labs at l'institut des Magies were located deep within the halls of the wizarding institution. Some of the older labs were situated even deeper down, well below the depth of the river. With the entire institute hidden from the Muggle world, most students preferred to Apparate to and from classes. The occasional Muggleborn student would sometimes mingle with the general student body of The Sorbonne, the Muggle university within the same grounds as l'institut.

As the lecture finished, the handful of final year students fell out the door of the dank and cloistered lab. Draco was heading directly for the library. He was very close to finishing his research proposal, and he was excited at the prospect of delivering it to the head of the Potions faculty by the end of the week. Unfortunately, he didn't make his getaway quickly enough.

"Hey, Draco?" one of his classmates called out. "Care to join us for coffee?"

Draco turned around. He didn't fancy sharing coffee. Not with these people anyway. He sighed inwardly as he turned. They looked at him expectantly. He knew exactly why there were asking him for coffee. They had just received a new assignment, and, as usual, they all wanted to ask Draco for his ideas. Draco recognised their gesture for what it was. They were only after him for his input, in the vain hope he could help them do their assignments, without the need to begin research for themselves.

Their attempts at friendship were obvious and transparent, and Draco realised why he barely made the acquaintance of most of his classmates. They weren't interested in true friendship. They sought his knowledge and the power it brought, just as others had since his childhood. Those who sought power, prestige or money from associating with the Malfoy name, or the Malfoy money. Here at l'institut, it was the Malfoy knowledge they were after.

"Sorry guys. I've got to help out in the store," he felt guilty about the lie, but he _wanted_ to go back to the store and help Emmaline. He enjoyed the work he did at the store. It felt good to know he was helping her out. Oblivious to the polite brush-off, one of the group persisted in following Draco as he made his way to the apparition point. He couldn't very well go to the library now that he had told them he was going back to the store.

Francois was a harmless guy, clever in his own way – a brilliant mind – but no clue when it came to social niceties. He was going to make a perfect alchemist at his uncle's apothecary upon graduation. It was just unfortunate that he had no idea of when people weren't interested. Draco suspected he wasn't as clueless as he appeared to be. Most people would agree to buy whatever he was selling, just to get him to shut up. Draco saw the shrewd salesman behind the seemingly innocent and annoying façade. _He would have made a good Slytherin_, he thought.

Francois had been persistent in class, extolling the virtues of mermaid scales. Apparently they had a myriad of applications, particularly in the making of topical balms to help prevent sunburn. Draco now knew more about mermaid scales than he ever wanted to know, but Francois seemed like an overeager Hufflepuff when he got to talking about something he felt passionate about.

Draco knew it wasn't a genuine passion, merely the fact that his uncle no doubt had an over abundance of mermaid scales that he needed to sell before they expired. No, Francois was not stupid at all. Neither was Draco.

"Look Francois," Draco huffed as he stopped walking, "as much as this is so fascinating, I have no need for any mermaid scales. I'm just not interested."

Francois blinked owlishly. "Not interested?" He sounded bitterly disappointed.

Draco didn't want to continue the awkward conversation. "Sorry, no. Besides, I have to go. Bye." He turned quickly, hoping to avoid a ten minute discussion on why he wasn't interested. In his rush he turned a tad too quickly, and twisted his knee as he awkwardly stepped to narrowly avoid the students coming around the corner. In the process he lost his balance, stumbling forward and landing awkwardly. The twist and sudden movement sent a new series of shooting pains from his knee, all the way up his leg.

"Draco?" He looked up into the familiar face as a friendly hand was offered to help him up. He winced at the sudden pain. He knew the new pain was not good.

"Arianna. Thanks." Draco started to dust off his robes. He leaned against the wall for support, and to hide the extent of his pain.

"Here, allow me," Arianna waved her wand, and Draco's robes were once more resplendent. "It's the least I can do."

Draco suddenly noticed the other witches with Arianna. "Thanks. I'm sorry about that. I guess I was just in a hurry to get away," he winced again as he tried to put some weight on his knee. It wasn't pleasant. He knew he'd have to brew some painkilling potion as soon as he got home. "I... er... wasn't looking where I was going," Draco suddenly rambled, stating the obvious. He smiled at the other witches. "Hello, I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Gah, I'm a complete moron. How rude of me!" Arianna slapped her forehead. "These are my friends, Adèle and Véronique. Draco's the one who helped me through the assignment for Lefèbvre." Their eyes shot up with interest at that. "I don't think I could ever thank you enough for that, Draco! Because of you, I might actually pass that class after all!"

Draco was surprised at the genuine sentiment. He had thought nothing of helping her, but she seemed to think it was a big deal.

"Oh, it was nothing. Really," Draco seemed suddenly reticent. He'd only pointed the girl to the right direction. It wasn't as if he had saved her life.

"No, it's not nothing! I managed to account for myself this last lecture, and not look foolish. Thanks to you, I won't fail Arithmantic Potions!" she wasn't going to let him dismiss it as nothing. Draco just stood there. He'd never really been thanked for something, not without someone wanting something in return. "Listen, we've finished for today. You got any more lectures?"

Draco shook his head. "No, but I was..."

"Good, you're coming with us for coffee. No questions asked." It was refreshing to think that someone just wanted to say thank you, and invite him out for coffee, just for his company. Perhaps he should go with them. He could cast a simple pain relieving charm to get through the afternoon if he agreed. Arianna grabbed his hand, ready to pull him along, but as he began to move slowly, she realised he was still hurt. "Oh, did you hurt your knee more than you let on?"

"No, it's just an old war injury. I think it will be fine. I've just twisted it a little that's all. It will be right again in a couple of days." He often cursed the fact it had never properly healed, and now it would ache even more. He sensed their pity, but waved it off. He didn't need anyone feeling sorry for him. He silently cast the pain relief charm, glad for his intense medi-field training to cast the heaviest pain relief available. It wasn't something he did often – the side effects were severe, but it would do its intended job in the short term.

They had lingered in the hallway a few moments longer. Draco was planning how to Apparate to the coffee shop when a small stool pigeon swooped down, dropping a parchment in Draco's hands. L'institut used pigeons around the campus to send memos – much more obscure than owls in an area populated with so many Muggles.

The memo was addressed to Draco from l'institut's Registrar of Admissions. "Oh, I can't come to coffee now ladies," he waved the official parchment at them. He was genuinely disappointed, as were they. "The Registrar wants to see me." Draco had no idea what it was all about.

They promised to take him to coffee another time, and he gratefully accepted.

Ten minutes later, he still had no idea why the Registrar wanted to see him.

"Mr Malfoy," Henri Pascal, Registrar of L'institut des Magies, was pacing behind his desk as a half dozen quills busied themselves writing copious amounts of correspondence. Letters magically folded themselves, the envelopes sealing themselves before efficiently stacking neatly in his out tray. "I was very worried when I received a letter this morning from Gringotts." The parchment in his hand did indeed have the official seal of the bank.

"How can I assist with this Monsieur Pascal?" Draco had a sudden thought that perhaps the university was going to ask him for money. His father had warned him about those that might solicit him for patronage. Despite his aching knee, Draco wasn't going to let the registrar make it an easy task.

"Well it came as quite a surprise to discover that you tuition for this semester has not been paid."

"What?" Draco was stunned. "That can't be right. The trustees of father's estate have always paid all the necessary bills!" he snatched the proffered parchment, reading for himself the fact that the funds had not been received. "I... I don't understand..." Draco looked away in confusion.

"I'm sure it's just an oversight, Mr Malfoy." The registrar seemed unconcerned.

"I'll make the necessary enquires then, shall I?" Draco asked. _Why would they forget to pay my tuition? It's only one more semester! When I get my research grant, they won't need to pay a single cent for my research. _

"Yes please. I'm not concerned, Mr Malfoy. I do know you are more than able to pay the funds. I would just hate for your enrolment to be cancelled because your fees are unpaid. Although I suggest haste. I can only let this go unpaid for another week before I must notify the Dean of Students, and the whole matter gets messy. Wouldn't want your grades for this semester to be discounted now, would we?"

"I'll get onto it right away, Monsieur Pascal."

The registrar clapped. "Splendid!"

oo0oo

The letter to the trustees was quickly composed upon his arrival at home, and was immediately sent off with Melchett. _What an odd sort of day_, he thought as he quickly prepared a painkilling potion for his knee. He didn't want Emmaline to worry about him whilst he helped out in the store. He couldn't let her work all alone, refusing when she tried to pay him for his work around the store. He knew that she wasn't wealthy – the store barely making enough to cover her expenses. Despite this, she refused to accept his rent money. When he wasn't looking, she would turn around and put it back in his money pouch. Draco knew she did this, but it was no use arguing with her. She was more stubborn than he was at times. It was a strange arrangement between the pair, and it was never mentioned.

Tuesdays were normally quite slow in the store, so Draco was working alone. He thought about closing early, when he heard the bell on the door jingling as a new customer entered. He was out the back, unpacking a new shipment of books Emmaline had received from an estate somewhere in the north. Draco carried the box with ease, all signs of aches and pains in his twisted knee completely gone. He knew it was the potion he'd brewed earlier that afternoon, but was under no illusion that the feeling would last. It was a powerful painkiller, but not one he could take continuously without more serious side effects. It seemed that all good painkillers had some sort of side effect, but Draco was no stranger to strong pain. _Still, it isn't as bad as Cruciatus. Close, but not quite as bad._ He would be paying the price in the morning.

"Draco!" The voice was familiar, and he turned to look at the new customer.

"Arianna, what brings you here?" Draco was surprised to see the witch so soon. Pleasantly surprised.

"I was just looking for that book you were telling me about – the one that had the corrected pentagram. I searched high and low, but can't seem to find it anywhere. Er... I can't even remember the name of the book now..." she began rummaging around in her bag for the slip of parchment where she wrote the name. "I seem to have it somewhere here..." she put her bag down on the counter, and popped her head right in the bag as she searched for the parchment. It was one of those bags that had been magically resized to carry everything. Draco was a little worried she was going to fall right in, when she came out clutching a piece of parchment. "Got it!"

Draco looked over her shoulder. "_Arithmantic Alchemy_," he read. "That's the one." He pointed to the shelves where a copy was most likely to be. "I don't think we have any _new_ copies..." he drifted off as he knelt down to pull the copies from the shelves.

"I didn't know you worked here, Draco. No wonder you know so much about books." Arianna looked surprised.

"Yeah, well someone has to make sure that Emmaline is looking after herself. Besides, I live above the store, and you won't find a better cup of coffee in Paris," he grinned. "So, do you have time for that coffee now?"

"Guess I do. I've found the book I'm looking for. Thanks again. Seems I'm thanking you quite a bit," she smiled.

"Wait until you've had the coffee! You'll be doing it again."

As they sat sipping their coffees, the conversation turned to people they knew and the lecturers at university. "I never thought you'd ever want to live somewhere like this! It's so... so... well, what would your family think? It's not terribly pureblooded of you, is it?"

Draco looked at her carefully. "What do you mean by that?" he was suddenly on the defensive. It had been a while since he'd come across the sort of pureblooded bigotry that his family once espoused.

"Oh, I just mean that my parents would have apoplexy if I ever dared leave home before I'm safely married. I'd love to leave home. This place seems... divine!" she sighed. "I wish I had the guts to just leave. I guess I just assumed as a Malfoy, you'd be living it up in the fashionable quarter. As it is, Daddy will want me to probably still live at home, even after I'm married," she seemed resigned to her fate.

Draco's mind was put at ease at her comments. She wasn't being elitist, just a little wistful that her own pureblooded upbringing was so strict. Draco couldn't work out why her name sounded so familiar. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she looked at her watch in horror. "Oh sweet Merlin, he'll have a fit knowing I'm out so late!" Downing the last mouthful of coffee, she grabbed her bag, and the newly purchased book. "Wouldn't do for the Minister's daughter to be caught late in this part of town, would it?" she moaned sarcastically.

"Merlin! I knew it!" Draco smacked himself on the head. "Your father's the Minister of Magic?" he realised as soon as she had spoken. The Le Roux's were a very old pureblood family; one that went back as far as the Malfoy's, if not further.

Arianna looked at him in surprise. "You didn't know? I thought once everyone knew me, they would realise it. Should have known when you didn't comment on it the other day."

"I guess I should be paying more attention." Draco smiled. "You'd better go."

"Yeah, wouldn't want father to pick you up for carousing with his daughter. He might try to marry us off." she joked light-heartedly.

"Oh dear." Draco sounded serious. "Pity you're not my type then, isn't it?" She looked at him in a puzzled way. "I'm gay. So you're definitely not my type."

She just stood there. "Well that explains everything!"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he stood there and smirked. He wondered just what could have possibly given him away as being gay.

"Well, you're the first guy since I've been fourteen that has managed to keep a conversation with me – without ogling my breasts." She laughed, and Draco laughed with her. He hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. It was just as well he hadn't taken a sip of coffee, or it could have ended up a nasty mess all over the place.

"If it makes you more comfortable, I _can_ ogle." The renewed laughter brought Emmaline downstairs.

"Now I really _do _have to go! This has been so much fun! See you around!" She waved and said her goodbyes as Emmaline locked up the store behind her. Draco watched as she moved just beyond the store's anti-apparition barrier, and vanished.

"Well Draco." Emmaline commented. "I came down when I heard that sound. I wondered what it was. You were laughing! Quelle surprise!" she paused as Draco cleaned up the last of the cups with the enchanted cleaning cloth. "Is there anything you want to tell me? Hmmm?" her playful tone and raised eyebrow made Draco blush.

"What? No... it's not... Emmaline," He realised from her grin that she was only teasing him. He slapped her with the cleaning cloth. "You are wicked. It's nothing. Besides, she's just a... friend," He realised the word as soon as he said it. _Friend._ He had made a friend.

"Friend, môn chéri?" Are you sure?"

Draco paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure. She's a... friend," Emmaline clasped eyes on him as the realisation dawned on him.

"C'est magnifique!" Emmaline grinned at the young man before her.

oo0oo

**March 12 - Wednesday**

Draco had ended up falling asleep not long after making his way upstairs. Just one of the side effects of too much painkilling potion, but at least he felt rested when he awoke the following morning. It was still too early for him to consider getting up, so he turned over, only to find Petite Amie curled up on the other pillow. _At least someone is getting use out of it,_ he thought. He suddenly realised what had woken him at such an ungraceful hour. The errant tapping at the window continued, and the realisation it was an owl finally made its way through his foggy brain. It took a few moments of squinting through sleepy eyes before the clock finally came into focus; it was four in the morning.

He thought about getting up to let the errant owl through, but it only took one time bending his knee to tell him that his painkiller potion had definitely worn off. Scrabbling around for his wand, he eventually managed to get the window open, and in flew Melchett. Draco could see the bird was very tired. Looking closely, he saw the parchment in his talons was the same letter he sent earlier that afternoon. He frowned. _Did Melchett get lost? Or didn't the trustees reply? Perhaps they weren't there? _Melchett hooted his displeasure at not immediately being fed. Another flick of his wand opened a cupboard and a dead mouse was levitated onto the floor. Petite Amie s nose twitched at the sudden treat, but Melchett hooted and swooped down. He wasn't too tired to take his prize into the rafters. He blinked at the cat in victory. Always one for the last word, the cat blinked back in indifference, and was once again asleep on Draco's other pillow.

Barely aware of the early morning competition, Draco was puzzled about why the trustees hadn't answered his owl. As he drowsed sleepily, he could only conclude that Melchett had arrived after the office had closed, and Draco had been very specific in his instruction to deliver it to the actual trustees. _I'll try to floo them later_, he thought as he went back to sleep.

oo0oo

The following day did little to solve the puzzle confronting Draco. He borrowed some International Floo powder to call the offices of Mulciber, MacTavish and Montgomery - the trustees of his father's estate. There was no answer, not even an engaged floo signal. He tried several times during the day, but to no avail. He attempted to send a strongly worded letter to the trustees, this time entrusting it to a public postal owl.

Thursday dawned with a returned letter, and still no access to the trustees' offices via the floo. Draco was beginning to worry. Actually, it was a feeling closer to panic, but he didn't want to be overly dramatic about it. He couldn't imagine anything happening to all three trustees of his inheritance. _Where the bloody hell could they be?_ _Surely they wouldn't move offices? There has to be a perfectly logical explanation for all of this!_ He thought, more than once, that perhaps his owl, Melchett had been at fault, until the letter sent with the public owl was returned. A slight sense of desperation invaded his slow and sure steps that Thursday. With his knee not improving, he took some more potion, but he Apparated as much as possible between destinations. The registrar had given him until the following Monday to ensure his tuition funds were paid. The desperation level was creeping higher the longer the week drew on. He knew that he needed to speak to the trustees before the weekend.

This mystery invaded Draco's thoughts as he drifted from class to class on Thursday. Even Arianna commented on his preoccupation as they ate lunch at a nearby café after morning classes. Adèle and Véronique, Arianna's two classmates, quickly accepted Draco in their social circle without any qualms, or usual feminine fawning. It didn't take Draco long to realise that Arianna's two friends were a couple. He had not associated with too many lesbians, but their company was surprisingly refreshing, no matter their sexual orientation. For some reason, Arianna felt safe around Draco, and not because he was unlikely to ogle her breasts.

oo0oo

During a quick break between lectures on Friday morning, Draco found himself face to face with the registrar as he made his way across _la cour_, on his way to the next building.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, I was wondering if I might have a word," he asked. It was not an optional request. Five minutes later, they were in the registrar's office. "Now, about our little discussion the other day..."

Draco held his hand out to stop the registrar. "Please, I know what you are thinking."

"I notice that your outstanding fees remain unpaid. Are you sure there isn't any problem, Mr Malfoy?" Draco didn't like the registrar's tone of voice. He never liked the man – he was a simpering fool. He had always fawned over Draco in the past – hoping against hope that Draco was the sort to throw his money around. _If only!_ Draco knew that the man's family had been killed during the war – during a Death Eater raid, but so far he had avoided any unnecessary dealings with the man.

"I'm working on it, sir. I just need a little more time," he didn't want to admit it, but he could see no other way around it. He could almost see the gleeful sneer on the registrar's face. He didn't consider it a good omen of what was to come.

"You do realise, Mr Malfoy, that your overdue payment is now becoming rather critical. I mean, we are not in the business of letting people be educated without the proper payment in place first. We're an institution of learning, not a charity."

"I understand that, sir, but you have to give me some more time. The owls between here and London seem to be terribly slow..."

"I'm not interested in your excuses, Mr Malfoy."

"It's not an excuse. If I could put my hands on my money easily, I would have made this payment already. As you know, it's a little bit more difficult for me to do so. You will get your money, sir," Draco didn't like being intimidated, not by little upstarts like Pascal.

"Well then you won't mind the Tuesday deadline? If the funds are not real and presented – no promissory notes, mind you – by Tuesday morning, you can consider your enrolment at _l'institut des Magies_ suspended."

Draco left the meeting in a foul mood. Nobody tried to intimidate him like that. The little upstart probably felt good to think he could have one over the likes of a Malfoy. The only trouble was that the idiot actually had the ability to suspend his enrolment, and that was not what Draco needed right now. _Where are the Trustees? Why don't they respond?_

oo0oo

By the time he arrived in the library that afternoon to work on his assignments, his anger was seething, but his worry for the trustees was at the fore. He couldn't fathom how they could forget to pay his tuition. Arianna and the girls caught up with him in the library, but he barely noticed their presence, being so caught up in his web of thoughts and concerns.

The girls had sensed his distraction as they spent the most part of the afternoon in the library. He barely remembered being there, but they commented on the fruitlessness of trying to study so late at night, after they realised Draco was still studying the same page after an hour. His mind was coming up with some ludicrous scenarios about the whereabouts of the trustees, each one more ridiculous than the last.

Friday dawned with still no word from the trustees. Draco had become desperate, and sent a letter directly to Gringotts in London, in the hope that they were aware of the missed payment. Arriving back at the store quite late, after another long day of lessons, he found a very whimsical looking Emmaline polishing coffee cups behind the counter. He knew that look – it was one she wore when she was pleased that something was going right for once.

Familiar with her quirks, he decided he wouldn't even begin to wonder what had her in such a happy mood, but her eyes directed him to the letter propped up against the coffee machine. He immediately recognised the handwriting - Jean-Paul's. Seeing his name on the envelope made him smile. Emmaline motioned for him to go and sit down, and she didn't need to be asked to make him a cup of coffee.

It took a while for him to hobble up to his table. His twisted knee was slowly recovering from the silly little accident earlier in the week, but he had reluctantly pulled his father's cane from the very back of the armoire a couple of days earlier. Lucius had used the cane as an affectation (as well as a place to store his spare wand), but Draco actually needed the support as he walked. He couldn't take any more painkiller potion, not for another week at least.

He couldn't see the point in visiting a medi-wizard with it – they had all but told him the injury was permanent when it had happened. A jarring twist, such as his collision with Ari, certainly wouldn't make it any better. The skirmish that resulted in the injured knee had not been pretty. At least he got a very small satisfaction out of the fact he had managed to _AK_ the Death Eater bastard who actually threw the hex.

The hex that the Death Eater flung in his direction had hit the bone the very moment Draco had raised his protection shield charm. Somehow, the miscast dark magic had remained in the bone and muscle, slowly eating away at the tissue. The hex worked quickly, and had been rather degenerative. The medi-wizards spent weeks trying to remove the magic from the bone and surrounding tissue, but they eventually gave up. The one thing they did know was that the degeneration of the tissue in his knee would continue, eventually getting worse. The nature of the dark magic used in the hex meant that they could not use magic to make the tissue regrow. Draco spent a fair amount of time scouring his father's library for any dark curses and counter curses, but to no avail. He had to learn to accept the injury for what it was.

He had learned to live with it – to a certain degree – at least; he was adjusting to living with the pain, and the lack of mobility. Blaming Potter for the injury was one way of coping with it – at least he had someone still alive he could curse for it. Up until his recent accident, he had conveniently forgotten the diagnosis of further degeneration. Subconsciously, he knew he would eventually need a cane to help walk – possibly more, but he had refused to think about it. Pulling the cane out from the armoire had depressed him that first morning. He hated showing signs of weakness, but he knew that if anyone could 'carry off' using a cane, then he could.

Eventually, he made it up the stairs and sat in his favourite chair. He silently cursed the store's anti Apparition wards, but knew that they were a standard part of any store. _Wouldn't want the customers to abscond with the stock before paying, would you?_ He thought wryly. His mood changed suddenly as he contemplated the letter from Jean-Paul. _Merlin! I feel as silly as a schoolgirl! Start acting like a man and just read the damn letter!_

'**_Bonjour Draco,_** _**I have wonderful news! I have been asked to deal with some colleagues in Paris next weekend, but I arrive in town on Thursday! I don't know if you think that is too soon, but you did promise that you would have dinner with me the next time I was in your beautiful city. **_ _**8pm, at your place. I'll see you then. If you've changed your mind, then, well, please let me know before then, so that neither of us embarrasses ourselves. I don't think you could begin to imagine how disappointed I would be if you didn't, at least, have dinner with me. After dinner? Well, I'll let you decide what might come next.**_ _**Bien à vous,  
Jean-Paul.'**_

Draco couldn't hold back the smile. Of course he was going to go out to dinner with Jean-Paul. It would take a near catastrophe to stop him from taking up that opportunity. He had spent weeks learning from the mistakes of his past. _Is this really what I want? Of course it is. Besides, he's the one who seems to be pursuing me! I'd be a fool to just let him slip away without trying to get to know him. That's the key, isn't it? Getting to know him better?_ Listening to Flash had helped Draco think carefully about how he should approach this opportunity. Even though he knew that diving into the deep end with Jean-Paul would be totally foolish, he didn't expect the man to wait forever. _Am I ready to do this? I think so! _Now all he had to worry about was what he would wear!

He was still musing a few hours later, back in his studio. The good mood was interrupted by an owl that intruded on his late night ruminations. The tawny owl bore an official yellowing envelope. As it was dropped into his hands, the owl quickly turned back, without waiting for a reply or a treat. _Definitely a business owl._ He turned it over, expecting to see the return name of Mulciber, MacTavish and Montgomery, but was surprised to see the Gringotts official logo. _It's a bit late on a Friday night for the bank to be sending letters, isn't it?_ he thought.

_**March 14, 2003**_ _**Gringotts Wizarding Bank  
Diagon Alley  
London**_ _**Attention: Draco Lucien Darien Malfoy**_ _**RE: Your Enquiry - Estate of Lucius Damon Malfoy**_ _**Recent activities pertaining to the estate of Lucius Damon Malfoy have come to the attention of the Special Investigations Branch of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The bank is seeking an audience with all interested third parties of this estate, to discuss the reparations related to said activities. **_ _**In accordance with Wizengamot ruling #2345 – 'Dissemination of Death Eater Estates'; the trustees - Mulciber, MacTavish and Montgomery, along with the sole beneficiary, Draco Darien Malfoy, are required to attend a meeting with a member of the Bank's Special Investigations Unit.**_ _**This meeting is set for our London office at 9am, Monday March 17, 2003. Failure on your part to attend this meeting will represent a breach of the abovementioned ruling, and the estate will come under the jurisdiction of the Wizengamot; to disseminate at their discretion.**_ _**We look forward to seeing you at the meeting.**_ _**Regards,  
Georgina Spotswood  
Special Investigations Officer**_

Draco read, and then reread the letter. _What activities of the estate? What the bloody hell has been going on? Surely they don't mean the payment of my tuition? _The questions were rising thick and fast in Draco's head. He scratched it again as he reread the letter a third time. As he read the paragraph about the Wizengamot ruling, he suddenly realised what the meeting must be about. _They've finished auditing the estate, and they want to tell me how much of the estate they are going to tax!_ Draco frowned. He was expecting this to happen someday – he just never thought he'd have to be involved. _Can't they just send me a letter? Tell me the total amount? No wonder the trustees haven't been around – they're busy finalising things with the bank._

He felt a little relieved to think that they were perhaps too busy. That also explained the oversight in paying his tuition. He relaxed a little, but then the realisation struck – he had to go to London – on Monday morning!

All the repressed feelings and emotions about heading back to London suddenly came to the fore. A sense of irritation was the first feeling he could put his finger on, and it came as no great surprise. Not only was he expected to go to London, but he was going to have to cancel a meeting with his lecturers to put forward his research proposal. _Damn! Now I'll have to reschedule._ Draco knew that it wasn't going to be easy – rescheduling his meeting, that was.

It was only as he started pacing (well, hobbling, actually) that the full thought of having to go back to London sank in. "Ah Bollocks!" he exclaimed loudly as he crumpled the letter in his hand. All thoughts of his date with Jean-Paul were forgotten as a flood of bad memories came rushing back.

It was a night of fitful dreams that dogged his sleep, leaving him wide awake and staring at the canopy of his bed for most of the night. By the time sleep eventually came, Draco had resigned himself to the thought of having to face demons from his past.

oo0oo

"Merde!" Draco exclaimed loudly as he dropped the large pile of books he was carrying from the back of the store.

Emmaline looked over at him, concern written all over her face. The bags under his eyes showed his obvious lack of sleep. He came down to work with an intensely haunted look of worry on his face. He had been in a daze for most of the morning. Surely she couldn't have misread the signs? Her nephew had been pursuing interest in Draco, surely he wouldn't have sent the boy a nasty letter? It was the only logical explanation she could find for his sullen mood that morning.

Suddenly furious at her own nephew, she managed to pull the overtired and stressed boy to the side and made him sit. He barely noticed the frothy latte she placed in front of him as he started sipping. Normally he would have a scathing comment about the sheer audacity of putting milk in coffee, but he didn't even blink.

"What did that good for nothing neveu of mine say in his letter? I'll hex his backside from here to Marrakesh and back again if he's upset you!" Draco had no doubt that she would do such a thing.

"I'll curse his mother's grave, and ..." she continued her rant, but Draco suddenly came to his senses.

"No Em, it's not that at all!" It took her a few moments to realise what he was saying. "It's nothing to do with Jean-Paul – he's asked me out when he's in town Thursday."

She raised her eyebrow in confusion. Why could he seem so sullen about that?

"Look, sorry, I just... It's just that... well, I got another letter late last night. I have a meeting at the bank about my inheritance. On Monday morning. In _London_," he barely spat the last word out in antipathy.

"Oh?" she queried Draco's last statement, seemingly unsure of his implication.

Draco stood up. "But Emmaline! It's London!" as if that was enough of an explanation.

"So, what is the problem - Hmm? If you haven't got enough International Floo powder, I have plenty, môn chéri," she replied calmly, just glad that Jean-Paul had not been the cause of his woe.

Draco just looked at her in stunned silence.

"What? Is there some sort of problem with going to London? Apart from the fact that it's full of Englishmen - Hmm?" she mocked.

Draco stared off out the window. Was he truly ready to go back to London? He always knew he would have to go back someday, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. Emmaline came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"You have to go back sometime môn chéri."

Draco nodded. "I know. But I just never planned on going back so soon. I... just..." Draco had not been back in England since the end of the war. After his release from St Mungo's, he fled as quickly as possible; landing in Paris just in time to start the new year at university. He had barely thought of the future – beyond his education and research that is, but when his thoughts turned to other areas of his future, he saw himself living in his chateau, or even the studio. He barely thought of Malfoy Manor. It seemed such a long time since he thought of that place as home. No doubt he would go back there, but like everything else, it was on a nameless 'someday' – a long way into the future.

Now the reality was settling in. Draco was expected in London on Monday! He sighed deeply. Emmaline patted his shoulder in understanding before heading back behind the counter. "Have you ever had to do something you _never_ thought you'd do? Something you never expected? Something unexpected?" he asked her finally.

"Welcome to the real world Draco. You'll find you'll have to do a great many things you won't like. No matter how much you try to stop it, things will be thrown your way that are unexpected. Face them like the man that you are, Draco."

He sat quietly, thinking on her words. "I... I guess I honestly never expected to go back again. I was so glad to get out of that place after the war. Everywhere I went – there were whispers... you know?" he paused, intent on looking at the seemingly bright and happy wizards in the alley outside. He could still see the faces on those in Diagon Alley the last time he made his way down there. "They hadn't forgotten father. I doubt they'll ever forget him – what he did. I know what they think when they see me down the street," he barely whispered the last words.

"And since when has Draco Malfoy ever worried what others think of him - Hmm? The young man I know doesn't give a toss about that – at least not around here." Emmaline wasn't angry at Draco, but she empathised with his concerns. "Does it really matter that much to you?"

Draco turned and looked at her. He knew she was right. He had run away to Paris when he couldn't stand the stares boring through the back of his skull those few times he was out in public after the war.

"So what if they don't like you. Lots of people don't like me. I don't give a toss! You..." she poked Draco in the chest, "... are a war hero. They all know that. You have your Order of Merlin to prove that..."

"For what it's worth," Draco bit back a bit too vehemently. His sheepish look apologised for the rebuke. "I don't want them thinking of my father. I want to forget him – why can't they?"

"How can they ever know if you don't go back, môn chéri? You ran away, you came to Paris. That's okay, but now, it is high time you at least got your toes wet again. Perhaps you are happy to live your life here; perhaps you see a future on the right side of the Channel. Don't dismiss the possibilities of what you might be missing out on if you don't go back," a wry smile briefly crossed her face, but was quickly gone. "Surely not _everyone_ over there could hate you?" she smiled.

Draco shrugged. "I'm sure a few might find it amusing to patronise me. They'd only do it to better themselves, you know."

"What about your friends?" she asked.

Draco realised she was talking about Severus. He wasn't sure if she knew about Flash, but judging from the twinkle in her eye, she probably did know about his written correspondence – after all, she did tell him all about the journal. Very little got past the shrewd old witch. "Well... perhaps one or two might be the exception," but as he spoke, he thought about Flash. What would his friend's reaction be if he knew Draco's true identity? What would his thoughts be on a former Death Eater spy? He didn't want to think about that.

"Draco – môn chéri – it matters not what others think of you. It's what you think of yourself – in here..." she indicated his heart, "... that counts. Hold your head high. Show them that you are proud – proud to be a Malfoy. Show them the Malfoy name shouldn't be judged by one fool who chose the wrong path," Emmaline's words made sense.

She was right. He couldn't hide away from it forever. As much as he wanted to, it wouldn't help to make life easier. Slowly and ever so slightly he nodded.

"So, are you ready?" she asked.

"No. But I really don't have a choice, do I?" he was resigned to the task ahead. "I mean, I don't even know what I'm going to wear!"

Emmaline laughed loud – loud and long. The laugher was infectious, and Draco joined in. Soon he was feeling much better. He wasn't totally confident, but knew that it was just another step he had to take.

"What's this rubbish?" he looked down into his coffee cup, seeing the milky beverage for the first time. "You trying to kill me or something? How many times do I have to tell you that milk just ruins a good cup of coffee..."

Emmaline smiled as Draco's kindhearted rant continued. _At least some things will never change._

oo0oo

Later that evening, he sat pondering the contents of his wardrobe. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it in style. He had finally decided on his best 'day robes'. The sort of robes one would expect a Malfoy to wear. Draco wasn't his father, but that didn't mean he had to totally disassociate himself from all the trappings associated with his birthright. After all, he was going to be discussing that very thing with the goblins at Gringotts. Another piece of advice his father had given, advice in regard to the goblins, suddenly rose to the surface of his mind. "Never show weakness to a goblin. Never let them think they are in charge. It is your money and they are merely servants who are caretakers of our monies. They respect confidence and power. The more confidence you show, the greater the respect you earn from them."

Draco finally decided on the full robes he would wear. He cast freshening and anti-wrinkle charms on them. They had – after all – been hidden away in the back of his armoire since he arrived in Paris. He caressed the large cloak clasp – the one with the Malfoy crest emblazoned in pure silver. Draco held it in his palm. The memories of his father wearing the same clasp came thick and fast. "I am ready to do this!" he said, trying to convince himself it was the right thing to do. Petite Amie miaowed loudly at his verbal comment. She had taken delight in the clothes that had been pulled out and thrown back into the armoire. She stood up and stretched her paws before leaping onto Draco's bed.

He was still irritated and annoyed that he had had to cancel his appointment with his lecturers, and miss almost an entire day of lectures for this meeting. He really couldn't just do these things at the drop of a hat. He had other commitments. Did the bank think he was some overly rich playboy with nothing better to do? He wished.

"Goodness knows what will happen if I don't go," he looked over at the cat, but she had lost interest in the proceedings, and after two circuits, proceeded to fall asleep directly on Draco's pillow. Draco scowled at her, but she was completely untroubled by his unfriendly glance.

oo0oo

He spent much of the day in a complete daze. Even going to the library to work on his assignments didn't seem to help him overcome his preoccupation. Not even late afternoon coffee with Arianna on Sunday helped for very long. Draco wasn't one for great mysteries, especially not surrounding his money, but he didn't like the interminable wait either. The weekend seemed to drag on the more he thought about his imminent Monday morning meeting.

As he sat staring at the fireplace early on Sunday evening, a sudden thought struck. He wasn't used to talking things like this through with his friends. He hadn't said anything to Arianna, but then again, he didn't want to burden her with something like this. He had other friends. But there was one he could contact now – someone he really was long overdue to see.

He walked slowly over to the fireplace. In the rush to grab the Floo powder, he dropped his walking cane with a loud clatter. Petite Amie was startled out of her sleep, but scowled back when she realised the disturbance. He threw a handful of the International Floo powder into the roaring fire. The flames turned ice blue as he called out the name.

The face in the flames was familiar and comforting. The rather strange look of surprise, then delight, that crossed the brow was one not seen by many, but the smirk of delight was a sight Draco had not realised he'd missed.

"Draco! To what do I owe the extravagance of an International Floo call?" Severus Snape asked.

"Oh, I didn't interrupt you, did I Severus?" he asked questioningly.

Severus shook his head. "No, just marking the fifth year Slytherin's essays."

"Ah, well then I've caught you in a good mood!" Draco smiled. The potions master's return smile was equally warm.

"True! I'm guessing this isn't just a social call?"

"Er, not quite. Perhaps we could do that tomorrow – if you're able to cover your classes, that is?"

Severus' eyebrow raised in question.

"How does the Leaky Cauldron, in Diagon Alley sound? Say morning tea time? Or perhaps lunch?" Draco asked innocently.

"You're going to be in _London_?" Severus was truly surprised. "I thought wild thestrals couldn't drag you back."

"Yeah, well goblins did instead," Draco sounded glum. He proceeded to explain to his mentor the reason behind his impromptu visit to London. Having known Draco nearly more than half his life, Severus could sense his reticence at returning. "I'd hate to face Diagon Alley alone Severus," Draco finally admitted part of what was bothering him.

"You're a decorated war hero, Draco." Draco couldn't fail to note the veiled sarcasm behind the word _hero_. "What's so terrifying about the English public – no wait – don't answer that, I already know."

"I don't know Severus. Perhaps you can tell me why _you_ avoid Diagon Alley as much as possible?" Draco knew that Severus suffered the same prejudices as he did. Their role in the war was necessary, but not at all glamorous. Nobody liked a spy, and the Death Eater tag was one that they would be forever attempting to overcome. Severus chose to exile himself at Hogwarts, Draco - in Paris.

"Impertinent as always. Point taken, Draco," he said smugly. "I'll make sure someone covers my classes. Besides, I do believe my order at the apothecary will be ready tomorrow. I'll see you then!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Severus."

Not only did he feel a little better with the realisation he now had something he actually _wanted_ to do in London, his eyes fell on the journal. He knew it was finally time to write to Flash. In all his thoughts he'd nearly forgotten to tell Flash about his date with Jean-Paul.

oo0oo

_Dimanche, Mars 16, 2003_ _Bonjour Flash!_ _You know, I'm so pleased you had a great time on your holiday. You must have needed the time to literally find yourself. I know that if I hadn't crossed paths with Devon on my own trip of peace and solitude, I might have come to some similar conclusions. Only now am I starting to get my head around a few things, and I actually have you to thank for that!_ _I just had to write to you tonight. I'm just a little excited, and well, for me, that's unusual these days, but you're one of the first people I want to talk to! I apologise for not writing sooner Flash, but, well, I've been a very good research boy, and managed to become rather engrossed in my study. But I'm sure you don't want to be bored to tears about the ins and outs of my research. I must have just missed you writing your last entry, and I really did want to say hello then. Never mind. Perhaps we should arrange a time every week when we can talk. That would be great!_ _**Luc! Great to see you! I think that's an excellent idea, how does tonight look for you?**_ _Hey there Flash. Your ears must have been burning. Were they?_ _**But of course! Actually, I was just thinking about you, wondering if you'd gotten my last entry and thinking of how grateful I am that you recommended Sharon and that vacation!**_ _Well, you're welcome. How are you feeling now? Is life getting any easier without 'You-Know-Who' (you know which one I mean)._ _**Oh - I had to laugh at that... I know it hasn't been all that long since the war, but it seems like ages since I've heard the phrase 'You-Know-Who'. Yes, things are getting easier every day. Like I said in my entry, I think I did love him, but I'm not sure I was really 'in love' with him. I've always thought of that as being something that requires two... you know, being 'in love' with each other? Anyway, since then, I guess there's still some sort of feelings there, but they're layered in hurt and mistrust. I'm not wallowing in it, though. That's a good thing. **_ _Good to hear you aren't wallowing. So what now in the life of Flash?_ _**I've actually been talking to my supervisors about the new training position I would like to have. They seem to think I would do well and I'm at the point now where I have to climb the ladder - talking to their supervisors and then their supervisors. It's a bunch of silly political barricades really, but I'll just take a deep breath and get through it!**_ _**How about you? Have you been doing well? Thought about the assignment I asked of you?**_ _Well good luck with that. You know, I was actually writing to tell you about that task you set for me._ _**Oh? **_ _I think my problem has always been that I've tried too hard to make friends. I do have very high standards - always have done. You know, I think I've made a friend. Another friend, other than yourself, of course._ _**That's great. Do tell.**_ _The beautiful thing about it is that I wasn't even trying – I wasn't erecting barriers, or looking both ways before making any commitments. We just got to talking. It's quite bizarre really. I was just in the library the other day, and I helped her with a problem. I had the same lecturer as her in my first year, and he's a twat. But anyway, I tutored her through a problem. She was ever so grateful – apparently I made the difference between her failing and passing the subject. We bumped into each other after classes, and since then, we've met up a couple of times. I've even met her friends. They all seem so nice, and so non-judgemental. We've had coffee, talked, and laughed together. _ _But what's best of all, I look forward to seeing her again. Ari is such a fun witch to be around. I've only known her a few days, but I just seem to find her presence comforting. Is that what true friendship is all about? I'm astounded. All these years, I've never really realised what I've missed out on!_ _**Yes, that sounds like friendship to me - congratulations! Yes, friendship usually just comes naturally. Sometimes you have to work hard to keep it alive, but I think true friends just happen. A bit like true love, I suppose. **_ _**I remember when I first met my best friend, I just felt comfortable around him. And we could talk and we had fun together. As I got to know him better, I realised that there was more to it. We understood each other, we had things in common, and we cared. That's when you really know you've got a true friend - when you care and they care. And when you care that they care.**_ _**It's the same thing with you. When you were upset and I wished I could be there in person to comfort you, that's when I knew I was growing to think of you as a friend, a true friend. And when you were upset on my behalf because of whatever stupid thing Ollie did (aside from cheating on me) that's when I realised that you thought of me as a friend, too. At least, I hoped you did.**_ _Oh, I do think of you as a friend. I was surprised at how angry I got at Ollie, and I haven't met either of you! I was sitting in a café the other day, and I saw this girl come up to a guy and slap him across the face, throwing her engagement ring back at him. He was with another woman. I thought of you immediately. I would have hexed the two timing wanker if I wasn't surrounded by Muggles._ _As for making friends, you know, I think my problem has always been trust. When I was a child, father picked out the children I would play with. I had no choice in the matter. It didn't matter if I didn't like them, or they me; we were expected to play together, all because our fathers worked together. Then, the one time I thought I wanted to be friends with someone, the other prat wasn't interested. I guess it hurt more than I realised at the time, but I've found it hard to really trust anyone since then. Until recently, that is. Seems like you're turning me into a new man, Flash!_ _**Isn't it amazing how our childhood insecurities can affect the rest of our lives and we have to go through so much angst and crap to sort out the reality and make it better? I don't mean that to sound like I think you're insecure, I just... Oh bloody hell, you know what I mean, don't you? So, you trust Ari?**_ _I know exactly what you mean – don't worry, I admit I've always been insecure and untrusting towards others. Part of my nature I'm trying to change. Can I trust Ari? I don't know, but I know that I enjoy being around her. I'm not ready to spill my deepest and darkest secrets to her just yet, but I think with time, I could. I think that's where my problem with lovers has been. I've let them in through my barriers, past the trust, and not seen beyond their physical attributes..._ _I just don't know. Love is... hard! I mean, you say that you still 'love' Ollie. I couldn't do that. I just don't think I could ever continue to love someone that did something so wrong to me. I just don't know. I have a very long memory, and have been known to hold grudges for quite some time. I don't think I've ever loved anyone that deeply before. _ _**Ahh, sounds like your life and personality calls for a "close friend turned lover". Too bad Ari's female! I guess you'll just have to make a few male friends so you'll have the potential for a really good love relationship in the future.**_ _I don't know if I'm ready for that. Let's just take it one step at a time. I'm just glad I have a friend – well, a couple of friends._ _**As for Ollie, well, I still love him in the sense that I have a strong feeling and I would be genuinely saddened if he were to be killed or seriously injured. I think, perhaps, it's the lost love kind of thing. I'm not explaining this well, but I've heard people who have long relationships or break up or divorce and they say on some level they still love the other person. Or maybe it's like the people who still have a certain love and respect for their parents, even if their parents are seriously bad people. Like some of the innocent children of the Death Eaters during the war. They will usually tell you that they love their parents, but they hated the actions and choices of their parents.**_

Draco thought about that for a moment. Did he really love his father? It was hard. It had been hard to look away from the conditioning he had been given as a child, but there were times when he probably did love his father. After all, for the first fifteen years of his life, he really did think that his father was the most wonderful man in the world, and he aspired to be just like him. _I suppose I do love him, but I'm never going to be as stupid as him_. _He was a fool to think that Voldemort could help him to power and glory. True Malfoys don't seek power and glory through others. He was a fool, but yes, I did love him. _He didn't really want to tell Flash just how closely acquainted he was to Death Eater children, he didn't think it would help his friend to understand, considering he worked with Aurors. Besides, he didn't really think it was that important. That was in the past, and he wanted to forget about that. Draco had to stop this maudlin train of thought. He smiled at Flash's flirtatious jibe. Humour was what he needed.

_You know... that's quite... profound. I am acquainted with a few of those types, and I think you are right. _ _As for your jibe about a close friend turned lover, are you offering? Ah, Merlin's balls, I can't believe I wrote that? See, I'm in a bit of a good mood. Got a letter from Jean-Paul on Friday. He's going to be in town on Thursday night, and we're going out... so I have to confess that my mind is not fully on the task at hand. I apologise now for my 'written indiscretions'._ _**No apologies needed. I've made those kinds of comments before and it didn't hurt anything. I'm not bothered by it; rather, I'm flattered that you're comfortable enough to joke with me about it! So - an official date with Jean-Paul? Sounds interesting. Have you been writing a lot of letters back and forth? Are you thinking this is getting serious or something?**_ _Well, not a lot of letters. Just a couple. I'm minding my manners and trying to be friends with him first. It's bloody hard to do that though. I think if you met him you'd understand what I mean. Have you ever met someone that just oozed sex from every fibre of their being? I don't even know if it will be serious, or if he'll be 'the one' as you asked me once before. I just know that if I want this, I'm going to have to approach it differently than I have with everyone else. I don't want to make the same mistakes I did before._ _**Hmm, I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting someone like that. Or at least, not that it was fully them as opposed to how I perceive them. I mean, when I was hitting on Charlie he seemed to be oozing sex. But you seem to be on the right track. I've always heard that recognising your mistakes is the first and biggest step in preventing their repetition.**_ _Yeah. I know what I want from him in the short term, but I don't know what I want beyond that. I'm being selfish, I know, but I think he wants the same thing as well. Is that being selfish?_ _**I don't think that's selfish. It's being honest. You have to be able to recognise your desires if you want to be able to control them. Ye gods, I'm starting to sound like a box of fortune cookies here!**_ _No you're not. I just... well, I've said it so many times now. I guess I really want to get to know him on Thursday. I mean, I have only met him a few times, and our letters have been short. I want to really get to know him. He works overseas. I don't even know what his favourite things are - Merlin, this is harder than I thought. I hardly know the man at all..._ _**So you want to know what he likes to read and his favourite drink and what kind of childhood he had? That's an honest, mature, friendly attitude! I mean, you aren't telling me that you want to know the colour of his pants and if he has any scars and what his moans sound like and if he smiles or frowns first when he wakes up!**_ _Well, of course I want to know all of those things. But I know more about you than I do about him, and I barely know you... This is why I guess we should chat more often, and why I suggested we make a regular time to do just that. I mean, I don't know what your favourite colour is, but I don't know what Jean-Paul's is either..._ _**Hmmm, I have a rough time with favourite colours. I've never really settled on one because it depends on what the item is. Like, for clothes - blue, black or green. Eyes - usually blue. Bedding - almost always something close to a dark red. See what I mean, not really just one favourite. Not that you asked, in truth - just thought I'd answer...**_ _Ah, then that's good. I hate to have one colour as well. I do find green very soothing, but I certainly don't live and breathe green... but I couldn't just say one colour was 'it'. Nah, you're okay, I just realised that I really have a lot of ground to cover with Jean-Paul - a lot, before I discover all those delicious things I want to know now!_ _**Ah, so you're going to make a list of the things you need to know and prioritise them by how intimate they are? You know, that could be done up as a standard list for new relationships and sold! Witches all over the world would want a copy to make sure they were starting their relationships on the right foot!**_ _Right. Although I don't think I'd go so far as to actually make a list. But yes, I really should find out more about his favourite things – hobbies and such; before I find out whether or not he's cut. You sound quite cheerful, Flash. Your trip must have done wonders for you then. Are you glad you went?_ _**Oh yes. More than I can say! It really helped me to put things into perspective, you know? I mean, Ollie was not the last man on earth. He's not the last person who'll ever find me attractive. He doesn't have to be the last person I learn to care for and maybe love. And really, just walking around in the shops, even the Muggle shops in a nearby shopping district, it just taught me so much about myself. For instance, I learned that I really, really like the feel of silk. I mean, I think I've felt silk before, but in one of the shops I went to, I spent a couple hours just looking at and touching different types of fabrics. And my camera - that's been great fun. My friends and co-workers are getting tired of having their pictures taken, though. I listened to a lot of classical music while I was there and I'm actually thinking about learning an instrument. I've always thought music was fabulous and I think it would be really fun to be able to play something. I can't believe I've lived this long and I've never discovered these things about myself.**_ _I think I understand some of what you are saying. Although, I still find it strange that you took a photo of the journal as the closest thing you have to a picture of me. But I think I understand your sentiment in doing so. I'd offer to draw a self portrait to give you instead, but my drawing skills don't extend far beyond stick people! Although I'm sure the journal looks much better than any photograph you may find of me._ _You know I totally blame you for the fact I've been spending more and more time in the Muggle districts. I even went to far as to overspend in a rather nice fashion house. I'm now the proud owner of a leather jacket, and a pair of jeens._ _**Wow! A leather jacket, and a pair of jeans (not jeens, but you're learning)! Not bad! I don't see how I've been that much of an influence, though. I'm not close enough to drag you there by force, kicking and screaming, hands bound behind your back with a green silk scarf... oops, train of thought went the wrong way.**_ _However, I really do have one bone of contention. You want to take your own tea with you when you travel? You didn't like the coffee? are you mad? I'm sure that if I had to drag you kicking and screaming anywhere, it would be to a coffeehouse that makes real coffee, and you'll never want another cup of tea again in your life! And as for the silk scarf comment, do I have to keep reminding you that there are spells for that sort of thing?_ _**What? Spells for tying someone up before having your wicked way with them? I know binding spells, and such, but sometimes it's more fun to do it by hand! And yes, I want to take my own tea. I never said I didn't like the coffee, just that I missed my tea! But please, by all means, drag me somewhere and change my life! I beg of you!**_ _You could be right, but I'm sure the spells I know would make you forget all that. Gah, there I go again. That vision of Jean-Paul just won't go away. As soon as you brought up the silk scarf... Well, I don't need to elaborate, your mind is fertile enough as it is, judging by your previous comments. You are really looking for a change of pace in your life, aren't you - now that you don't have Ollie as baggage? You mentioned that you're going to look for a better job. I guess that's a start. Are you still in your flat?_ _**Wow - you know, as I start to read over my comments, I'm realising that I'm in a mood of some sort. I'm sure there's a little loneliness in this - you know, the loneliness of sleeping alone and not participating in sex. But there seems to be a little bitterness here as well. Yes, I am looking for change. And once I have this new job, I'll probably be moving. After all, it would be easier to live closer to work (these jobs are not in the same city) and a new flat would be the perfect way to start over.**_ _Yeah, it would be a nice, fresh start. As for the loneliness, hey, I've slept alone now for three months - that's the longest since... well, It's some sort of record for me! I do know how you feel about your flat. I love this place too much to want to leave, but I did a huge purge after Antonio, and I felt a lot better... _ _**I guess I'll be starting on a new record for myself. After the first month or so, it isn't that bad - at least, that's what I remember from last time. I don't think I could have stayed here if I hadn't gotten rid of Ollie's stuff, but that seemed to get it out of my system a little. And the vacation cleared my mind a lot.**_ _I'm sure you'll find it rather hard after three months... But aside from my exciting news about Jean-Paul, and having Ari around, it hasn't been all wine and roses here this week. _ _**Oh? How so, if I may ask?**_ _Well, maybe I'm just being a little melodramatic, but everything just seems to be going so well at present (apart from my celibacy, which I'm working on rectifying), but I had a strange meeting with this complete and utter twat in the bureaucracy here at the university. There's been a little bit of a mix up with some unpaid funds. Goodness knows why. But I've had my enrolment threatened this week by it all, and now I have a meeting tomorrow with some more idiots and goblins who think they own the world because they can control your purse strings. I'm not so mad or worried about it, just the mere annoyance and irritation of having to do all this. It is the last thing I need right now._ _Of course, even though I don't profess to have any faith in divination, but I've had this feeling of dread for much of the weekend. I don't know – it just seems strange. This whole debacle came out of the blue, and it's just so unexpected. Especially now._ _**Why especially now?**_ _I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't need any distractions like this right now. I'm in the middle of writing my thesis, and my research proposal... There I go being selfish again! I'm sorry to be that way. I guess I'm used to things happening one way, and if they don't, well, I guess I could very well say I have difficulty coping with change._ _**I think it's perfectly understandable. Nobody needs to deal with stress when they're already on the verge of being overwhelmed! You have a lot going on with your studies right now, and the trouble of meetings and such to ensure that you can continue those studies - well, it's normal that it would bother you. **_ _You are right. Actually, I guess the best thing to come out of it is that I'll be catching up with someone – not a friend, per se, but someone I worked closely with during the war._ _**Oh, so he's not a friend? Are you sure? Not someone who could be a friend, with benefits?**_ _Oh please! He was more of a colleague during the war. A sort of a mentor figure to me. He is definitely not the sort to be thinking of as one of those friends. Oh that image has just killed any mood I had. Thanks a lot! But I guess you've made me want to renew old ties, and since I'll be in his town, it was a good idea. But I'm going to be so busy this upcoming week. I've got that terribly important date on Thursday, and two assignments due before then... I don't have time to deal with jumped up berks behind a desk! I still have no idea what I'm going to wear on Thursday. I don't even know where we are going on our date yet! Merlin, my mind is a single track at present... Sorry about that!_ _**Sorry to be a mood killer. I'm sure you'll be fine on your date! Just remember to breathe. What were you doing the first time you met him? Were you dressed up all fancy and preened to perfection? Or were you maybe working on a potion, or studying for a class? You were being yourself, weren't you? Just normal, day-to-day Luc? That's what Jean-Paul was attracted to. That's why you don't need to worry about this date!**_ _The first time I met him? I petrified him... Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I ever really apologised for that! Merde! Now I've got that to worry about!_ _**Merlin, I've ballsed this up, haven't I? I wasn't trying to give you something new to worry about. You're supposed to read these sloppy purple words and tell me that I'm brilliant and it was just what you needed to hear and thank me for the advice. Then you're supposed to tell me how you won't have to worry a bit and you'll get tons of research and class work done because you'll be able to focus so well - all thanks to not worrying, which is all because of my sage words of wisdom!**_ _Oh Flash! you are so brilliant, your words of wisdom so sage. I know this date with Jean-Paul will go flawlessly! I have nothing to worry about, and I'll get tons of work done because you've just helped me to focus... how was that? I'm sorry I've made you feel bad. Like I said to you before, I tend toward the melodramatic... just forget what I said. It will be fine! but really, thanks for reminding me that I never apologised for petrifying him!_ _**That's better! It amazes me how often you can make me smile or laugh! Now tell me, when you say petrify, do you mean you frightened him, or that you petrified him?**_ _No, I 'Petrificus Totallused' him. I, er, thought he was attacking my landlady. Turns out he was her medi-wizard, not just her nephew. He was practising some strange Muggle holistic healing on her and I guess I thought he was attacking her. Like I said, I have trust issues!_ _**Oh wow! You must be as amazing in person as you are in writing if he wants to go out with you after a first impression like that!**_ _You think I'm amazing in writing? No doubt there's some charm on these journals that turns my simple words into something dazzling then. Just like my ruggedly handsome good looks. That must be what dazzled Jean-Paul._

Draco yawned, not realising the time. He had been writing for hours to Flash, and it was well into Monday morning.

_If I stay up much longer, I'm going to miss out on my beauty sleep! Not that I need it for tomorrow... well, today, I'll need as much as I can get before Thursday! You know, I feel so much better for talking to you tonight. I was a little apprehensive about tomorrow, but even after talking to my landlady, as well as to my old mentor, I still felt a little bad. but now - well, I guess I'll be able to face the day! We must do this again - soon!_ _**I agree! Let's pick a day and time now, and plan on it!**_ _Well, why not Sunday night? That's good for me. Not like either of us have any pressing engagements in our social calendars. And we can always leave a note if we know we can't make it._ _**Sounds good to me. Next Sunday, same time?**_ _Sure thing Flash! Bien à vous!_ _**Take care Luc, and don't forget to breathe! Bye!**_

oo0oo

**March 17 - Monday Morning**

Draco cleared his throat one last time as he ran his hands down the front of his vest. The clothing was immaculate, and he cast one last polishing charm on his boots. He fiddled with the heirloom clasp holding his robes together. The black and silver brocade of the vest offset the high necked cream shirt to perfection. The black trousers were perfectly creased, and his forest green robes shimmered and billowed as he walked up to the mirror. He was as nervous as all hell, his sweaty palms not helping him to close the pin on the clasp. The ornate Malfoy signet ring on his finger, again, another of his family heirlooms, had been caught in the filigree of the clasp. His face was screwed up in concentration as he attempted the tricky task of extricating his finger, without damaging himself, or the fine jewellery.

"Tsk, you might want to rethink that expression, dearie!" the mirror retorted. Draco scowled at the offending mirror. After finally getting the clasp closed, he took one more look into the mirror to check his hair. The mirror wolf whistled. "Oh my dearie, that's much better. Who's the lucky stud-muffin?" the mirror asked cheekily.

"A goblin," Draco retorted. Draco sometimes wished he never bought the mirror from an old second hand shop. He had quickly learned it had once belonged in a dressing room at the back of a cross dressing revue at the Moulin Rouge, dating back to the turn of the twentieth century.

"Really?" the mirror raised a virtual eyebrow at the comment.

"Oh, shut up you two Knut piece of trash, or I'll send you to the old wizard's retirement home," Draco threatened.

"Not much excitement there, dearie," it retorted.

_One of these days I'll get a Muggle mirror,_ he thought. "Well then, perhaps the view in the back of the bookstore would be more to your liking?" he really hated having a mirror with an attitude. Draco knew from the gasp that he had shut the mirror up once again.

He took two deep breaths as he made his way to the pot of International Floo powder on the mantle. _I can do this,_ he affirmed, tightly gripping the snake head on his father's – now his – best walking cane. The blue flames rose high as he stepped into the hearth – and his voice, with a clearly underlying air of disdain, spoke the name of his destination – London Ministry of Magic.

* * *

TBC

**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 24-June-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005

_**For those of you who want to read the uncensored version of this story, a full nc17 version is available at the Skyehawke archive under Azhure's profile.**_

**Review Thank You's!**

Wow, so many reviews (41 at time of writing, just for this chapter!). I'll be writing thank you's the length of the chapter if I replied to all of you! Firstly, thanks to everyone who praised the length and the whole chapter. We hope the story is unique and we don't want to rush it, but we don't want you to wait on tenterhooks forever! It does make it easier to write knowing that you all think our humble words are worthy. Even though it's been taking at least 3-4 weeks between chapters, we hope you'll keep up with us. We would love to write more quickly, but alas, RL does interfere. When we win millions of dollars in the lottery, that could change!

Thanks to: **adventure diva, Annie T, CelestialDrgn, cheer4life-2005, claire sayers, CuriousDreamWeaver , DarkJade1, Desdemona Sakura, Dragenphly , EdenMalfoy017, Elani Chaice, elfwiththebrows , Emily22 , eth, Famous Angel, fayee , jen red robe, Kaaera, KC, Kyaukii, LadyLilyPotter, LadySilvrene, Lizliterarius,Loria Amnekia, louise4, Menecarkawan , Michael Serpent, Moon Faery, NayNymic , nil-blaze, PeachDancer82 , Rena, Roguemessenger, Ruby-san, Sailor Grape, Serpent of Light, Silvia-Silver , tangledhair , TheTrueSilver, trivium, **and **V.G.Jekyll**

**a few special comments:**  
**EdenMalfoy017:** Yes, Devon did remind Draco of Harry, but it's been quite a few years since their paths have crossed, so he couldn't quite place why he was familiar...

**Michael Serpent:** Wow! Thank you for your wonderful words. I love your stories, and don't you dare stop writing, they are definitely worthy of publication! (can't wait for your next fic!)

**Elani: **Thanks again! Looking forward to the next part of Operation Malfoy!

**Rena:** I don't think this Draco is going to ever go back to the long hair... He's been inspired too much by the wonderful Justin from Queer as Folk (if you hadn't already guessed!)... Although Saturn Returns Draco might get into some hot leather coming up soon (but that's another story, for another time)!

**Moon Faery:** Wow! Longest review, like, ever! Congrats! As for how long will we tease everyone? Well, their paths will cross very soon... but I should not have told you that! As for the formatting of the chapter, it's the limitations of Every time we upload, there seems to be less and less codes that the site will allow. Basically, you can't even indent any more, and it doesn't accept the most basic of HTML 1 specification codes, which is almost unheard of! If you want to read it in full colour, then I suggest popping over to our yahoo group!

**Jen Red Robe:** You thought Harry and Draco were that close before (when Harry and Ollie were in Paris)... wait until chapter 11... I SHOULD not have told you that!

**Lady Silvrene:** Draco's knee... Hmmm, well, sorry to say that it isn't going to get better. At least, it might even get worse before it does - that's IF it does! There's a few plot points that revolve around his inability to fly; and as you can see, he feels rather unhappy about having to use his father's cane... but just who might he run into in London, looking almost like a younger image of his father? Hmmmm? I should NOT have told you that!

**Fayee: **You know the drill... more Sherbet Lemons please! Preferably the Tilley's variety! Does the Candy Store have a website, and do they do mail order? WEG 

**Trivium:** Glad you will stick around that long! We hope everyone will stay for the duration! Don't worry, this baby will never be abandoned!

**Louise4:** Louise, Louise, Louise... Hmmm... So glad you liked all of my last chapter! Hope this chapter helps in getting Draco some real friends... As for keeping Draco away from Jean-Paul... Well, lets just say that Draco needs a bit of loving until he finally realises the truth... He can't stay celibate much longer. I think he'd go insane! But don't worry... Jean-Paul has other reasons to be in the story... Have you checked out his photo in our files section of our group? He's rather hot, actually!

**CuriousDreamWeaver:** No worries on borrowing the nickname 'Flash'. I actually borrowed it from my father! His name was Gordon, and he was a fighter navigator in the Air Force. His nickname was Flash - Flash Gordon... Of course, he'd either be rolling around in his grave at the thought of what his baby girl does in her spare time (writing slash), or he'd be the first one out there to proofread my work - he always was an 'out there' guy! As for the age difference between Draco and Jean-Paul, well, it's about ten-fifteen years... at least the same age difference between Brian and Justin in the show Queer as Folk...

**Tangledhair:** You're gonna need a week to get through this chapter (just like Wintermoon:P) Who is going to realise the other's identity first? Hmmm, we are still workshopping the answer to that one. We have several scenarios, each equally likely. But suffice to say that it will be a while before they realise that...

**NayNymic:** Sorry if you aren't particularly fond of Harry and Draco being in relationships with others, but it's very close to what happens in real life... Yes, they are the OTP, but like real life, you don't just find your soul mate with your first kiss (well, not always). Remember, neither character is 'expecting' a romance with their former enemy, so they are getting on with their lives as best they see fit. Of course, when they do finally meet face to face, and start seeing each other often, then their current activities are likely to change drastically. Trust me on that one! I'm afraid we're trying to keep this story fairly realistic with its emotions and stuff, so don't expect them to fall into each others arms at first sight. Between us, wintermoon and I have a pensioner's number of years life experience, and we're drawing on those ups and downs to fuel the muse (ack, now I feel old...)


	10. Ordinary World

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 10: _Ordinary World_**

The moment Harry Portkeyed to the outside of the black wrought-iron gates, he knew he had made the right decision. This rather large piece of property sat high on a hill in the small village, and the ornate, yet not quite ostentatious gates were a stark contrast to the earthy tones of land and structure that surrounded them. He glanced quickly over the elaborate "M" etched into the iron work of each gate. The purple grapes and gold accents seemed very fitting for the wine rich area. He'd even been told that this chateau had a vineyard behind it and that he would find a complimentary bottle of the house label waiting for him.

The quaint but spacious two bedroom chateau boasted a well-stocked kitchen and plenty of space to spread out and enjoy himself. He chose the bedroom with the lush royal blue velvet bed-coverings, awed by the wizarding photo of the ocean that hung over the bed. It wasn't often that he saw wizarding landscapes, or seascapes as the case may be. He'd never known if they just weren't popular, or if they were more expensive to create and procure. Regardless, this one was beautiful. The aquamarine water splashed gently on the shore while the white foam tipped waves broke further away from the sand. It was a clear day with bright sun and clear water, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the occasional fish under the surface of the water. There was no one within view, which made Harry wonder if there were people who visited this photo occasionally, or if it had been taken when there was no one on the beach. He did see the gulls that flew in and out of the frame, and a sailboat that drifted slowly in the furthest reaches of the water. It was a very peaceful image, one he was certain he wouldn't mind sleeping under.

Harry found himself relishing his vacation as it provided him with day after day of no responsibilities, no adoring fans, no relationship conflicts, no boring paperwork and essentially, nothing but the freedom to do exactly as he pleased! He browsed the small shops in the wizarding village of Roussillon; he flew around the cliffs and through the trees, exhilarated by the cold, crisp air as it whipped by him, tugging on his cloak and swirling his hair into even more mess than usual.

Sleeping in some mornings, Harry desperately hung on to the dream images that continued to plague him. That snitch… Harry couldn't understand why now, after all these years; after giving up Quidditch when he left Hogwarts, he was being haunted by dreams of an elusive snitch that continually turned out to be something else. Despite this, he had the most peaceful sleep in ages. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but the peaceful crashing of the waves in the seascape must have had something to do with it. Besides, for once, he wasn't waking up to the bedclothes in their usual shambled mess. He woke well rested in spite of those crazy dreams.

After his late lie-in, Harry quickly developed a mid-morning routine of stopping in at Mincka's for coffee and croissants. _Still_, he thought wistfully, _it would be nice just to have a decent cup of tea now and then._ He silently mused over his dreams and his reality as he ate, and tended to stay there until the lunch crowd started pouring in, enjoying the warmth of the coffee and the light texture of the flaky pastry. He sat back and took joy in watching the passing parade of people. There were Muggles wandering through the village, and from what he could gather, they were mostly tourists who didn't know they were in a wizarding village.

It was Thursday, just after noon, when Harry saw a middle aged couple walk in for lunch with their dog. He had decided to stay for lunch that day and was thrilled by the _Velouté de Potimarron_ on the menu. The warm pumpkin soup with a touch of chestnut flavouring was just the thing for the crisp weather of early spring. He tried not to be obvious about it, but as he savoured his soup, Harry couldn't help but admire the Golden Labrador that had come in with the couple at the next table. They were French, but obviously travelling, and had brought their dog along on their holiday. The dog, Cozette, was quite well behaved and wagged her tail politely in thanks when Mincka's son brought over a bowl of house specialty dog food along with the humans' order.

"She's beautiful," Harry found himself saying, unintentionally. He was normally content to keep to himself and avoid drawing attention.

"_Merci_, she's, ah…our baby, you could say." The woman's response was friendly and casual. It took Harry a moment to realise that she didn't know who he was. Being in a wizarding village, Harry had already received a great number of second glances and a few questions and requests for autographs. Speaking to this woman was refreshing.

"She's also so well behaved. How old is she?"

"_Trois_," the woman seemed to be thinking about it for a moment, trying to remember the English word for it.

"Three?" Harry smiled at her. He had picked up a little French just listening to Jacques, and was pleased to provide the answer for her. He reached across the walkway, offering his hand in greeting. "I'm Harry."

After introducing himself to Camilla and Tristan, Harry felt a wet nose nuzzling his hand. He looked into the soulful brown eyes and knew that the dog understood him. He knew that animals were very intuitive and that this dog was likely aware of his inner confusion. She seemed to smile at him before licking his hand and returning to her food.

--ooOoo--

After spending nearly a full week perusing the wizarding shops and eating his fill of the delicious homemade pastries at Mincka's, Harry felt the urge to venture further and explore the Muggle shopping district in Apt. Having converted a bit of money, just in case he decided to buy anything, Harry activated the return portkey given to him by the real estate agent and found himself just around the corner from the shops. He spent the full day there, walking through the shops and stalls, enjoying the novelty of just spending time alone and seeing things from a different perspective. The Muggle shops of Apt were actually run by wizards, but they operated as Muggles, and their patrons were none the wiser. The French were not as adverse as the British when it came to mingling closely with Muggles. Harry was careful to allow his dark fringe to cover the famous scar in the hopes that he could get through the day without being recognised. It almost worked. He noticed a few people giving him second glances and was fairly certain that they suspected who he was, but he was grateful that they didn't attempt to verify their suspicions. Perhaps the French weren't as obsessed with celebrity as they were back home; something he was grateful for. Harry learned a great deal about himself that day, about his likes and dislikes, about his interests, and about his personality.

The antiques shop quickly became his favourite, offering so much history to anyone who cared to venture in and peruse the various items there. He lovingly ran his fingers over the polished wood of an old library table, and marvelled at the carvings on a two-hundred year old solid mahogany headboard. _Someday, when my life settles down, I'd like to have some furniture like this. Something solid, stable, long-lasting._ It reminded him a bit of the furniture at Hogwarts. Oh – not the students' furniture, of course. Their dormitory furniture wasn't quite that elaborate, nor was it that old. But the few times he'd been invited into the quarters of a staff-member, all for extremely important meetings regarding the war, he had noticed the rich colours, sturdy woods, and the fine workmanship.

As he continued to browse, he found himself enthralled by the feeling of spun silk in an Indian shop. The brightly coloured Saris caught his attention and he found himself wondering if it would be odd to buy an article of clothing just because he was fascinated by the patterns and the feel of the fabric, despite the fact he would never wear it or have any real use for it. The moment he entered the next shop in the row, he smiled to himself thinking of Ron. His old friend would have been in heaven at _Sucreries, Confections et Spécialités_. The assortment of candies could have put Honeydukes to shame, despite the fact there wasn't a wizarding sweet in the place. Harry walked the aisles, taking in the Petit Fors, the chocolate coated nuts, the candied fruits, the various flavoured truffles. He broke down and bought himself a mixture of chocolate ganaches, pralines, caramels and fruits. Over the next few days as he relished his indulgent purchase, Harry discovered that he had a particular fondness for the chocolate dipped apricots and anything with hazelnuts. He made a mental note of this to add to the list of things he was learning about himself on his voyage of self discovery.

It was on Harry's second day in Apt that he walked into the camera store. He suddenly had the desperate desire to own a camera. He didn't want to become Colin Creevey, but there was a definite urge to have photos of his friends, his experiences, the things that mattered to him, and to know that he had taken those photos himself. He managed to find a very helpful sales clerk and thanked Merlin he had remembered to cast a translation charm before entering. Genevieve patiently answered all his questions about the camera and all the necessary accessories. She didn't seem surprised that a grown man had never used a camera, and he supposed she was a Muggle, since she didn't seem to recognise him, and the store had no apparently visible wizarding section.

As he left the store, the new but comforting weight of his camera back bouncing gently on his hip, Harry decided that this trip had been the best thing to ever happen to him. He had gone from being a freak in a cupboard, to an eleven year old celebrity, then began fighting for his life on a regular basis. By seventeen, he was fully embroiled in one of the worst wars the wizarding world had ever seen, only to become the Saviour of said world and bring the publicity to his doorstep again. He'd been amazed that no one caught on to his relationship with Oliver, but all his other relationships, be they good, bad, serious, casual, happy or sad; became front page news for the Prophet, the Quibbler and Witch Weekly.

As soon as he arrived back at the chateau, Harry pulled out his new camera and thought about what he wanted. _Family_. His parents and Sirius were dead, the Dursley's had never been family to him, not truly, and Remus, though he was wonderful, could never be a father figure. He thought long and hard and decided that Mr and Mrs Weasley were the closest thing he'd ever have to parents. The rest of his family would be the one he created. He had Ron and Hermione, Remus, Ginny, Neville, Luc – these people would become his family – a family of choice rather than chance. That settled, he realised that he wanted to take pictures of his family. The realisation hit that he wanted to start a family photo collection to remind him of all those who loved him, and whom he loved. Anxious to get started on this, Harry laughed at himself as he reached for the journal that had been quietly lying on the end table. It seemed silly in a way, but Luc was fast becoming one of his closest friends and a very important person in his life. He wanted to commemorate that in some manner, and so, despite feeling a bit silly about it, he propped the journal up on the sofa and took a picture of it.

--oo0oo--

His time in France was quickly drawing to a close and Harry was of two minds about his return. He hated to leave this relaxing atmosphere and the chateau that had quickly come to feel like a second home. However, he had spent so much time mulling things over, being introspective and learning more about himself than he'd ever imagined, that he was somewhat anxious to get back to his routine and start making the changes that he knew needed to come.

--oo0oo--

Harry sighed as he set his bag down at home, thankful that he was able to Apparate directly into the apartment, without having to go through the unnecessarily tedious immigration process. He set about making himself a cup of tea, having had so much difficulty getting a decent cuppa whilst in France. With the cup ready and the kettle on, Harry found himself looking over towards his desk in search of the journal. Only then did it occur to him that he hadn't written in it during his entire vacation, despite the fact that he took it with him. While the kettle continued to heat, Harry quickly pulled the journal and inkpot out of his bag and placed them almost reverently on the desk. He was anxious now, only just realising how much he had missed his new friend. Perhaps it was the time recently spent among Luc's countrymen, but he just knew the Frenchman would understand the things he had done and discovered while he was away. Luc seemed to understand most everything about him, in a way that even Ron and Hermione never had. And in a way that Ollie and Jake and Theo certainly never had.

"Hedwig!" Thinking of his other friends reminded Harry that Ron was keeping Hedwig for him during his vacation. He crossed to the fireplace and, throwing in a pinch of Floo powder, called out to his old friend.

"Hiya, Harry!" Ron's grinning head appeared and his familiar voice rang out through the flat as Harry pulled out his wand and began magically unpacking to save himself a little time.

"Hey Ron, how are things?"

"Fine here. More importantly, how are you?"

"I'll be all right," Harry smiled, "the time away did me good." Harry had sent Hedwig from the chateau with a brief note asking if she could stay with Ron. She had seemed a little restless after a couple days there and Harry knew that she always enjoyed a visit with Pig. He had just been grateful that Ron hadn't tried to find out where he was and start asking questions.

"So, you planning to tell me what prompted the sudden trip? Not that I'm being nosy. I'm not, you know. You don't have to tell me a thing. Not a thing, Harry. Honestly. But if you wanted to, you know I…"

"Ron!" Harry couldn't help grinning as he interrupted Ron's rambling. "It's fine. Nothing to worry about, really. I'll tell you all about it, just… not right now." He couldn't believe he was so anxious to talk to Luc in the journal that he would give his long-time friend the brush-off, but, there it was. "I was just Flooing to tell you that you can send Hedwig home whenever you want, and to see if you and Hermione would like to have dinner or something in a couple days."

"Sounds good to me, mate. I'll check with her and send a note home with Hedwig, okay?" Ron tried to see if anyone was in the flat with Harry, but Harry had blocked most of his view of the lounge room, and he couldn't tell if Harry was alone.

"Yes. That'll be fine. I'll see you later, then?"

"Okay. I get the hint, I can tell when I'm not wanted," he winked. Ron's good natured humour was like a welcoming gift, reminding Harry of yet another of the wonderful things in his life. He was lucky to have such a great friend.

"Thanks Ron. Really, thanks a million." It was with those sincerely spoken words that Harry terminated the Floo connection and turned toward the kitchen where the kettle was quickly beginning to whistle. He knew he could have simply spelled the water hot, but there was something very satisfying about doing certain things in the Muggle way. Fixing tea was one of those things. A cup of tea, especially in a home, just wasn't the same without hearing the whistling tea kettle first.

Finally, with steaming tea, crackling fire, and warded Floo connection, he donned his favourite warm Weasley jumper and sat at the desk and opened the journal. Pouring out his feelings, Harry had somehow reached an epiphany, and began to understand even more. It was as if the journal were pulling the knowledge out of his subconscious and forcing him to face it. He felt a nagging urge to apologise to a few people. Making amends and owning up to his mistakes would do him some good and allow him to get on with his life. He felt, however, that he couldn't thank Luc enough for what he had done. Luc's recommendation of the chateau was just what he needed. Though he didn't go into much detail, he did feel that he would one day tell Luc all about his trip and the lovely chateau. It was truly a beautiful vacation spot. _Perhaps I should recommend it to Ron and Hermione for their honeymoon_, he thought. He finished his entry, and with a deep sigh, put the journal away carefully, along with the pot of ink. It was time. He knew what he needed to do. Another deep breath for Dutch courage, and he was standing in front of the fireplace.

After removing his wards, Harry grabbed a handful of international Floo powder and took a deep breath before throwing it into the fireplace. "Charlie Weasley," he said clearly. Only moments later, the familiar face appeared in the flames.

"Hey there, Harry! What can I do for you?" He was smiling. Harry took that as a good sign. He wasn't entirely certain what to expect from Charlie right now, but he supposed a friendly greeting and a smile couldn't possibly be too bad.

"I was wondering if you would have a few minutes to chat in the next couple of days. Maybe over dinner or something." He knew the evening would be most convenient for the both of them, but was trying with all his might to keep that from sounding like a pickup line or a date invitation. If Charlie's casual expression was anything to go by, then Harry had nothing to worry about. Nevertheless, worry he did.

"Sure thing. How's tomorrow, seven o'clock?"

"That sounds good. I'll leave the Floo open, just come on over."

--oo0oo--

Harry couldn't help the flutter of nerves when he heard the Floo chime precisely at seven. Charlie was known for being punctual, and Harry was beginning to think Charlie should be known for his spectacular appearance as well. The sky blue shirt he wore matched his eyes perfectly, and the disarming grin he offered left Harry speechless for just a moment. Finally finding his voice, Harry stepped forward to greet the man, surprised when the handshake turned into a hug.

"It's good to see you. I was so busy with the new crossbreeds that I didn't realise it had been so long since I'd heard from you. Are you doing all right? Still handling things okay?"

Charlie's friendly attitude and sincere questions put Harry at ease immediately. He nodded, "Yes, I'm doing all right. I took a vacation - only got back yesterday. It was relaxing and very much needed. Besides, how are you? No trouble getting into the country? Normally they are a little fussy over at Wizard Immigration."

"I'm glad to hear that. And no, there's no trouble. I flooed straight here. I'm working in Wales with the crossbreeds at the moment, so none of that tedious queue waiting. You're looking good, Harry," Charlie commented as they moved to sit on the sofa, Harry offering a Butterbeer. He convinced himself that he was imagining the look in Charlie's eyes during that compliment, the roving glance suggested Charlie was thinking back to their night together.

"Thanks," He took a deep breath, trying to force himself not to resort to his familiar nervous habit of running his hands through his hair. "Um, I…" He wasn't quite sure what to say now, having initially invited Charlie over to talk to him and apologise for showing up in his home that night. The attempts to pretend that Charlie wasn't still looking at him in interest simply weren't working. He latched onto the first extraneous piece of information that went through his brain. "Crossbreeds?"

Charlie looked a little confused for a moment, then remembered his earlier statement. "Yes, it appears that some fool decided to try to breed a Hebridean Black with a Ukranian Ironbelly. It makes for a very pretty animal, dark metallic hide and violet eyes with a slightly reddish tint. But behaviourally, it's a nightmare. The poor thing is skittish and docile, but it's so huge that it injures everything and everyone around it when it jumps around. And have you seen a frightened Black? They can shoot their flame almost as far as a Horntail!"

"So what are you doing with it? Is it just the one?"

"Yep, just the one. She's a baby now, just hatched last week, but when she gets older, she'll be a sight! Those are two of the largest breeds in the world. We're just trying to take care of her right now, best we can. Trying to find someone who can work with her on an emotional level is the biggest challenge we have. We've got to make sure she learns to trust people before she gets too big for us to handle. This is one animal that could be a real danger if we aren't careful."

"Wow. That sounds so interesting." A buzzer went off in the kitchen, alerting Harry that the chicken casserole was ready to be taken out of the oven. Charlie followed him into the kitchen, asking if there was anything he could do to help and within minutes the two of them had dinner on the table, a steaming casserole, hot, crusty bread, and a chilled bottle of white wine that Harry had brought back from his trip to France.

"You made this?" Charlie asked after a couple bites, "I mean, really made it, the Muggle way?"

"Yes," Harry was rather proud of his culinary skills, but couldn't help the uncertainty in his voice. He wasn't sure if Charlie was impressed or disgusted.

"It's delicious! I've never had anything quite like it before. I mean, nothing goes past Mother's cooking, but this is just..." Charlie finished the sentence by savouring another bite, a very satisfied look on his face.

Harry smiled, ignoring the mental voice that asked why he wanted to impress Charlie so much. "It's pretty simple, really. It's just some freshly chopped vegetables and herbs in a cream sauce, and then mixed with chicken and noodles. It's sort of my own creation."

They chatted amicably throughout dinner, going through the entire bottle of wine before they realised it. As they sat there, full from the good meal and sipping on their final glasses of wine, Charlie commented on Harry's cooking again.

"That really is a wonderful creation. You must have been a whiz at Potions in school."

Harry laughed at the thought, "Merlin, No! I was horrid in Potions. I never got the mixtures right until my second or third try and I couldn't create a new potion if I had to. Snape hated me; suffice to say, and that only made things worse. I never knew what I did to that man to make him hate me so much."

"Well, I kind of remember him from school," Charlie mused, "You know, he and your parents were a few years ahead of me. He didn't get on well with anyone, but I think he was interested in Lily at one point." Harry was floored by that thought.

"Ewww! That's just too weird to think about! Mum didn't… I mean, she never… did she?" he asked, wide eyed with fear. If his mother and Snape… the cogs in his brain were desperately churning through some distasteful scenarios, each one more unlikely than the last.

Charlie quickly put him out of his misery as he laughed. "Don't worry, I think she and Snape were friends, but she was a feisty individual until she fell for James, and then she had eyes only for him. Snape seemed to get over it soon enough. I remember rumours about Severus and Walden McNair having a fling during their seventh year. It didn't last long, though. I was only a second year then," Charlie seemed lost in his thoughts for just a moment. "I must admit that I was rather thrilled when he came back a year or so later to start teaching."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You _liked_ his teaching?"

"No. Not particularly," Charlie admitted. "But I liked _him_. I managed to convince myself during my last year there that I actually had a chance with him, considering that his previous interests were both redheads. I fancied myself his perfect match and decided he just hadn't realised it yet."

Harry simply gazed at his older friend with pure incredulity. After several moments of silence, he finally replied, "I just don't get it." Charlie offered a grin which clearly stated that Harry didn't have to get it, and they laughed together as they stood up from the table.

"I guess you could say I'm the reason that he probably gave my younger brothers hell. He er… might have a bit of a bias against Weasleys after my unwanted advances." Charlie said in embarrassment. "Well, I should probably be going. We both have to work in the morning, right?"

"Oh, er, um, yeah. I, erm, I was going to…" He fidgeted with his empty wine glass, before absently running his hand through his hair, wishing he hadn't drunk so much. Why hadn't he done this earlier in the evening – at least then he could actually get a sentence out without sounding like a bumbling fool. He resorted to staring intently at the floor because at least it couldn't laugh at him.

"Harry, take a breath. Whatever you're trying to say can't be that hard." Charlie moved closer, laying a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and causing Harry to look up in surprise. They both paused for the briefest of moments before Charlie leaned in and offered a gentle kiss. Harry's breath caught somewhere between his heart and his throat and he felt himself - almost as if he had no control over his actions - leaning into the kiss and deepening it by flicking his tongue over Charlie's wine flavoured lips.

Something about that kiss took away the last of Harry's conscious thought. He remembered the last time he had kissed Charlie, and all the times he had wanted to before that. Distantly aware of what was going on aside from that kiss, Harry vaguely registered them setting their glasses down on the table and moving into the living room. He didn't even realise that his eyes were closed until he felt Charlie's hands in his hair. He opened his eyes just in time to see the lust in Charlie's crystal blue eyes as he was moving in for another kiss. Harry felt his own lust take over, reminding him of how incredible he felt after his one night with Charlie, how the older man had taken his mind off his troubles and drawn out the pleasure with a torturous slowness.

He grasped Charlie's hips and pulled them to meet his own, drawing a low groan from both of them. Charlie's slightly rough hands cupped Harry's neck and his fingers were buried in the tousled dark hair. They kissed at a frenzied pace, both recalling their encounter of a few weeks ago and the levels of pleasure they had reached that night. Harry felt Charlie's hands on his waist and was hit with a vivid memory of those hands. He remembered how firm and knowledgeable they were. He remembered how sensual they made him feel. He remembered the dragon-hide gloves. He remembered the passion he had felt and the desire to lose himself in Charlie's attention. But he also remembered the feeling that there was something missing.

That same something was still missing as his fingers traced the line of buttons on Charlie's shirt. It was still missing as he twirled his tongue around Charlie's and was rewarded with a low moan. That something wasn't there when he started unbuttoning Charlie's shirt, and it didn't appear when Charlie moved to suck on the tender spot on the side of Harry's neck. Harry gasped, but it wasn't because of _that_ something, because that something still wasn't there. He thought about how to explain this, certain that Luc would understand his dilemma. On thinking of Luc, suddenly Harry's head cleared. Here he was, in a passionate embrace with a gorgeous man, and he was thinking about his friend. He couldn't do this. He had explained to Luc about his thoughts and introspection during the past two weeks. He told Luc he was planning to make amends, to try and fix the mistakes he had made in the recent past. That certainly did not include repeating those same mistakes.

"Charlie, stop," Harry heard the rasp in his voice and had to forcefully prevent the whimper that threatened to escape his throat when Charlie's tongue stopped its delightful swirling pattern on his neck.

"What is it, Harry? Is something wrong?"

Harry stepped back, taking a breath to clear his lust-addled brain. "Yes, actually. This is wrong. I can't do this again. I'm sorry."

"Okay." Charlie didn't say anything else, but he seemed angry. No, wait, that wasn't anger. That was… concern? Harry wasn't quite certain, but it definitely appeared that Charlie was concerned about something.

"I'm really sorry. Again."

"Harry," Charlie began slowly, "tell me exactly what you're apologising for?"

"Well, for leading you on tonight. For giving you the wrong idea, I suppose. For barging into your flat a couple weeks ago and starting up a… er… situation."

"You have no need to apologise for any of those things, Harry. Last time, that was, well, it was unexpected, but I've already told you I had no regrets about it. I'm not upset with you, I'm not sorry it happened. Hell, Harry, the only thing about it that I was concerned with before was that either you'd be upset and feel used, or my Mum would find out and tan my hide for defiling someone 16 years my junior!"

"You hardly defiled me, Charlie. That was done long before you," Harry muttered.

Charlie shook his head. "You know how Mum is. She'd never see it that way. Tonight, well that was my doing, and you needn't feel bad about it. It's truly been great catching up and getting to know you better. I suppose in the past you've been more of my baby brother's friend than _my_ friend. I'd like that to change. I think that _is_ changing, and I'd like it to continue. I…" He paused a moment, as if considering his words carefully. "I won't say I don't want to take you to bed right now, Harry. But I will say that I'm not going to be upset or hold a grudge or think badly of you if we don't. I guess I chose a bad time to kiss you. I know you were trying to say something, and you never quite got around to it."

Harry found himself speechless again. He'd been having a hard enough time trying to say this before Charlie kissed him. Now it would be nearly impossible. "I… I've just said part of it, about coming to your flat and such. Charlie, your family means a lot to me. Molly and Arthur, they're like the parents I never had. You know Ron's like a brother to me, and I just won't even go into the weirdness of sleeping with the brother of my brother. But, see, I don't want any problems either. I've lost my real family, and my first friend, and some of my mentors, and my godfather, and, well, I just can't lose another family. I don't want there to be any tension between us, because it would make things so hard."

"Harry, that's something you don't have to worry about. I know how important Ron is in your life. And I know that my whole family loves you. Yes, Harry, even me. I couldn't put a label on it if I had to. I mean, it's obviously not a brotherly love. But I guess a close friend. You matter to all of us, and I would never do or say anything to jeopardise those relationships."

"Thanks, but that's not all of it." Harry paused a moment, trying to collect his thoughts so that he could truly get them out clearly. He had to do this right. "The thing is, I've had a lot of time to myself while I was gone, and I've realised that I really cared for Ollie. I can't really put it into clearer words, or explain how I feel now, but it's something I'm working on. And I think, or rather, I _know_ that I don't need to get myself tangled up anywhere else until I sort this out a bit more."

"I understand. That's a very wise and mature decision you've made there, Harry. Not all of us can be that in tune with ourselves and what we really need. You stick to your guns on that one. You deserve the best and if you keep on this track, I think you'll find all the happiness you deserve a little sooner than you think."

Harry was relieved to see that Charlie truly understood and wouldn't look down on him for this. He was also relieved in a sense when Charlie gave him a friendly hug and a light lingering kiss on the forehead and stepped through the Floo. The trouble was, though he felt emotionally settled and relieved, he was physically caught in the sensations and results of Charlie's attentions. Sighing, he cast a quick self-cleaning spell over the kitchen and dining table before taking himself into the bedroom to relax. He had a certain build-up of tension, and thanks to his resolve, he would have to take matters into his own hand.

--ooOoo--

Claire Guffries was just an inch or two shorter than Harry, with the type of curves that had created the original hourglass comparison. She had long wavy hair as dark as Harry's and deep brown eyes that seemed to have seen a lot. In short, she was beautiful. On the days when Harry was even slightly inclined to swing that way, she could easily tempt him. Considering the fact that she was his immediate supervisor, he was lucky she'd never noticed or returned that interest… until today.

Harry knew the moment he walked into Claire's office that she was eyeing him up. _What is going on,_ he thought. _It's as if someone put a bloody attraction spell on me._ He couldn't help wondering sometimes, how many of the appraising glances and blatant offers he received were a direct result of his celebrity status. _Perhaps I'm just noticing it now that I don't have anyone at home waiting for me,_ he thought.

"Harry! I'm so thrilled that you stopped in. It's been simply ages since we've had a chat!" Claire practically pulled him into the room, motioning toward the chair sitting just to the left of the desk. "Sit down, Harry. Tell me how you've been? How are those students doing? I saw you in the Prophet with the Minister's family a few weeks ago. That was a really nice picture of you. Do you know the Minister well?"

Harry sat and waited patiently for her obligatory gushing and rambling questions to come to a close. He'd become accustomed to this shortly after he came to Somerset, and usually found her bubbly energy to be either refreshing or bitterly condescending. Today, however, when that energy was combined with a longing expression and a gaze that swept up and down his denim-clad legs, Harry was feeling a bit of discomfort.

"Yes," he began once she paused for breath. The minister's son is my best friend. I've known their family for years."

Her brow creased slightly in confusion as she considered this information. "Oh. I see." Claire tilted her head far to one side in thought. "So that's why you were in the photo with them?"

"Why else would I have been at a family celebration for the Minister of Magic?" Harry was truly confunded. What was Claire thinking? It seemed perfectly obvious that he must have been a close family friend.

"Well, because you're Harry Potter, of course! It's only natural that you would be asked to welcome the new Minister."

Harry took a deep breath, trying not to be indignant at the insinuation that he would have been welcome only because of his name. It crossed his mind briefly that he may well have a hard time finding anyone to truly see him for who he was inside. He decided not to comment on that, and instead cleared his throat and broached the topic on his mind.

"Listen, Claire, I should be getting back to work soon, but it was actually the training I've been doing that I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I've really enjoyed training the new recruits and I seem to work well with them."

"Oh, definitely!" Claire gushed. "I've heard wonderful things from our senior Aurors. They say the things you're tutoring the recruits on are going very well."

"Um, well, you see," Harry paused, realising belatedly what she had just said. "Tutoring? I hadn't really thought I was tutoring. I've been _teaching_ them observation and surveillance. I've discussed duelling, investigation tips and even demonstrated how grounding can help in a battle. That's above the call of _just tutoring_, wouldn't you say?"

She blinked at him. It had to be the first time he'd seen her speechless. "Well!" She finally seemed to snap out of her stupor. "Well, of course! I had no idea! I suppose you're here to report those who aren't giving you credit for all that?"

"No. I wasn't planning to. I'm here to ask for a transfer, Claire. I'm a fully certified Auror, and have been acting as a part-time trainer for months now. I want to do it full time."

"Ahhh!" Her relief was almost comically evident. It appeared that she was worried he was about to cause a fuss over the 'tutor' issue. A fuss, in actuality, was the last thing Harry ever wanted, but he kept that thought to himself. He felt his Slytherin side emerge as he allowed Claire's presumptions to influence the outcome of the meeting.

The meeting ended quickly, with Claire setting up a meeting between Harry and Gordon Bridgewater, Claire's immediate supervisor, to discuss the possibilities of a trainer position. He left her office while she was extending a repetitive offer to see if she could 'do anything, anything at all.'

--oo0oo--

Wednesday night was nerve-wracking for Harry as he fumbled around in the kitchen preparing dinner for Ron and Hermione. These were his closest friends, but he didn't know how he felt about telling them all the things on his mind, and the events that had happened. It seemed almost like a betrayal that he hadn't told them about Oliver yet. Nearly a month had passed since that Valentine's Day fiasco, and he had been such a hermit, curling up within himself, that the only person in his life who knew any of it was Luc.

That was another thing that he wondered about. Was it wrong to be so close to Luc, telling him all about the goings on of his life, getting to know this guy and counting him among the list of good friends, without Ron and Hermione knowing anything about it? He had a nagging feeling that he should mention it to them, but on the other hand, he rather liked the fact that no one knew. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Ginny knew. He hadn't seen her much since the day she checked the journal over for him, and they certainly hadn't had the chance to talk. Still, she knew, and that reminder cinched it for him. He couldn't keep a secret from Ron unless it was a secret not known to anyone else – anywhere.

As he finished tidying the flat, he realised how empty it now looked without the small touches that Ollie brought to their home. The room suddenly seemed cold and uninviting without his few trophies and medals adorning the shelves. The photos taken with Ollie that had previously adorned the mantle had been smashed and thrown into the fire during his fit of pique. Naturally, he regretted that now. An idea suddenly struck, and he raced into the back room.

By the time they arrived, not only did Harry have the pork roast ready and the potatoes mashed, but he felt extremely satisfied with his impromptu decorating ideas. As he cast a warming charm over the fresh herbed vegetables and the smooth gravy, he looked up at the photo montages that now adorned the vacant spaces over the mantle, and the sideboard. Uncorking the wine, he realised he was being stupid. Of course they would notice that none of Ollie's belongings were around the flat – they had both been there often enough. Better that he get the whole mess over with, and hope against hope they would be relaxed enough to not get angry with him.

Naturally, the first thing Hermione noticed was the new décor. "Harry! These photos – they look… they're amazing!" she stepped up to the mantle, reverently touching the montage of photos of the Marauders. Ron stepped up and squinted at a Quidditch themed montage. The pictures of two generations of Gryffindors winning the Quidditch cup were eerily similar, and Ron found it rather touching.

"Hey guys," both Hermione and Ron turned to the blinding light of the flashbulb, as Harry took their photo. His look of smug satisfaction surprised them.

"What the bloody hell you doing, Harry?" Ron was still blinking to get the bulb burn out of his eyes. "You fancy following in Colin bloody Creevey's footsteps?" Harry put down the camera, and in way of apology for taking the candid shot, he handed each of them a glass of the wine.

"Please tell me you aren't becoming a camera obsessed loon, Harry," Hermione continued. "I mean, these photos are lovely and all, but… well, I just remember what Dad was like when I was little. I couldn't bear having to sit through one of your slide nights as well."

Ron looked at her askance, not having any idea what a slide night was, and whether or not he would ever be asked to sit through one with his soon to be father-in-law.

"I promise Hermione, I won't be that bad. I just bought the camera last week, and as for the rest of the photos, I've been meaning to organise those for some time now…" Harry kept himself busy, and his guests distracted by serving dinner almost immediately. Ron was instantly distracted as he munched on the moist and crispy pork crackling that accompanied his roast.

Harry managed to distract his guests with his fine meal; the simple, yet well cooked fare was something that made him feel somewhat normal. The conversation took on the same familiar and casual tone, with Ron commenting on Hedwig's behaviour whilst she was staying with them, and Hermione asking after Harry's health. Ron passed along the regular message from Mrs Weasley to be sure and eat well and come visit, and Hermione inquiring about Harry's job. It wasn't until he brought out the Tarte Tatin, (an upside-down caramelised apple and pear tart – Harry had been inspired by his French sojourn), for dessert, that the inevitable happened.

"So," Ron said after draining his wine glass. "How's Oliver been? I hear they're playing the Canons this weekend. Is he busy training up? You know, they were close in that last match."

"Right." Harry took a minute to gather his thoughts, wishing he could have somehow felt more prepared for this. He'd known it was coming, but that didn't help matters any, especially since he hadn't been the one to bring up the topic. He busied himself cutting the tart and dishing it out for all three of them. He refilled Ron's glass and topped off his own. He straightened the napkin next to his plate and very meticulously lined up his flatware along the bottom edge of it. Finally, he was startled out of his musings by Hermione's voice.

"Harry?"

He looked up, raising his eyebrows. "Hmmm?"

"Are you quite all right? You seem rather distracted. Ron's just asked about both Oliver and Quidditch and you've barely acknowledged it." A knowing look crossed her face, "have you and Oliver had another fight?"

Harry couldn't help but feel glad that she knew him well enough to begin to understand what was wrong. He just hoped they would both forgive him for withholding this for so long. "Actually, Hermione, Ron, I have a few things to tell you. I really should have said something before now, but I really felt that I needed some time to sort things out in my head, you know. That was part of the reason I went to France. I needed the break, from everything. You see… I'd been thinking a lot about my relationship with Oliver. In January, when I took him out for his birthday, I was trying to make it special, and well… I kinda messed it up – but I ended up telling him that I love him."

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry held up a hand to prevent either of them from replying. The last thing he wanted was a misunderstanding that led to any happy responses before he had the chance to explain the whole situation. It was still difficult to believe that he hadn't told them any of this. They had lost touch so much in the last few months.

"So, we were fine – at least I thought we were fine - after that and I went to his hotel room to surprise him for Valentine's Day. I had a romantic evening planned and, well, I'll spare you the details… I walked into the bedroom of his suite and found him in bed with two other men. I know one of them ran into us at a wine tasting a while back. I didn't recognise the other one." He spared a quick glance up to see that Hermione looked horrified and Ron looked slightly confused. "I was so angry and hurt and confused, that I came back home right away and destroyed most of his things," Harry continued. "I told him to leave for good when he came in the next day."

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments before Hermione's sisterly protection finally took over. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." She jumped up and gathered him in a hug which pressed the side of his face into her fairly ample breasts. Some distant part of his mind thought Ron would probably get upset by this, if not for the fact that Harry was gay. Another part of his mind wondered if this is how it would have felt to be comforted by his mother, had she been around longer. It was Ron's voice that he heard next, slightly muffled by Hermione's arms and chest covering the majority of his head.

"So this happened last month? Like almost a full month ago? And you're just now telling us?" Ron sounded incredulous.

Harry pulled himself out of Hermione's embrace, facing the consequences of his horrid actions. "I… I'm sorry Ron. I should have told you sooner. I really hadn't told much of it to anyone. I just…"

"Harry," Ron interrupted, "I think you misunderstood me. I'm not upset that you didn't tell _me_, I'm just upset that you didn't _tell_ me… us."

Harry blinked. "I'm not certain I see the distinction there, Ron." _Why doesn't he sound angry_, he thought.

Ron waved him away, "I mean…it doesn't matter that I didn't know. I just wish you'd had someone to talk about this with. It's a big deal and you shouldn't just keep it bottled up inside you for so long, which you're wont to do. You just let it fester until it gets so big…"

Harry looked at Ron in amazement – completely unsure how to react to this. Hermione seemed to be at least a little surprised by Ron's reaction as well. She watched in silence for a moment, then walked forward to kiss him. "I love you, you know, Ron Weasley. And I'm proud of you."

Harry was also amazed at the maturity and understanding Ron was showing, and then realised that he _had_ actually talked to someone, and that brought him to the next thing he needed to confess. "Well, actually Ron, there is someone I've been talking to… about this… about a lot of things… sometimes about absolutely nothing."

"Sorry mate, I don't think I followed you that time." Ron raised both eyebrows in surprised suspicion. He sensed that Harry had something to confess, but he just wasn't sure what his best friend had got himself into now.

"I guess you could say I've got a pen pal… His name is Luc and he's really nice and he's a great listener. He's helped me through a lot of things over the past few months." Harry nervously ran his hand through his hair. It felt good to tell them the truth, but he knew there was more. It was nice to tell someone about Luc, especially since he was now such an important figure in his life.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, her brow furrowed in that familiar way which clearly stated that she was thinking and about to start researching. "Where exactly did you find this pen pal? And how long have you been writing to him?" her suspicions were also raised.

"Well, we started writing around Yule, and he sort of found me. Or we found each other. I'm not entirely certain how these things work, but I found an old journal of Sirius'. I opened it but all the writing disappeared and then later I decided to use it for my own. Remember when you suggested I write things down? Well, that's when I started using it. After my first entry, Luc wrote back to me. His writing just suddenly appeared."

Ron's eyebrows disappeared under his hair. "Harry! You're talking to a book! Didn't you learn anything from You-Know-Who's diary?"

Harry simply smiled patiently. "Yes Ron. I did learn something from Voldemort's diary. That's why, as soon as I saw the first reply, I called the one person who is extensively trained in curse-breaking, dark arts, and has first hand experience with evil books! Ginny did a very thorough check of it and assured me that there was nothing to worry about. It's just a charmed journal, created so people can communicate with each other. It just so happens that Luc found the partner to this journal and we've been writing regularly ever since."

Hermione's concerned look became thoughtful, as if she were trying to remember something important, then slid into mildly stunned and quickly faded into casually interested. Harry noticed this, but Ron spoke up before he had the chance to voice his curiosity.

"So, how do you know this guy is sincere? I mean, what if he's just trying to get some dirt on Harry Potter so he can sell it to the Prophet, or blackmail you, or hurt you?"

"Well if he wanted dirt on Harry Potter, he would likely try some source other than an average guy in a journal, right? I'm not using my real name, Ron. Honestly, do you take me for a doddering fool?" he huffed.

"No – of course not. I just…" Ron looked down at his plate, and started swirling interesting patterns in the left over cream. Harry knew Ron was trying not to lose his temper. Hermione blissfully interrupted before Ron could shove any more of his rather large foot into his mouth. "So, Harry… you talked to Luc about this after you broke up with Oliver? And you're doing okay? I mean, as okay as you can be?"

Harry thought for a moment, "Yes. I mean, yes, I'm doing okay," He nodded, "I'm getting over it. I spent plenty of time thinking about a lot of things during my vacation, and I've been feeling rather introspective for a time anyway. I think it's good for me. I mean, hell, I'd rather it hadn't happened like that, of course, but I think it's a good thing that it did happen. Ollie – great as he is at times – he isn't the one. I know that now." Harry shifted uncomfortably as he realised that the time had come to tell them about Charlie. He was entirely uncertain how Ron would take that, but he knew it had to be done.

He quickly got up and started to busy himself with clearing the table. Hermione lent a hand as they gave Ron some time to process Harry's news. He knew he was procrastinating, but suddenly, he was as nervous as the first time he had knowingly faced down Voldemort. After a few more minutes of arranging the cheese platter, he headed back out, knowing that it was now or never.

"Look guys, I guess I should also tell you… there's something else." He waited. They waited. Harry knew this could go in a thousand different directions. Ron and Hermione simply knew that he was very serious about whatever he needed to tell them. They continued to wait. Harry finally took another breath, thinking that he shouldn't keep doing that to calm himself or he would start hyperventilating. "About a week after we broke up… I was thinking I needed to talk to you." He looked pointedly at his best friend, thinking of all the times in his life when talking to Ron had helped him immensely. "I was going to Apparate over late one night, but I…"

"Harry, you know you can pop in any time you need to. I don't care how late it is."

"Thanks Ron, but see… it's not that I thought it was too late. I… I'd been drinking, and…"

"Harry!" Hermione's shocked and worried tone told him that he was about to get another of her famous lectures on safety and forethought.

"I know, 'Mione. I know. I'll never try to Apparate under the influence again. Anyway, I ended up in the wrong place."

"Where'd you go, mate?"

"Charlie's."

"Oh – well he let you stay there, didn't he? I mean, you really didn't need to be trying to Apparate again. I'm surprised – you actually made it all the way to _Romania?_ In one piece?"

"Yeah, he let me stay there," Harry mumbled, more to the floor than to Ron. He wasn't altogether certain how to say it. He'd thought he was almost through, but it was clear that Ron was assuming the best and clueless to the truth. _Blunt. Sometimes, especially with Ron, you just have to be blunt._ "Ron, I slept with Charlie."

--oo0oo--

In the end, Harry couldn't believe it went so well. Ron didn't die from an apoplectic fit; neither did he hex him into the next century, nor threaten to do the same to his big brother. The silence had been deafening for a couple of moments, but Ron was surprisingly accepting of his one-night stand with Charlie. Granted, Ron had been thrown for a moment, but quickly recovered and began asking if they were a couple or if it was just sex. The conversation had been mildly uncomfortable for a few moments, but both Ron and Hermione understood that Harry was being honest with them, and they overcame their shock and surprise to support their lifelong friend. They soon moved on to lighter topics of conversation, as they caught up with the more mundane news in each other's lives.

--oo0oo--

Rain. It was simply bucketing down, but Harry chose to walk home from work regardless. He'd had a long and tiring day at the office, including a tedious meeting with Claire's supervisor, Mr Bridgewater. He'd spent nearly two hours explaining to the man why he wanted a transfer, and that he wasn't unhappy with their Somerset division, he was just looking for something more than the current tutoring position offered. Mr Bridgewater confirmed that yes, it really was only a tutoring position he held.

The supervisor never realised the depth of teaching Harry had been doing. Harry truly wasn't surprised. The administrative side of the Auror division was fraught with the usual apathy found in many parts of the Ministry, and it seemed that they were oblivious to what he actually did there. The division had not taken Harry's semi-retirement from active duty well, but were reluctant to lose him from the service altogether. However, it didn't stop them from using his name when encouraging new recruits, or dragging him out into ceremonial robes for their pompous graduations.

He'd finally been told that he would have to meet with someone in London before an official transfer could be made. It seemed like a simple formality, but Harry was a little disheartened by it nonetheless. Naturally, Mr Bridgewater didn't want the responsibility of possibly alienating Harry, or more importantly, his own superiors, by actually giving the War Hero what he wanted. Again the Ministerial red tape was going to stuff him around, and he didn't like it. Not now, when he finally knew what he wanted out of life.

So, he walked through the torrential rain, allowing for a mild shielding charm that would keep him from getting truly soaked or getting chilled enough to become ill, but wouldn't be noticeable to others around him. He spent a good bit of his walk imagining how things would be after this London meeting. He could find a new flat in London. He could get new furnishings; enjoy the chance to decorate, taking advantage of the fresh start. He imagined that he might have more time to see his friends, as London had much better Floo access to Hogsmeade, which would allow him to keep in touch with Remus, and of course, Ron and Hermione were in London anyway. He was looking forward to major changes in his life, something that would allow him to leave behind the ghost of his relationship with Oliver.

Harry had just ducked under the awning at the front of his building and was starting toward the stairs when Priscilla, his elderly neighbour, came out and greeted him. Priscilla and her husband Walt were the elderly couple who lived next door and had been extremely friendly toward Harry from the day he moved in. They were a fairly quiet couple, as most elderly people tend to be (especially in the Muggle world). Walt puttered around with his flowers in the window boxes, and consistently removed fallen leaves, stray twigs and other flotsam of nature from their walkway. Priscilla, on the other hand, was a people person. She loved to chat with all the neighbours, asking what people were doing, telling others what people were doing, speculating on what people might be doing, and often discussing what people should be doing. Unlike his Aunt Petunia, she didn't do it out of a sense of one-upmanship; she merely loved to talk to people.

"Harry! How have you been doing? I haven't seen you around as much lately, did you go somewhere?" Her obvious blonde wig sat slightly crooked atop her slightly plump face. She was dressed in a 1950s style emerald green dress that looked like it might well have been satin. She wore pearl earrings, a pearl necklace and low-heeled black pumps. Harry was reminded of the stereotypical housewife he remembered seeing in old American sitcoms.

"Hello Priscilla. Yes, I went on vacation for a couple weeks. How've you been doing?"

"Oh, doing fine, doing fine. Walt has been after me to take a vacation somewhere, but you know me, I'm such a homebody. I don't suppose you could recommend a nice place to stay, could you? Something close by?"

"If I think of anything I'll be sure to let you know," Harry said with a smile. He really didn't mind Priscilla or her husband, but it seemed they often caught him when he really didn't feel like making small talk. He was grateful that he had a feasible excuse at hand today, thanks to the weather. "I'd best get inside and change, before I get sick." He stepped past her and started up the steps, calling out behind him "Stay dry now! I'll see you later."

He remembered one time when Priscilla had stopped him and Oliver on their way in. She'd kept them for over half an hour talking about a young woman who had previously lived in their flat. Apparently she'd been a little strange, keeping pet pigeons and wearing aluminium foil on her ears. Priscilla even told them about one day when all the neighbours had come out in the morning to find that this girl had placed roast beef sandwiches on their doorsteps. As Harry entered the flat he could almost hear Oliver's soft voice and the laughter they shared over the sandwich story.

He put in a selection of favourite CD's, in the hopes of drowning out that voice. Harry's taste in music tended toward old fashioned swing music and a love of the crooners. He was reluctant to admit that Aunt Petunia had influenced his musical tastes somewhat. Despite this, his musical collection was not exclusively geared to the likes of Sinatra, Bennett, Martin and Bacharach. He had, on occasion, been known to let his hair down, and had a secret love of Kylie Minogue's pop music. He had been recently impressed by one young singer who did an album of swing music. It was that Robbie Williams CD that was now loaded in the player, and he listened to the young man's voice.

It was a few frustrating minutes later that Harry realised the CD wasn't going to help. Although Oliver had loved to sing along with all of Harry's favourite singers, he had tried to introduce Harry to some more modern styles of music. Harry took no interest in the likes of styles like Punk, or Hard Rock, which Oliver had adored. Harry's taste in Wizarding music also followed his Muggle tastes. He much preferred _Merlin and the Swinging Mages_ to _the Weird Sisters_ or _the Hobgoblins_. Harry sighed as he tried to relax into the music, but Oliver's voice wasn't going to disappear.

After a quick change of plans, he found that the telly didn't help either. It seemed Oliver had firmly ensconced himself in Harry's brain and wasn't about to let slide an opportunity to remind Harry of what he was missing. He sat on the sofa, trying to examine what was happening. He felt more than a little crazy just then, hearing Oliver's voice, imagining that he could smell the other man's cologne, almost wishing he could feel those familiar hands on his body. They'd always had more than their share of passion – of course, Harry knew that Quidditch could raise the libido of a eunuch, which explained much of his relationship with Ollie. Their most intimate moments, their wildest nights, had always been after a game or a practice session.

_I don't really want him back. I just miss the familiar, that's all._ Harry knew that he'd been so busy examining the good points of being single that he hadn't taken much time over the past month to mourn the end of that relationship. It helped ever so slightly to know that he didn't truly want Ollie back, but it was still exceedingly difficult to deal with this sudden surge of memories and desires. _I'm just an ordinary guy. It's normal to miss him, I'm adjusting. It's over now, and I'll go on, and I'll be just fine._ Harry continued to repeat this mental mantra as he got up and went about his normal evening routine. Eventually, Harry lost himself in a cheap detective novel, and was asleep before he discovered the identity of the killer.

--ooOoo--

Harry owled Remus early Friday morning, checking to see if the man's schedule would be clear for the weekend. The werewolf was next on his list of people to catch up with. He'd thoroughly enjoyed having lunch with Remus before Valentine's Day and regretted that he hadn't been in touch with him since then. As it turned out, Remus was indeed going to be available, and ensured Harry that he would be welcome to spend the weekend at Hogwarts.

That evening, after receiving the owl from Remus, sending a quick reply and packing his bag, Harry glanced around the flat to see if he had left behind anything important, checked the locks on the door and windows, charmed the Floo to ward itself after his exit, shouldered his bag and Flooed himself to The Wolf's Den. Of course, he found himself struggling to stay upright upon exiting the Floo. It was a source of embarrassment for Harry, though he could tell that he was getting better with age and practice. Remus wasn't in the room, so Harry set his bag down, dusted off the soot, and made himself comfortable on the sofa.

He had no idea how long he was there, but it was long enough for his busy week and heavy work day to catch up with him. He was dozing when Remus came into the room and nearly fell off the sofa when Remus startled him awake with a tickling charm. It took him a moment to catch his balance, register what was happening, find his wand and cast the counter-spell. During that time, Remus was laughing jovially at Harry's expense. He quickly made an attempt to stifle his laughter, though, when Harry pulled himself up and offered his best glare toward the werewolf. "You'll pay for that one, Lupin." The threat was lost, as Harry could barely withhold his giggles long enough to say it, but he had to put up a front.

Remus chuckled again, "Ooooh, I'm shaking in my boots, young man!" Harry raised an eyebrow at that, and the two wizards immediately began casting innocuous charms and mild hexes at one another. This had been a pastime of theirs during the last couple years that Harry was at Hogwarts, ostensibly to help Harry's reflexes and reaction times, but in truth, it just gave them something fun to do and allowed them to spend some time together and relieve a little stress. It was only moments before they gave up on the tickling charms and other such frivolities and resorted to a bit of physical wrestling and tickling. Finally, they ended up collapsing on the sofa in a fit of laughter.

"Missed you, Remus."

"Good to see you again, too." Harry caught a note of wistfulness underlying that statement and began thinking of his recent resolutions. He didn't, however, catch the slightly lustful look that went along with that wistfulness. Remus was rather thankful that he managed to reign in his errant thoughts before Harry turned to face him.

"I'm so glad I could get away, and that you were available, Remus. I need to talk to you. A lot has happened since I saw you last, and I've come to some conclusions, and made some decisions about myself, and my future. One of those decisions is that I want to be closer to my friends and keep in touch with them more. It's a crying shame that you're one of my closest friends and you don't know what's been going on in my life for the past month or so." Remus could see that this was a serious conversation and hoped beyond hope that there was nothing tragically wrong. His overly concerned nature quickly took hold and began imagining terminal illness, Quidditch accidents claiming the life of Harry's boyfriend, devastating fires, sudden poverty and various other tragedies that might have befallen his young friend. He said nothing, though, waiting for Harry to express whatever he felt he needed to. He offered Harry a cup of tea, and the offer was greatly accepted. Remus found that it was often easier to relay bad news over a steaming cup of tea, and he certainly didn't want to be empty handed when Harry offered his bad tidings.

"I guess, first of all, I should tell you about Valentine's Day." Harry began. It was easier to tell, now that he had time to think it through, and tell his other friends, "I found out that Oliver was cheating on me, and we broke up. He ranted about open relationships, as if they're common and expected among witches and wizards, but I've since been told that it's not quite true. Anyway, I told him to get out, and that was that."

Remus, though sympathetic to Harry's pain, actually felt relieved to learn that his worst fears were unfounded. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry about that. I know it's rough. I'm glad you stood strong, though. If you want an open relationship, that's one thing, but if you are looking for and expecting monogamy, you bloody well deserve it!" Remus felt his hackles rise at the thought of Oliver Wood hurting Harry like that. It simply wasn't wise to mess with the members of a werewolf's pack, and Remus had always considered Harry a part of his pack.

Harry smiled somewhat sadly. "Thanks." He looked down, embarrassed, and took a deep breath before he continued. It was nearly ten minutes later when he finally finished explaining what he had done to Oliver's belongings, how he moped about for that first week, and then ended up getting drunk and sleeping with Charlie. He told Remus about the wonderful vacation he'd had and the self-discoveries he had made. "So, I'm contacting the people important to me and letting them know how important they are. And I'm promising to try my best to be around more, and to be more open about what's happening. You are very important to me, Remus, and I don't want to lose that. I mean it."

"I know you do Harry. And I'm just as guilty. I need to try more myself, you're one of the few friends I have, and at my age one really begins to realise how important friendships can be."

"Oh please, don't start with the age thing. People are constantly acting as though I'm still a bumbling, foolish fifteen year old. Even Ron and Hermione, despite the fact we're all the same age!"

Remus laughed, and Harry found himself pleased to hear the sound again. He'd always had fun with Remus, and enjoyed laughing with him. It seemed lately there weren't that many people who could make him laugh anymore. Oh, Ron could do it sometimes, even Hermione could on occasion, but Remus and Luc seemed to be the only ones who could do it on a regular basis. Harry drew himself out of his listless pondering to respond to Remus' questions about Ron and Hermione.

"They're both doing well, and engaged. I don't think they've decided when, but just the fact that they've finally realised after nearly 12 years that they are meant to be together – well it's just about time, you know?" They shared a laugh again before Harry went on to catch Remus up on his friends' professional lives. "Ron's working at Gringotts. He seems to really enjoy it there. Oh – he can't tell me much about what he does because he's in the Special Investigations department and it's all protected by confidentiality charms, but he does like it. Hermione's nearly finished with her medi-witch training and will be apprenticing with Poppy next term, so I guess you'll be seeing more of her than me. She's also doing some research with a Muggle doctor – his brother is a Muggleborn wizard, so he's not oblivious to the magical world - in the hopes that they can find ways to work together, solving problems between them that neither Muggle nor Magical medicine can solve alone. It's very interesting to listen to her talk about it, if you can keep her from going into too much medical language that no one understands."

The pair chatted well into the night, and Harry knew that coming to visit his friend and his old home was the right thing to do. He had moped around the flat long enough, and heading back there would be a disaster. But he knew it wouldn't be for much longer, anyway. Very soon he would be in London, and he could start over. Again.

--ooOoo--

Saturday dawned with a promise of being a beautiful, crisp spring day. With Ostara less than a week away, it seemed the earth was beginning to prepare for the imminent change of the seasons. The grass was a little greener, there were just a few tiny flowers starting to bloom and the littlest buds popping out on the trees. The air, though it still had a chill, especially in early morning or after dusk, was decidedly less biting. Harry took all this in as he walked the grounds with Remus that morning, greeting the teachers he had known in school, and smiling patiently at the children who recognised him. Remus knew that Harry detested his Boy-Who-Lived status and the publicity and attention it brought him. He silently observed Harry's interaction with them, proud of the young man for understanding the difference between children in awe of a war hero and 'fans' obsessed with a legend. For a fleeting moment, he knew James would have been proud. Harry's longing gaze toward the Quidditch pitch and his nostalgic comments were not missed by Remus' observations, either.

"You know, Hogwarts was really the first place I ever felt at home. When Hagrid came to get me…" the words stuck in Harry's throat for a moment as he involuntarily looked toward Hagrid's now empty hut.

His very first friend had been amongst the casualties of the war, along with many of the Aurors in the Order. Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Mad Eye Moody never made it to the end of the war, nor did Professors Flitwick and Sinistra. Both had perished in the defence of the castle, along side Firenze and a few other centaurs. It was difficult not to miss them, but Harry knew they had all died fighting for the freedom and safety of wizard kind and that they wouldn't have wanted to be mourned excessively. He cleared his throat and started again. "When Hagrid came to get me, he brought me a squished birthday cake. It was the first I'd ever had. And he became my first friend, and this was my home. I really love this place."

Remus placed a comforting arm around Harry's shoulders, offering silent understanding even as he silently considered this information. A short while later, as they headed in for lunch, Harry found himself glad that he likely wouldn't have to deal with Snape's sour attitude during this visit. Oh, he had gained some respect for the man and they could usually be civil to one another, but sometimes, it was just too much effort. Thankfully, with the full moon coming up, Snape would be spending most of his time brewing the Wolfsbane potion. Remus had told him that Snape was making some improvements to it, trying new adjustments every two or three months, so it took a little more of his time than it used to. Harry was glad for that, as Remus seemed to be thriving at this point in his life.

Harry had the obligatory morning tea meeting with Albus Dumbledore, and was grateful that some things never changed. The old man seemed a little older, but that was to be expected. Harry found himself gushing about the teaching he had been offering the new recruits, and his satisfaction in what he did. He was optimistic about his meeting on Monday, so gave his former mentor a full run down of the exciting plans he had for full time teaching in the Auror Division. Still, by the time Harry headed out and into the sunshine, he felt that Albus had something planned. He hoped the meddling old wizard didn't stick his nose where it wasn't wanted. Harry could handle things himself – after all, he wasn't eleven years old any more.

--ooOoo--

After lunch, Harry decided that an afternoon trip to Hogsmeade was in order. He hadn't been to any of the familiar wizarding shops in quite some time and was especially looking forward to seeing the new items at Honeyduke's. He stopped at a new Quidditch store in the centre of the village – _the Questing Quaffle_, and considered buying a pair of very nice dragon hide Quidditch gloves. The strong memories of Charlie wearing them made Harry doubt himself. Did he want the gloves just because of some good sex? Surely he wasn't quite _that_ hard up, was he?

After much contemplation, he finally decided to wait, knowing he could get the gloves later on if he decided he really did want them. Besides, if he was going to be living in London, he could just pick them up from Quality Quidditch Supplies at any time.

At Honeyduke's, he was pleased to see all his old favourites as well as a few new items. They had Fairy Dust _(sprinkle it on your tongue and levitate like Peter Pan!)_, Peanut Butter Logs _(cut from real Peanut Butter Trees)_, and Cream Filled Chocotubers _(choose the flavour of your pus!)_ which looked and acted remarkably like Bubotubers, but released a flavoured cream when squeezed. They were available in a variety of flavours including strawberry, butter cream, peppermint, pumpkin and more. Harry felt thirteen again as he gathered an armload of candies, both old and new, and proceeded to the counter. It was exhilarating.

His next stop was Weasley Wizard Wheezes. He'd been surprised to learn that Fred was dating Lavender Brown, but didn't know what the twins were up to beyond that. It was mere seconds after he poked his head through the door when he heard one of them shouting his name. He turned quickly and, if memory served him correctly, found himself facing Fred who continued his rapid speech in typical twin fashion. "Harry! How've you been? What brings you by here this afternoon? Are you coming back, moving here? Gosh it's good to see you again, mate." It was a little odd listening to Fred talk by himself. Harry had long ago become used to the twins' shared method of speech. Before he could try to answer the questions, he was enveloped in a hug that, once again, reminded him how much he missed his adopted family.

"I've been fine, just visiting for the weekend and no – I'm not moving back. How about you? How're things going? How's Lavender?"

"I'm fine, business is well, Lavender is a few months into growing the next Weasley, but no one else knows yet, so you keep quiet about it."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that bit of news, but he grinned broadly, "Congratulations. Does your Mum know?"

Fred shook his head before looking around surreptitiously. He realised he shouldn't be telling Harry, but he was obviously excited at his impending fatherhood. "Not yet, and we're holding out as long as we can because she's going to bust a vessel when she learns that we're waiting until after the baby's born before we get married."

Harry laughed. He could just imagine the wedding, and having spent seven years in classes with Lavender, didn't envy Fred one iota. "I see. So when is it due?"

"Mid September, and Lavender wants an Autumn wedding. Oi, Harry, you've got to see George and Lee while you're here!"

"Lee Jordan? He's here? I haven't seen him since he left Hogwarts."

Fred gestured with his thumb, "Yes, he's in the back with George, I think he's helping with inventory. Go on in, I've got to see to these customers. I'm sure they'll both be happy to see you."

Harry let himself into the back section of the store, remembering that the storeroom was to the left and the small bed-sit to the right. The twins had set up a small flat in the back in case they needed it, and had allowed him to stay there on occasion when he was between missions during the war. He'd found it comforting, to be close to Hogwarts, rather than stuck in Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order. The Order members had been difficult to deal with at times, and Harry had often welcomed the chance to escape. It took a moment for Harry to realise that he was still standing in the corridor, staring at the doorway that had led to his occasional safe haven.

Bringing himself back to the present, he opened the storeroom door, and was stopped suddenly in his tracks. His surprise was unprecedented, as were the sudden stirrings of arousal, when he spotted George and Lee in an obviously blissful state of half-undress. George's head was thrown back, his shaggy red hair hanging just slightly down his creamy freckled shoulders. He was leaning against a stack of Extendable Ear cases that just reached above his waist. That support seemed to be plenty as Lee was vigorously attacking George's left nipple. Harry could see his tongue flicker out once or twice before his lips closed around that nipple again, creating suction that was audible from the doorway. Lee's hair had grown, and he still wore it in his favoured dreadlocks which now hung past his shoulder-blades, swinging this way and that as he adjusted the angle of his head to better tease that abused nipple.

George was making quiet little mewling sounds, grinding his hips in frustration, and when Lee suddenly reached into George's unzipped pants and cupped the twitching bulge that Harry had been trying not to notice, George let out something that was a cross between a gasp and a cry. The expression on his face was enough to remind Harry of Charlie. He was suddenly struck with the discomfort of watching George and Lee in the throes of passion as well as a renewed sense of guilt for sleeping with Charlie. _Gods, am I ever going to get over that?_ He couldn't help wondering about it, but decided that this was not the best time or place to consider it deeply. He also thought that this wasn't the best time for him to catch up with George and Lee. Harry quietly backed out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

Belatedly, two disconnected thoughts raced through his mind. The first was that he never knew that George was bisexual, let alone gay; and the other was that little devilish voice that fervently wished he had brought his camera with him. He quashed both errant thoughts as he made his way back to the storefront. Harry was grateful to see that Fred was still busy, thereby offering him the perfect opportunity to leave with nothing more than a wave. Before anyone could stop him, he was fast on his way back to Hogwarts, forming plans of flying around the pitch for a while. All those dreams of chasing snitches had made him miss the exhilaration. His sudden moment of voyeurism had also left him with the urge to let off some steam with a fervent bout of broom handling.

--ooOoo--

The weekend was over all but too soon, and Sunday evening found Harry busy packing his things. He was making sure he would be ready to Floo to the Ministry first thing in the morning. He was glad he chose not to mope around the flat, as the weekend had literally flown by. With any luck, he would have his transfer tomorrow, and would be out of the Somerset office by the end of the week. The end of the month at the very latest.

As he was meticulously folding his clothes and trying to fit them all neatly in his bag, he heard the familiar rustle of paper behind him. It was the journal. Harry quickly put the rest of his clothes in a stack to pack later, and gathered his quill and ink so he could have a chat with Luc. The comforting familiarity of reading Luc's words seemed to be a perfect end to a great weekend. He started reading and had just read Luc's suggestion about scheduled chat times when the writing paused. _Perfect!_ He was always pleased when their schedules matched up and allowed these talks, and thought Luc's suggestion was brilliant.

_**(Is life getting any easier without 'You-Know-Who' (you know which one I mean).**_

Harry found himself laughing at that. _I just wonder what Luc would think if he knew how much easier my life is without the **other** 'You-Know-Who.'_ He knew Luc was just being cautious, trying not to bring up Ollie's name, but the reference put things in perspective for him. Just as Hermione had said so many years ago, "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." If he couldn't bring himself to talk about Ollie, he would never get over the pain of the situation. Self-examination would be much better for him.

Harry talked about his feelings and his work plans, and was extremely pleased to hear that Luc had made a new friend. In fact, he was a little surprised by the relief he felt by that. It was nice to know his friend would be a little less lonely.

The increasing closeness he felt to this anonymous wizard was mildly unsettling, but felt so natural it was difficult to question it. He enjoyed the fact that they could talk about extremely serious topics as well as frivolous and meaningless events. The mild flirtation that crept into the conversation was fun, but Harry couldn't help second-guessing himself at times, wondering if he was coming on too strong. _Coming on too strong? I wasn't even trying to come onto him at all!_ Harry thought about this a moment. _And why not?_ Another good question. _Well, because he's my friend, and we both need a friend._ There, that ought to satisfy his inner curiosity. _And what about that close friend turned lover comment you just made?_ Bugger.

Before he could contemplate that too much, the conversation took a drastic turn and the green writing stopped. Harry looked over his last comment, thinking about his statements regarding children of Death Eaters. _What if he's the child of a Death Eater? Is he offended by that? Is he getting angry, or have I upset him? Double Bugger._

When the writing continued, Harry realised he was worrying for nothing, and the conversation continued from there to cover a range of other topics. He couldn't help the chuckle when Luc talked about visiting the Muggle shops and buying clothes there. The leather jacket seemed like a nice purchase, Harry had always had a thing about leather jackets. It was the 'jeens' that struck Harry as funny, and he could just imagine what this pure-blood wizard might have looked like, trying to find clothes and talk to sales people and handle Muggle currency.

Harry was amazed to see just how late it was when they finally said good night to each other. His deep yawn was a dead giveaway that he needed some sleep. Realising he needed some sleep, he gave up on his compulsive packing habits and simply waved his wand to put everything back in the bag. Tomorrow would be a very busy day.

--ooOoo--

**Part II – Just Another Manic Monday**

Harry felt the air of anticipation as he landed in the floo at Ministry Headquarters in London. After his unsatisfactory consultations with his supervisors, he had managed to put together a proposal that would see him working full time as a teaching Auror. It was so simple, and he couldn't see how the head of the Auror Division, Lloyd Winslow, could turn him down. It was a win-win scenario for everyone. Harry would get to do what he loved every day, and the trainee Aurors would get to benefit from his extensive experience. Who better to teach the future Aurors than the man who defeated the biggest threat of them all? He managed not to stumble out of the fireplace, but quickly stepped aside as others arrived in the foyer at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry deftly brushed the soot from his robes, and he nervously ran his hand through his hair. It was a busy time of morning, with dozens of witches and wizards arriving to start their working day. Harry noticed that, for some reason, there was only one queue open for the wand check-in, and it was ever increasing. Harry hastily made his way into the queue, right in front of a very loudly spoken and obese wizard. If it wasn't for the fact he was in the Ministry of Magic, Harry might have mistaken the man for his Uncle Vernon. Well, that and the fact the obnoxious wizard's American drawl was drowning out every other conversation in the room. The unpleasant and obese wizard was talking to an equally obese witch (Harry thought she was only one chin whisker away from being called a Hag), whose very tall hat had obviously not survived the floo trip unscathed.

"Honestly Vera, what possessed you to wear that hat. You know they won't appreciate it over here. These British have no appreciation for style and the latest fashions. Tsk. Why is everyone just standing around? You just can't get good service these days. Nobody would stand for this back home." The wizard wasn't alone in his frustration, but Harry stifled a smirk at their comments.

"Why are we just standing here Myron? I thought you said we'd be through here and into this Diagon Alley quickly?" Vera and Myron, obviously tourists, whined and complained in that manner for many minutes, but Harry quickly managed to switch off and ignore their loud and obnoxious jibes and their complete misunderstanding of all things British. The fact that this Myron character looked and behaved just like his Uncle Vernon made it all the easier to ignore him.

As Harry reached the front of the queue, he stepped up to the counter. Eric, the same tired and worn security wizard who had worked there for the past eight years, was still stationed at the entrance to the golden gates of the Ministry. He was looking just a little frazzled and worn as he had every other time Harry happened to come to the Ministry.

"Wand," he grunted at Harry disinterestedly.

Harry smiled at the flustered wizard. "Morning Eric. This lot keeping you busy?" he said cheerfully. Eric sat up and looked a Harry, a tired smile crossing his face.

"Mr Potter! Yeah, it's hectic here today. All the other wizards on security flooed in sick this morning. I think it was the fact that the Cannons beat Puddlemere meself. What 'choo think?"

"The Cannons beat Puddlemere?" Harry asked half-heartedly as he felt torn at the news.

"Yep. First time in forty years. Can you believe it? Their Chasers made an all time record. I wonder if that Puddlemere keeper was actually at the game – for all the good he did his team. I suspect there's a few Sobrietus charms being cast around this morning." Eric nudged Harry in a friendly way.

Before Harry could reply, the unpleasant American tourist behind him interrupted. "Hey, it's not like we've got all day! Go chat on your own time, some of us have more important things to do today?" Myron jostled in and interjected.

Harry turned to look at the blustery man. Even though this stranger was a good couple of inches taller, Harry pulled himself up to his full height, staring the other man down.

"Well perhaps you'd like to turn around and head back to where you came from? Some of us _do_ have important things to do, but unlike you – we respect a little common courtesy. Honestly. What sort of tourist insults the country he's visiting, and all before he even sets foot inside the door?" Harry's temper was frayed, and he didn't need to lose it – not before this important meeting anyway. Grabbing his wand back from Eric, he strode off through the golden grilles and into the first lift, making his way down to the Auror Headquarters on level two. All the while, Myron, the obnoxious tourist, looked on in stunned indignation.

--oo0oo--

It was mere moments after Draco Malfoy spoke the name of his dreaded destination, that he found himself landing gently. He was quickly out of the floo - the tang of the International floo powder sizzling against his skin. Long forgotten scents assaulted Draco's nose as he looked up into the throng of wizards and witches queuing up at one central point. _Typical, _Draco thought as he screwed up his nose with a haughty sniff. _Only one line open when it's the busiest time of the day. _Draco knew this was just one more reason why he was better off living in Paris. The European wizarding communities were more open about visitors to their shores, but the British Ministry had disallowed Apparition of foreign visitors, and especially civilians into the country – a wartime measure the Ministry never thought to remove. All foreign visitors had to register at the International Wizard Lounge upon arrival; their wand checked, and their business recorded. Of course, the same visitors had to pass through a repeat procedure before they could leave the country.

Draco sighed as he looked at the ever growing queue, and he quickly found himself carried along with the crowd. He held his head high as his boots tapped against the highly polished timber floor. Slipping into the queue behind a very obese couple, he remembered Emmaline's words from the night before. He wasn't going to let anyone walk all over him. He was a Malfoy. He wasn't his father. If people couldn't distinguish between the two of them, then that was their problem. He'd even wear his Order of Merlin on his chest just to prove it, if that's what it would take to prove he was not the monster named Lucius Malfoy.

The wait seemed interminable. Draco could feel the ache creeping into his knee, and surreptitiously leaned more on his cane for support. He hadn't had time to prepare another pain killing potion that morning, but he was reluctant to admit that the cane actually helped him to walk with some semblance of dignity. The queue moved slowly, but Draco barely noticed. The wizard in front of him was most objectionable, as Draco found him sweating profusely, and sharing it with those nearby. His accent, American of course, was most annoying to Draco's ears, and his incessant whining had Draco itching to suggest that he perhaps head back in the nearest floo, and go back from where he came. He and his wife, Vera, were so big, and they seemed to move so slowly, that Draco couldn't tell where the front of the queue ended.

Despite his calm exterior, Draco was becoming rather impatient. He had not wanted to make this trip, and he was still unsure why he had to be here to speak to the goblins at Gringotts. Surely they could have just sent him a letter? After all, he had no say in the estate until he was twenty-five.

"Hey, it's not like we've got all day! Go chat on your own time, some of us have more important things to do today?" the fat wizard had drawled. Whoever was ahead of him in the queue was obviously annoying the obnoxious American. Draco thought he caught the end of some rather scathing parting words. For a second he thought he recognised the voice, but he couldn't be sure. The echo from the gushing waters of the Fountain of Magical Brethren was drowning out most voices to a loud roar. The acoustics of the room's high ceiling sent everyone's voices into a cacophony of sound. Draco attempted to look past the American couple, but only managed to catch a flurry of dark robes as they sauntered through the golden gates, and into the inner sanctum of the Ministry.

It had taken another ten minutes of the obese couple incessantly questioning the hapless attendant at the security desk, before Draco made it to the front of the queue. Draco's eyes rolled as they asked the simplest of questions. Had they bothered to read the signs, or check the literature available before they arrived in England, they wouldn't have wasted everyone's time. As it was, Draco was almost late as his wand was checked, and his business recorded and approved. He moved beyond the desk to the departing floo junctions, and quickly made his way to Diagon Alley. He barely had time to notice that the security clerk in attendance was staring at him strangely. It was to be expected. _And so it begins_, he thought wryly.

As he stepped from the floo at The Leaky Cauldron, Draco swiftly made his way out into the Alley. It had been a long time since he had last set foot in the Alley – but not long enough for his liking. The cloying sense of familiarity was nearly overwhelming, but when Draco looked beyond that, he could see just how drab the whole place was. _Drab and tired. So unlike Paris._ He barely acknowledged anyone or anything as he walked as quickly as he could to Gringotts. He didn't raise a sweat, but he couldn't help but feel the apprehension rising about this particular meeting. He would face these goblins and show them who had the power. _After all, I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoy's bow down to no one. _Draco could hear the hypocritical echo of his father's words as he pounded the cobblestones towards the bank. The atmosphere had suddenly brought with it more memories of his father than he ever cared to have again.

A sense of comfortable familiarity overcame him as he walked into the bank. He could sense the power radiating within the building, and it empowered him. Whether it was goblin magic, or just the pull of the wealth below, Draco didn't know. It had been a long time since he felt so empowered, but he knew that these goblins could understand the same language – money _was_ power.

Draco knew that whatever the outcome of the meeting, he would always have one thing – his dignity. He mustered every ounce of it he had as he ingratiated himself to the head goblin. _After all, it's only a few goblins. I can handle them. What else could possibly happen?_

--oo0oo--

The world seemed a very different place two hours later as Draco reappeared in the Alley. He barely noticed the stares and glares as he openly made his way to the one place he could try to forget about it all. Even the lingering thought that he was walking way too fast for his knee to fully cope didn't stop him as he made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. He had plenty to think about, and a thirst that could knock down a hippogriff.

--oo0oo--

Harry stepped out of the floo at the Leaky Cauldron, desperately in need of a stiff drink. His meeting at the Ministry had been rather disappointing – more than disappointing, in fact. The head of the Auror division was unable to commit to any firm answer on his request for a full time training position. Not that Harry was surprised. The moment he entered the office, he knew what the answer to his request would be. The fact that he told Harry he'd need more time to think about it was further evidence. Harry knew what he really meant. _No, we like your input, only because it makes us look good, but we'd much rather have you out there pushing papers – in fact, we'd really like you out there on the streets and in the front lines. But if you can't see your way clear to doing that, then we can't guarantee that we have the need for you as a full time teacher. Besides, the war is over. I think the division has been rather accommodating in pandering to your wants. Don't expect your name to get you too many more favours, Potter._

Harry brushed himself off again as he left the floo. At least he landed upright, although he still managed to be covered in soot, and his hair was messier than usual. Tom looked up from over the counter, and waved at Harry. Harry waved back, and called out "I'll be back in a sec." Harry indicated the lavatory, and Tom nodded.

--ooOoo--

As Tom poured butterbeer for another customer at the bar, he looked up at the new patron arriving from Diagon Alley. He blinked rapidly, as a silhouette from the past entered. The chill running down his spine at the totally unexpected sight caused him to spill the beer. The figure paused in the doorway – the light shining behind him. The cane, the stance and bearing of the wizard, the cut of the tailored robes – _it couldn't be_. As the newcomer came closer to the bar, Tom's breath hitched in relief as he realised that it wasn't Lucius Malfoy – he was long dead. However, with the obviously uncanny likeness, Tom knew this to be the son. Still, the vision was frightening enough. A few other patrons had noticed his entrance, and were suddenly silenced. The newcomer looked around at the silent stares. His glare soon had them looking into their goblets, or quietly resuming their own conversations.

Draco headed slowly to the bar as he removed his gloves. _Welcome back to England, Mr Malfoy_, he thought bitterly.

"Mr Malfoy." The barkeeper nodded. "Haven't seen you since..."

"A private dining room thanks." Draco tossed a couple of sickles across the bar. He wasn't in the mood for small talk with the hunchback. "I'd like a pot of English Breakfast tea sent up, and two cups, if you please." He threw another couple of sickles across the counter. Tom nodded and indicated the door to the first private dining room. Draco really didn't want to stay any longer, but he had promised to meet Severus, and he still had to return to the bank to sign a few papers, much to his chagrin. As he made his way to the dining room, he turned sharply, and headed back to the bar. "Oh, and some soup and bread," he snapped as more coins crossed his palms. The greasy smell of the food was off-putting, but he really needed to eat something, seeing as he hadn't faced breakfast. As much as he desperately craved it, he knew he wasn't going to get anything remotely like a decent cup of coffee this side of the channel, so he headed up the stairs to the dining room.

--ooOoo--

Harry opened the lavatory door just as a rustle of robes climbed the stairs slowly and had turned the corner. A whiff of earthy, refined cologne passed by. Harry sniffed. He couldn't place the smell, but perhaps he had come across it that morning, in the Ministry. He shrugged, and headed back over to the bar. A few faces recognised him along the way, but he just smiled and nodded. He was rather lucky that the current patrons were not the gushy types that preferred to mob him. Besides, those patrons there at this hour of the morning were regulars, and were probably too engrossed in their drinks to really care. For which Harry was profoundly grateful.

Harry chatted quietly to Tom for a couple of minutes, before sinking quietly into the corner of the bar. In his current mood, he really needed something stronger than his usual. At the last minute he relented. "Just the Butterbeer, Tom," but quickly changed his mind, "actually, better add a firewhisky to that order too."

He was having a hard time coming to terms with the outcome of his meeting. The whole meeting made him quake with fury, making it difficult for him to relax. For the first time he realised just how much the Auror division was using him. Oh, that prat Winslow said they couldn't make any special exceptions for Harry, but he could see the jealousy written all over the wanker's face. Had it been anyone else in charge, Harry knew he could have asked for anything, and got it. This guy barely gave him the time of day. It appeared Winslow would stop at nothing to prevent the renowned Harry Potter, Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World from getting _anything_ that he wanted.

As he paid for his drinks, he turned to head to the dimmest and darkest corner of the bar, but nearly bumped into an ominous shadow looming before him, blocking what little light there was. Harry looked up and was surprised to see a face he'd not seen in years.

"Mr Potter," the Hogwarts potions master looked down at the two drinks Harry was carrying, raising an eyebrow. "A little early in the day for such strong fare, isn't it?" The gravely, sarcastic tones had not dulled since the last time he'd heard them. _Clearly fame isn't everything._

"I didn't know they let you out of your dungeons during the week, Snape." Harry retorted. Just his luck. He had been grateful to miss the man during his weekend at the school, but with the direction the current day was taking, he wasn't surprised to run into the man. He had lost the fear for his former professor years earlier and he knew just how much the man had sacrificed to spy for the Order for so long. But today, he really wasn't in the mood for any of the professor's nonsense. All Harry wanted was to sit in a quiet corner and calm down.

Snape's mouth twitched. "Still as impertinent and irreverent as ever." The slight nod of his head indicated that Snape actually recognised Harry as an equal.

"I try, Professor. I'm glad I live up to your expectations. I do try my very best."

"Yes, you are very trying." The professor's droll humour was not lost on Harry.

He looked the professor directly in the eye. "Seriously, shouldn't you be terrorising hapless Hufflepuffs into submission, or was the thought of making a dig at an old Gryffindor just too good an opportunity to pass up? Having to go further a field to get your kicks. You must be slipping, professor."

"My, my, Potter, so cynical. Who stomped all over your good humour? Is life a little boring now that there are no dark lords around to vanquish?" Snape had taken the bait, and had risen to the challenge.

"Just killing time professor, now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to kill a few brain cells." As he indicated his butterbeer, and the firewhisky chaser. Harry quickly brushed past the professor as he made his way to a quiet corner table.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the last, and shrugged. He was soon engrossed in a conversation with Tom, who quickly indicated the upstairs private dining room. Harry looked back and noted the sudden animation on the professor's face as he headed up the stairs. He had a not so generous thought about professor, but realised that the man would probably find that type of solace in Knockturn Alley. He couldn't think of anyone else who might make the professor seem so animated. Knocking back the firewhisky in one mouthful, he sat, stewing over the outcome of the morning's meeting.

--oo0oo--

A knock at the door of his dining room soon brought Draco out of his miserable reverie. Expecting the bartender with his soup, he was pleasantly surprised to see Severus.

"Thank the Stars – a friendly face at last!" Draco smiled in delight. The delight was genuine in Snape's eyes as they locked forearms in a firm handshake.

"It's been too long, Draco," Snape replied.

Draco sat back down and it was apparent to his old teacher that the meeting had not gone to Draco's expectations.

"Why don't you start from the beginning, Draco?" Snape knew the young man well enough to know that the problem would just eat him up inside if he didn't share it. The raised eyebrow told Draco he wasn't going to be able to skim over any of the details.

"If I'm going to do that, I'll need to fortify myself first. Excuse me, Severus, I'm going to get something a little stronger than tea. Would you like anything?" Severus shook his head and picked up the teapot as Draco pulled off his green cloak and laid it over an empty chair, before walking out of the room. The pub had become seemingly more crowded downstairs, and Draco had to wait a moment at the bar. He tried to wait patiently. It was a part of his new resolutions, to accept people in general and not get so easily irritated by them. He knew he hadn't been that generous earlier in the day, but at least he admitted his own failing. Flash had indeed had a profound affect on him.

--ooOoo--

As Harry slowly drank his butterbeer, he spotted a recent copy of Witch Weekly that had been left on the table. Harry rarely bought the magazine, knowing what rubbish it usually printed about his own life made him sceptical of the authenticity of the other articles. Harry immediately regretted opening the magazine. Not only was it their 'Hottest Quidditch Bachelors' special, but right there, large as life in the centrefold, was a two page spread on Oliver. Harry automatically sprayed Butterbeer on the picture, where Oliver immediately wrinkled his nose in distaste at being covered in the sticky stuff.

Despite the initial shock, Harry read the article, but scoffed and rolled his eyes at the drivel it contained. It was all nonsense, but Harry didn't need to be reminded of just how 'hot' Oliver looked when he was trying to be seductive, as the photograph definitely was.

He tossed the offending magazine into a corner, and realised he needed another drink. _Preferably something stronger_, he thought as he headed back to the bar. He noticed a couple of witches with the same magazine, both women giggling and swooning over the same picture of Oliver. Harry felt a tiny pang of regret, but knew he had no right to feel that way. The bar had started to get crowded. A few giggling and carefree children were weaving their way through the crowd, chasing each other as they giggled into their hands. The stern call of a motherly witch reached his ears, and the two young boys turned to further avoid her authority.

Just as well he had the time for another drink, as he wasn't due to meet Ron for lunch for at least another hour. The two errant boys jostled him as they pushed past, escaping their mother's firm tongue. Pausing just before he reached the bar, he turned, certain he had again just walked through a cloud of that familiar earthy cologne. He saw a couple walking toward the hall that led to the rooms, and presumed it was the wizard's scent. Relatively satisfied with this conclusion, especially since the smell was dissipating, Harry slowly took a couple of steps backwards toward the bar. A small explosion and a pall of smoke erupted not far from the bar, and a few people screamed and shouted. In the confusion, a few witches and wizards ran in all directions. Years of training had honed Harry's skills, and he grabbed his wand, fearing the worst. As the smoke cleared, his eyes began to water and his nose immediately recognised the putrid stench of dungbombs. He relaxed momentarily, realising those two young boys must have been playing some sort of prank. Much to his embarrassment, as he backtracked a few steps, he bumped straight into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…" Harry turned quickly, spouting out the apology but found the end of his sentence stuck in his throat when he came face to face with the last person he'd expected to run into.

--ooOoo--

The crowd had been frightened by the small explosion and the subsequent smoke. Draco immediately recognised the vile stench of Dungbombs, and sighed as he realised it would take a while for the panicked crowd to calm down. He waited patiently at the bar for people to settle down, and desperately hoped that someone would clear the stench soon. It was already seeping into his fine jacket, and it would take ages to get the smell out. Draco was still trying to hold his patience when he was bumped from behind. As he turned, he heard the apology and immediately knew that voice. He looked up slowly, and locked eyes with the one and only Harry Potter.

_-TBC -_

* * *

**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 1-August-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005

**Azhure's Notes:** Okay, ditto all that above, and just to let you know, the obnoxious characters of Myron and Vera are based on actual tourists I had the displeasure of crossing when I spent 14 wonderful days on holiday in New Zealand about ten years ago. Unfortunately, they seemed to follow us everywhere (we could hear them coming for miles); even on the plane home to Australia. I hope I've not offended anyone from that side of the pond, and I have no doubt they are the exception to the rule...

Also apologies for the lack of journal entries in this section, but we had to play a little catch-up. They will be back to their regularly scheduled chats soon enough... unfortunately, a little bit of plot got in the way.

**Replies (chapter 8)!**

**_Famous Angel:_** _I do hope you were able to access the uncensored versions on our Yahoo! Group. If you have trouble getting to certain chapters, try refreshing the index page. If you haven't been able to join the group at all, let me know and I'll see what we can do to add you. _

**_Sailor Grape:_** _Yes, Harry will be a stronger person after all that. He's been doing quite well lately and is pleased with himself for slowly becoming his own person. Thanks for the comments!_

**_Ningchan:_** _Oooh! Thanks for recommending us! It must be those recommendations that keep our Yahoo! Group growing on a regular basis!_

**_Tangledhair:_** _Well, thank you once again. It's always a joy to hear from you on here (not to mention tease you by telling you the completed chapter is available when you're right here in my house!) As for having sex with Charlie, I'll see if I can arrange that… Just as soon as I get through with my wild, passionate fling with Lucius! grins_

**_NayNymic:_** _I'm sorry you didn't like the chapter. I hope that Harry's view and thoughts in this chapter and the last have helped to clear things up for you. I don't think Harry's being stupid or slutty, he was distraught, drunk, and seeking comfort. It happens, even after really important relationships. I hope you've continued with the story and will stick around for more._

**_Kt:_** _Draco actually lives in Paris, but his chateau is in the South of France. I guess you can see by this chapter that they will have an unplanned meeting – but where it goes from here… I'm not telling! (and Azhure won't either, I can promise you that!) You'll just have to keep reading to find out more._

**_CuriousDreamWeaver:_** _Yes, Ollie really ballsed it up, didn't he? Thank you very much for the lovely comments, the whole thing was much fun to write, and I'm glad you enjoyed it!_

**_Leigh:_** _Thank you! Yes, we know much more than Draco. He's created this mental image of someone older, who hates the press and abhors the Daily Prophet and is basically everything he never imagined Harry Potter could be, therefore he's got NO clue! Isn't that lovely?_

**_Closetfanficaddict:_** _So – are you reading the censored versions on our group? This chapter hasn't been censored, but if you haven't caught the others 'uncut' then you should be sure to check out our Yahoo! Group. Also – just to clear things up, I'm flattered by your comments on my writing, as I'm sure Azhure is too. Do remember that there are two of us, though. I couldn't do half this well without her. grins_

**_Lizliterarius:_** _you are lovely. And I hope you continued to find the crossing paths 'deliciously evil' as you read more of it in this chapter. You might as well get up off your knees, girl. We'll keep writing- I promise!_

**_Roguemessenger:_** _You never fail to have me rolling in the floor with laughter! I always laugh at your author's notes and have been enjoying every chapter of "Something More," but it's really something when you can crack me up in a review! And though you mentioned this in your ch. 9 review, I'll go ahead and say congratulations on the wedding! And we're amazed at the dedication of reading our stuff on your honeymoon! Hope your partner wasn't too upset by that! **Ditto that from Azhure... **_

**_Rebuky:_** _Forgot the story! gasp Well, now, we can't be having that! Perhaps you should consider joining the yahoo group so you'll get a special notice each time we update a chapter. I must admit that I hope we can manage to sneak something up on you before it's all said and done. Thanks for reading, and for reviewing!_

**_Romie: _** _Wow – thanks for that long review, and all the insightful thoughts. We've been seeing the Harry/Draco as the ultimate goal, I think, and each of them have… stepping stones… so to speak, along the way. Yes, Draco's had a couple flings and Harry had his thing with Charlie, but it's not that either of them are just looking for a shag, nor are they solely searching for love. In essence, what they are really searching for is their sense of self. We're trying to keep this as true to life as possible, drawing on some of our own experiences and those around us as we follow these young men through the events that shape them into the fully formed people they will become. It's a process, and they're both learning. As for Ginny, with the VD and glowing 'skank' – I…uh…we'll take that under advisement, okay?_

**_Louise4:_** _You hold on to that blanket, dearie… you may be in for a bumpy ride! And how do you feel about it now that you have that (mental) picture of Lupin from POA? _

**_Tragica:_** _wow – I appreciate you taking the time to read all this if it wasn't really striking your fancy. I'll tell you now that it will be a while before there is any resolution. Of course, you've seen the meeting at the end of this chapter (unless you're reading the reviews before the chapter or something) but I can't tell you what will happen next. I can say that our plan is to build on this relationship and allow things to happen at a healthy and natural pace. That's why it's taking so long, because it would be extremely OOC for both of them if they were to write once or twice, meet each other and fall madly in love. As for Draco's character, he's very much trying **not **to be like his father, which means he won't be walking around talking shite and calling people filthy little mudbloods and such. He's still got the Malfoy pride and the expectations based on his family status, but he is trying to become a better person. Canon!Draco is not someone that Harry would fall for, so obviously he's not going to be truly Canon… and you have to take into consideration that the characters we've seen in the books are only 15. The ones in this fic have been through 7 years of life experience including loves, deaths, war and more. That changes a person. We're pleased that you've added this to your Alert list and hope you continue to find some sort of enjoyment in it as it goes on._

**_Fayee:_** _it's hot there? I know you wrote that review two months ago – but it shouldn't have been hot there in late May, should it? **Azzie adds: Hope the UK is warm and sunny for u at the moment... I'm hanging out for the northern hemisphere sunshine too! BrizVegas is colder than Antarctica at present, but it's August, what more can I say?**_

**_Caroline Hal:_** _you can get the non-censored versions of all these chapters (as well as our other fics) at our Yahoo! Group, Page of Peril. See 'Wintermoon's notes,' listed above these replies for details on how to get there._

_**Caracal 16th: **Well, Oliver does prefer 'open relationships' but he's a bit of a git for leading Harry to believe that it's 'expected' in the wizarding world. Thanks for reading!_

**_Pinkwafer:_** _Well, as you've seen, they didn't meet during Harry's holiday, but you'll just have to wait and see what happens next. Of course since there are twice as many opinions about fics as there are readers of fics, we've had mixed reviews on this. Some readers agree with you and prefer the diary entries and real time chats between Luc and Flash. Other readers prefer the descriptions of their lives and interaction with others and want less of the diaries. Needless to say, those preferences seem to point toward a need for balance between the two, which is what we feel we've already got. That said, I doubt you'll see less prose, but as there are a lot of events in their lives, you may well see some things described in diary entries that are not discussed otherwise. I do hope you'll continue to enjoy it!_

**_It'sJustMe:_** _Um, er, wow? I was floored when I first got this review, and I'm floored again as I read it now. All the things you mention, about emotions, feelings, etc., are exactly what we've been striving for as we write this. If you read through some of the other replies here, you'll see that I've been stressing the fact that we want this relationship to build like it might in reality, rather than a sudden romance that comes from nowhere. When I first got this idea, it was based on the notion that Harry and Draco actually have a lot in common and might very well like each other if they could only get past the prejudice between them. I thought that communication which would allow anonymity would give the opportunity for Harry and Draco to get to know each other as well as themselves, and that once they had reached a point of acceptance, and understanding of their own lives and pasts, and had developed a relationship with each other through correspondence, **then and only then** could a feasible romance start up between them. I must agree with you about the other characters, and we are continually working on that, trying to make sure we include the people who should be involved in Harry and Draco's lives, but this is very centred on the two of them, as it is all about their journeys of self-discovery. That said, thank you for reading, I'd love to read your work as well, if you'll send a link, and don't worry, we won't stop writing. Honest!_

**_Silently Waiting:_** _Thanks! Glad you like it. In answer to your question, I (Wintermoon2) am not Wiccan, but I am eclectic pagan with a lot of Wiccan influences. I suppose the mention of Ostara in this chapter only reinforced your suspicion, eh? grins Now – as for Azhure, I think she'd classify herself as searching, but you'll have to ask her. And since you recognise the sabbats, I have to ask, are you Wiccan? **Azzie adds: Yep, still searching. I'll let you know when I decide which side of the fence I'll sit, when I decide to sit down, that is!**_

_**To each and every one of you that reviewed… including; Annie T, Slytherinkid07, HpDevotee, Menecarkawan, Chi7890, silver-sunn101, jennavere, CelestialDrgn, Silviasilver, Kaaera, JenRedRobe, Annabel, Kai, Obscurus Imber, Claire Sayers, dan-rad, futago, Emerald Icicle: **There are sooooo many reviews here that I simply can't reply to them all, especially since I tend to get so long winded with some of my replies. So if I didn't have a specific comment for you, then I'll just say Thank you very much for the reviews! We love them all, short or long, first or last, praising or questioning, constructive criticism, suggestions, desires, ponderings, requests, etc. Keep them coming, they fuel the muse! **Yep, Azhure says ditto to that too! Hope to have Chapter 11 out soon. Although my sojourn to the northern hemisphere might interrupt me, or force me to sit at wandpoint at wintermoon's house to get it finished.**_


	11. Lonely in Your Nightmares

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 11 - _Lonely in Your Nightmares_**

_Because you're lonely in your nightmare, let me in.  
**Duran Duran**_

_Ships that pass in the night,  
and speak each other in passing,  
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;   
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,  
Only a look and a voice,  
then darkness again and a silence.  
**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**_

* * *

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash or Letters to or from Harry.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams, or Diary entries from Luc.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

* * *

Draco walked through the front entrance of Gringotts in London and immediately relaxed as he took a deep breath, soaking in the comforting atmosphere of power. The goblins sure knew how to exude strength, and the building was designed to show just how powerful these goblins were. Draco revelled in it. It brought back some of the few good memories he had from his childhood. Only one thing could make him feel that way – the power of money, and he felt it beckoning.

The Head Goblin practically fell over himself as he personally escorted Draco to the elevator up to the third floor, to the heart of the Special Investigations branch. "Of course, Mr Malfoy, you'll need to sign the usual confidentiality agreements." Draco nodded, fully understanding the standard procedure. The goblins prided themselves in conducting a secure and confidential service to wizard kind, and the Malfoys had kept the trust of the goblins throughout the long years of the Goblin Wars, and even earlier. The goblins had long memories, and never forgot those who supported them. Draco had always made time for the creatures; after all, they did look after his inheritance – at least, on behalf of the trustees. He saw no reason not to treat them with all the respect they deserved. Besides, their magic was more powerful than that of wizards, and Draco had no desire to be at the wrong end of Goblin Magic.

The Special Investigations branch of the bank had been around for years – their work shrouded in secrecy. Their job was to ensure the integrity of dealing with high profile customers and large transactions. The goblins would have had no trouble running a bank; it was the involvement of wizards that made for an element of uncertainty in conducting business in the magical world. During the war, the wizards in the branch spent time investigating and disrupting Voldemort's sources of funding. They were also in charge of following up on the Wizengamot's ruling to extract compensation from the accounts of known Death Eaters.

Draco waited patiently as the elevator crept up to the third floor, trying to forget his concerns about the quickly approaching meeting. He was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic and consciously withheld the sigh of relief when the elevator doors opened up to the reception desk. Draco barely noticed the Head Goblin going back down in the elevator as he faced the young blonde witch who sat at the desk busily wrestling with a half dozen errant memos that hopped merrily as they danced for attention. One very insistent memo was tapping her shoulder, trying to urgently get her attention. A quick-quotes-quill busily continued to write out another memo to her unflustered and quiet dictation.

She looked up and smiled at Draco, who suddenly found his collar was too tight, and a light sweat broke out on his brow. _Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling about this?_ Draco's divinatory sense had not kicked in and reacted in such a way in a very long time. The last time he sensed something like that was just before the skirmish that signalled the end of the war.

"Mr Malfoy?" the reception witch looked at him quizzically after a few moments of silence on his part. Nodding in acknowledgement, she handed him a sheaf of parchments – the standard goblin contract. Draco sat in quiet concentration as he read the customary agreement. Agreeing with the terms and conditions (basically, he allowed the bank staff to access his accounts - records and all - and they in turn could not discuss any element of his business with anyone outside of the branch), he took the proffered quill, and quickly signed. Pulling out his wand, he quickly activated the confidentiality and binding charms bound to it, watching closely as it reacted immediately with the goblin magic inherent in the charmed parchment. The parchment vanished, no doubt making its way to the investigator's desk, waiting to be signed and finalised.

A magical chime sounded in the room. "You can go through now, Mr Malfoy," she said in a bright and cheerful voice. He nodded in assent, his throat suddenly dry.

Draco rose, carefully pulling his vest down in a nervous gesture. The tightening feeling in his throat didn't go away as he made his way into the office. Luckily, he had just put his wand away (it was never good business to enter a bank with your wand in your hand), and Draco's first thought as he stood in stunned silence, was that he was grateful he had done so. His casting hand was itching from the immediate reaction to the vibrant red hair and seemingly fatuous grin of the wizard sitting behind the desk.

"Weasley?" he asked incredulously. "What the..." Draco stood – blinking. Surely this wasn't happening. He was speechless. Despite all the scenarios Draco had imagined for this day, it had never crossed his mind that he might run into anyone he actually knew. For that matter, even if it had, Weasley would not be on his 'we must surely catch up and do lunch' list.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the elusive Draco Malfoy. I'd say it's a pleasure, but we both know it isn't," Ron didn't stand. He merely pointed with his well worn quill to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. "Glad you are on time. Just sit down," Ron returned to the folder full of papers on his desk, practically ignoring the former Slytherin.

"So eager to catch up on old times, Weasley?" Draco finally found his voice. He'd been thoroughly stunned when he found himself facing the redhead, and he sensed that this wouldn't bode well. Suddenly, all the desire to childishly taunt him came to the fore, and he smirked. "You couldn't resist being on the welcoming committee, I assume," Draco still stood, not wanting to take the proffered chair. He would stand even if it killed him, and desperately tried not to lean further on his cane for support no matter how much he really needed it. He'd worry about the pain later. "Why don't you just go and get your supervisor, Weasley, and we can all get on with it. I haven't got all day you know," he replied bitterly.

Draco spotted the recently signed confidentiality contract on the desk, and watched as Ron smirked whilst casting his own mark on the contract. The signed parchment automatically sealed and rolled itself into a thin tube, before shooting up high in the air and slipping into a small vent near the ceiling. Ron turned, meeting Draco's eye in challenge. He was still trying to process what his mind wanted to fervently deny. Ron just sat behind his desk and continued the smug look. "Is there a problem, Malfoy? Did someone neglect to mention that _I'm_ the one in charge here today? I guess we'll take as long as _I_ say to get through all this." Draco could see the former Gryffindor was enjoying his moment of power.

Draco rubbed at the sudden nerve that started ticking in his temple. _Just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse,_ he thought with bitter sarcasm. Now he was expected to listen to the smug git delivering the news about how much he had to pay the Wizengamot in fines and taxes. Surely that's why he was here.

Draco took a deep breath and tried not to let the forthcoming childish temper tantrum take a hold. Weasley's fiery temper had always had that effect on Draco, and even now, when the redhead was keeping his own temper reigned in, Draco felt his own anger rising. Since the end of the war, Draco had barely given a thought to anyone from school. Those few people from school that he had actually cared about were either dead or in Azkaban, with the exception of Severus, of course. Surprisingly, the unexpected sight of Ron Weasley didn't take him back to the memories of confrontations with him and his true nemesis, Potter; instead, he immediately revisited the very recent and vivid memory of the run in with Weasley's younger sister. He cringed at the memory. For a moment he suspected that the bitch had squealed and tattled to her bigger brother about her sexploits. As he carefully watched the redhead before him, he doubted she would have mentioned anything. Still, the thought of her raised his ire, and the scowl remained on his face.

Looking down, he noticed that the folders on the desk were adorned with the Gringotts crest, alongside the Malfoy crest and seal. These were the official records of his holdings – at least – his father's holdings. _What the bloody hell is that git doing with all of those?_ He almost felt violated at the knowledge that the Weasel, of all people should be able to look at those. Sudden urges to further insult Ron flowed quickly to the tip of his tongue, but he repressed nearly all of them. "I really shouldn't be surprised you're here, actually. After all, with Daddy being the Minister and all, I bet you _begged_ him to take on this job, didn't you? I suppose this is right up your alley. I bet you adore counting other people's money. How does it feel? Don't you just love the sound of thousands of galleons just clinking together? I'm sure there's something terribly cathartic about it." _Damn, I just couldn't hold the childish taunts back any longer,_ he berated himself as he realised how immature he sounded.

"I have no doubt you get off on the thought, Malfoy," Ron snapped back quickly. "But unlike you, some of us actually _earn_ a living. Not that I'd expect you to understand that concept. Besides, I was _assigned _to this unpleasant task. I'd rather try and make small talk with Snape than be here, so let's just get it over with, shall we?"

"Well, I do believe that's the first sensible thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," Draco retorted hotly. He was surprised that the Weasel had passed up an opportunity to insult him, but quickly realised he had spoken too soon.

"Actually, I didn't think you've have the gall to show up today, Malfoy, after all, you vanished down some ferret hole not long after the war. Quite a few people thought you might have popped the perch, but alas, no such luck." Draco was showing marvellous restraint as the satisfied smile grew on his former rival's face.

"As much as I'd love to sit and trade insults with you all day, Weasley, I'm sure you are just dying to head back to your friends and family, and tell them all the gossip from this meeting. Actually, I'm beginning to see why your family gravitates towards working for the bank, Weasley – it's the closest you'll ever get to having any money of your own." Draco couldn't resist the jibe. It was just too easy, and he felt himself falling back into his old habits. He really wasn't up for this. All that time worrying and pondering about the outcome of this meeting, and here he was stuck with this git. His annoyance at having to come to London was not being helped by someone who had frustrated his school years at nearly every turn. There he was, backing up his perfect friend, Potter. If it weren't for Ron Weasley, perhaps Potter would have taken his hand in friendship all those years ago. Draco sometimes wondered what would have been different, had that been the case.

"I'm curious, Malfoy. Just where _did _you vanish to after the war?" Ron casually leaned back in his chair, making no move to force the meeting along quickly. He could see Draco's own temper simmering.

"I think we can dispense with the pleasantries, Weasley. You obviously knew where to find me, the letter from the bank was addressed to my home," Draco waved Ron off as he carefully sat on the edge of the chair. "Why don't you just get on with it and tell me how much it's going to cost. After all, isn't that why we're here? Bet you couldn't wait to deliver the bad news yourself and gloat one last time over my father's folly?" Ron looked at Draco sideways, not sure of the meaning of his words. Draco continued, "Tell me how much of my inheritance you plan to acquire under Wizengamot Ruling #2345 in relation to former Death Eater estates. What's the total bill?" All of Draco's patience was now gone as he feigned indifference. Now that he knew he wasn't dealing with some goblin, but another wizard - a wizard he had never considered a friend, at that - he just wanted to drop the façade, and go home. The tick in his temple started up again, and he rubbed it. _Just another annoyance, like that git sitting over there, _he mused.

Ron just stared at him, blinking in confusion.

"Well, get on with it? Or did you really come here just to reinstate your membership in the ever growing list of things that annoy me? I'm tired and quickly becoming very bored with this, Weasel. Just get on with it!"

"Malfoy, what made you think that this meeting has anything to do with the Death Eater Compensation Act?" Ron sounded serious – no hint of jest in his voice.

Draco furrowed his brow at Ron's confusion. "Well, I got a letter mentioning the ruling a while ago, then the letter telling me to show up this morning. I suspected you were going to tell me that you've finished investigating my father's estate, and that you were going to tell me just how much of it you plan on taking away. I mean, why else would you drag me back to this god-forsaken continent? It certainly isn't for my health. Naturally, I assumed..."

Ron looked equally confused. "Malfoy..." he stopped, and quickly scruffled around the paperwork on his desk before pulling out a piece of parchment. "Those monies were paid in full, 20 million galleons, back in July 2001."

"What?" Draco snatched the paper from Ron. The nervous tick beat erratically, and the earlier sense of dread rose again. He saw the parchment ledger from their Gringotts account, with the transaction, along with the attached letters of transfer. "But... but..." Draco took a deep breath. _This is wrong._ "They told me the estate was still being audited for this compensation. I don't understand." A copy of a letter, personally addressed to Draco, attached to the ledger. Draco shook his head furiously. "I've never seen this before. I never received it."

Ron shook his head. "I assume 'they' refers to the trustees of the estate – Messrs Mulciber, McTavish and Montgomery?" Ron read the names from another piece of parchment he pulled from the file.

Draco nodded.

"Actually, Malfoy, they're part of the reason why you were asked here today."

"Oh?" he had wondered why the trustees were not there.

"When was the last time you heard from them?" Ron asked.

"My usual monthly statement at the beginning of February." Realisation dawned slowly. "Weasley, where are the trustees? Wouldn't they normally deal with something like this?"

Ron sighed. "We thought you might be able to tell us, Malfoy." The tone was slightly accusatory.

"Just what are you getting at?"

Ron shrugged. "Oh, well we weren't sure if you were perhaps involved with them. Tell me, when was the last time you saw the trustees – spoke to them – in person?"

Draco thought back as alarm bells began ringing in his head. "Well, up until the other day, I thought they were still in their usual offices, off Margin Alley. Then my tuition went unpaid, and I tried contacting them to find out why, and I haven't seen or heard anything since then. Last time I spoke to them in person would have been about a year ago, last February, actually. They complained about the cost of the floo, and the travel to Paris to see me. That's when they suggested just sending me the monthly statements. I couldn't see why not. After all, father left them to control the estate."

"Ah yes, your father. So he was the one who put these guys up as the trustees?" Ron questioned, his tone voicing his unspoken thoughts about the infamous Death Eater.

Draco just nodded and shrugged. "Obviously I had no say in it. Father was dead and these guys arrived saying they were the executors of his will. I signed the papers, and let them get on with that they knew best. I just got on with what I had to do in the war. It's not like I can change it now, is it? The whole estate is tied up. I'm sure you already know that I can't touch anything until I'm twenty-five." Draco was starting to worry.

"Malfoy, you were a spy, right?" Ron asked. Draco was affronted by the question.

"You know bloody well I was." Weasley had been there often enough when Draco made his reports back to Order headquarters. "Just what are you getting at, Weasley?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Malfoy. So much money. You should really take better care of it all. Just _think_ for a minute. You honestly thought to trust the men your father put in charge of your inheritance? Did it not occur to you that they might have Death Eater sympathies? Did you ever think to get your books audited by an independent third party? How thick could you get? Honestly Malfoy, if I had that much money..."

"Do you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to not think of checking out the trustees? I did have an inside line to father's contemporaries at the time, if you recall. As far as I know, they had no love for the Death Eater cause – the only cause they were interested in was lining their pocketbooks with more money." A feeling of dread began in the pit of Draco's stomach as he realised where this conversation was heading, but he tried to block it out with more childish retorts. Draco snorted. "I bet you were busting your chops to find out just how much I was worth, weren't you Weasley? I'd be surprised if you could actually count that far... Did you have to go down to my vault to double check the numbers? Overwhelmed by the sheer amount of gold there?" Draco couldn't help himself. He had been dragged all the way across the channel for this meeting, and he found himself confronted with this – prat.

"Stuff it, Malfoy," Ron said, but the blush on his face told Draco that his former nemesis had indeed thoroughly gone through his file. "I had to familiarise myself with all aspects of this investigation, Malfoy. Your case was assigned to me by the goblins, not the Ministry. Besides, I'm not the one skimming from the surface and taking you for a ride." The redhead searched for another folder, and handed it over the desk to Draco.

"It seems there have been a number of anomalous entries in your books," Ron said. Draco took the folder and methodically began to scan the figures. Ron continued, "What shocking bookkeeping. It's so hard to find good help these days, isn't it?"

Draco ignored the jibe as he saw a number of entries circled in red ink in the ledger. "I don't understand... these... they don't correspond to what I get in my usual reports..." he could see other more familiar numbers in the ledger. Despite Ron's words, Draco had carefully scrutinised the files sent to him each month, and he assumed he knew the figures intimately. He saw his stipend listed regularly, along with the other usual expenses. But the sheer regularity of those other anomalous numbers was mind boggling.

"Well, if your trust is held until you turn 25, then technically, it's not your money _yet_, Malfoy. But I will say that it looks like someone else wants to keep it that way."

Draco sat silently, wondering just how this was happening. Was this an elaborate joke that Weasley was pulling – some sort of retribution for school pranks? _Probably took him this long to think of it_, he thought uncharitably. But he was concerned. This was too elaborate for Weasley to pull off. It showed all the hallmarks of a Death Eater plot. How could he be the victim of something like this?

"So, _now _is there anything odd about the trustees you wish to tell me?" Ron asked casually as Draco perused his files.

Draco shook his head. "I never had any reason to fault them. We fought over increases to my stipend to maintain my standard of living, but I doubt you'd comprehend that," he snarked at Ron. "Then I discovered that my tuition for this last semester was not paid, but I mentioned that before. Oh, and they finally handed over some property that was in my name – my chateau."

Ron continued to nod. "That doesn't surprise me. They probably couldn't dispose of it the way they wanted. Been in your family for a while?" Draco nodded again, his mouth drawing into a firm line. "Guess the family magic was too powerful around it and they couldn't sell it out from under you. I've heard of this modus operandi before."

"What the hell are you talking about? I've been frantically trying to contact them all week. I came today expecting to find out why my regular payments aren't being made, as well as to find out about the Wizengamot ruling. It was rather embarrassing having to explain why my tuition wasn't paid on time. Anyway, who discovered these extra payments? Why accuse the trustees outright?" A note of frustrated desperation crept into Draco's voice, as he waved his hands in the air.

"Malfoy, I'm getting there; just keep your hair on and calm down for a minute." Draco was indignant, too stunned to say any more. Weasley obviously knew something about Draco's affairs, and he needed to know how and what. He wasn't telling Draco what he needed to know quickly enough. He handed another parchment to Draco.

"That sheet in front of you is a list of monies transferred from the Ministry Treasury, into your father's estate." Draco looked at him in confusion. The entries listed in the sheet were labelled 'salary'.

"Father consulted for Fudge on a retainer. Everyone knew that."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Honestly Malfoy, look at the dates."

Draco looked again at the dates, and just blinked. All these transfers, regular monthly payments, some into the tens of thousands of Galleons, were dated long after the war was over. Long after Lucius was dead. The last date at the bottom of the page was only in January.

"So the Ministry forgot to stop paying? What's that to do with me, or with the trustees? Surely that's a mistake on the part of the Ministry?" Draco suspected the trustees should have found out about these erroneous payments, and informed him. _They will be in a cauldron full of trouble for that, not me._

"Gringotts was asked to audit the Ministry Treasury after the new Minister came to power. Apparently, Fudge left the place in a shambles." Ron refrained from mentioning his father by name. He seemed all business. "Turns out that this, along with many other transactions, were unaccounted for. Two weeks ago we attempted to contact the trustees of the Malfoy estate, and never heard back. It seems that Messrs Mulciber, McTavish and Montgomery have vanished entirely."

Draco was shaking his head furiously in denial, even though he saw the truth of it. It was all suddenly starting to make sense. Horrible sense. Terrifying sense. The trustees had been embezzling funds from the estate. If the figures before him were correct, they had been doing it for years. _That's my bloody inheritance, and I never noticed it, until now. I expected the Wizengamot to take their cut, but this! How could they? Father trusted them, but they weren't Death Eaters... but wait..._ It was all starting to become startlingly clear. Not only that, they had also been syphoning funds from the Ministry in the process.

"So what you're saying is that not only have I been embezzled, the Ministry's been embezzled, and the culprits have Apparated into thin air?"

"Finally, you get it Malfoy!" Ron rolled his eyes and clapped in feigned exasperation. "Five points to Slytherin."

"Well you could have just told me outright, instead of beating around the bush," Draco retorted. "So what now, Weasley? Planning on handing control of the estate over to me? After all, if I can't trust anyone else..." Draco asked in frustration.

Ron's eyes smiled. "Sorry to burst your bubble rich boy, but you won't be getting your hands on your money just yet – if ever."

Draco looked confused. "And why ever not?"

"Well, there's a slight complication, Malfoy. I was talking to a close friend in the Aurors..."

Draco scoffed. He had been absently wondering how long it would take before he mentioned the 'Great One'. "_Potter,_ no doubt. Did you both have a nice laugh over the fact I've been embezzled right under my nose?"

"Some of us actually take our work seriously here. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to discuss your misfortunes with Harry, but as you know, the confidentiality contract is in place. Even if I had wanted to waste breath talking about you, I couldn't. Not even if I _wanted _to." Draco shrugged, not caring particularly either way. He wanted answers, and he knew he was going to have to look to find them.

"Anyway, this Auror, who wasn't Harry, not that you'd care either way..." Draco rolled his eyes as Ron continued, "... has been watching a group of Neo Death Eaters over in Wales."

"Neo Death Eaters?" Draco asked in confusion.

"Just what rock have you been hiding under, Malfoy? Haven't you been keeping up with the news about your old buddies?"

"Not on this side of the Channel, no, I haven't. If you care to recall, they weren't my buddies. They never were."

Ron stared at him strangely. "Just what happened to you after the war? Where did you disappear to – oh wait, that's right, _Paris_," Ron read Draco's address from the top of the pile of correspondence.

"Not that it's any of your business..."

"Your whereabouts _are_ my business now, Malfoy."

Draco's ticking nerve was joined by an equally itchy nerve on the other side of his face. He needed something to clear his head. Spotting the tea service on the bench behind Ron's desk, he casually waved his wand, and poured himself a cup of freshly brewed tea. The cup and saucer barely wavered before levitating easily across to Draco's seat.

"Honestly, Weasley, where are your manners. You can't even offer a client a cup of tea? How rude!"

Ron ignored the comment. "Anyway, as I was saying, these Neo Death Eaters are gaining some renown in Wales. The Auror division has been trying to clean them up for a while now, but the bastards seem to be one step ahead of everyone else. Someone's been funding them. We've reason now to suspect your father's estate as the source of the funding."

Draco was completely stunned as all the colour drained from his face. He put the cup down very carefully. _Of course. Father wouldn't want it to stop after his death? Would he? He never intended for me to get it. He knew I truly wasn't committed to the cause. The bastard. I wonder if it's possible to hate him any more than I already do._

"So not only have I been embezzled, they've been using it to fund _Death Eaters_?" Ron nodded in agreement, but wasn't smiling. "Fuck!" Draco yelled as he threw the tea cup into the fireplace, ceramic shards spraying all over the hearth.

"You know, when this whole issue came to light, I suspected you were in it as thickly as the rest. I never thought that they'd be able to get one over you. Pretty bold of them. Bet they never would have tried that on your father," Ron spoke quietly. "So I'm judging from your reaction you aren't involved, eh?"

Draco looked at Ron incredulously. "Of course not you idiot! You think I risked my life in the war – at greater personal risk than most, and gaining this..." he indicated his knee and cane, "... just to make a complete about face and start funding a bunch of upstarts who think that they can claim power and glory now that the war is over? Weasley, you _know_ I'm not a Death Eater, and I'm certainly not my father, despite what you might think. You were there when I reported back to the Order. Besides, surely _Saint Potter_ could clean them up. After all, what's a few Death Eaters after killing a Dark Lord or two..." Draco took some deep breaths before his temper worsened.

"The Ministry aren't so sure about your affiliations now. Not in light of these revelations," Ron held up the records. "That's why they want to investigate."

"They think _I'm_ involved?" Draco scoffed. "Their memories are shorter than even I give them credit for," he spat bitterly. "Do _you_ think I'm guilty, Weasley?"

Ron thought carefully before answering. "I honestly didn't know. If you didn't come today, I would have immediately guessed it, but I saw how shocked you were just now at learning about the embezzlement. Even you aren't that good an actor, Malfoy."

"So there'll be an investigation, and the Aurors are going after the trustees? What about the estate? Will all the payments still be made on time? Despite what you might think, I too have commitments to make," he asked hopefully.

Ron shook his head as he passed another parchment over to Draco. "Sorry, but all of the Estate's assets have been frozen, effective immediately. Even the Wiltshire Manor has been warded. You can't even get in there now, Malfoy."

He couldn't believe what had happened. "So when will this investigation take place?"

"Well, first of all, they have to find the trustees. If they don't turn up in the next twelve months, the investigation will proceed, and you'll have to prove you weren't involved in any way. If it's any consolation, they'll ask me about my thoughts, and under Veritaserum, I'll have to tell them the truth."

"Which is..."

"That honestly, I think you are clueless." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Ron continued. "You always have been. I still can't believe they could do this to you of all people, Malfoy. I thought you'd take better care of your money..."

"I'm beginning to see that Father really never trusted me. Guess I wasn't so careful, after all." Draco muttered to himself. Lucius must have arranged this long before his death. _He obviously has less faith in me than I thought. Maybe he was smarter than I gave him credit for. _"So the Ministry doesn't trust me. They all think I'm just like Lucius," Draco snorted, "bet they're dying to put me in Azkaban. Don't they remember the Order of Merlin they gave me?" he retorted bitterly.

"They're going to want to question you, Malfoy. Probably not the Aurors, but the F.I.G.s will. They will want to know if you know anything about these Neo Death Eaters."

"The F.I.G.s?"

"Oh, the Fiscal Investigation Goblins. They're the major part of our Special Investigations team, and it's they who decide whether or not Magical Law Enforcement or the Aurors get involved."

"What makes them think I know anything, or that I would tell them if I did? Oh, wait, that's right," Draco sneered, "once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. I suppose they'll want to talk to Severus too, if that's the case."

"Well, weren't you and Snape fully immersed in their culture – for the sake of appearances? You would have heard their plans, got involved in all those Death Eatery things – the revels, the virgin sacrifices..."

"Stuff it, Weasley. You know well enough what I did. Do you honestly think any new crop of Death Eaters would tell _me_ any of their plans? I'm not exactly popular in those circles – at least not after they discovered what I really was. My cover was blown right after your buddy popped the old codger. Besides, I haven't even been in the country for the past two and a half years, why the hell would I know or even care what goes on here?" he couldn't believe they would think he might know something about these new Death Eaters. This was the first he had ever heard of them.

"I don't know, Malfoy." Ron shook his head, "All I know is that they will want to question you, and that the investigation is already underway," Ron shrugged.

"So what's next? I have a life, you know, and I need my tuition paid. What about my other expenses? I _need_ my stipend. It's not a terribly extravagant stipend..." Draco started.

"Not _terribly_ extravagant?" Ron's eyes widened in disbelief. What was modest to Draco must have seemed like a fortune to Ron. He looked up to see the drawn lines forming around Draco's eyes. "Are you begging, Malfoy?" a wry smirk started on his face.

Draco shook his head rather too quickly. "Don't be ridiculous. Malfoy's don't beg. Surely you can see to it that my tuition is at least paid. It's only one more semester." He really was begging, and he tried desperately to keep the whine out of his voice, but he knew that Ron had heard it.

Ron shook his head. "I can't. The F.I.G.s are the ones who've frozen the estate. Your tuition and this... stipend you get (Ron again raised his eyebrows as he read the amount Draco received each month for living expenses) have ceased. I see here you have your own assets, so you certainly aren't destitute. Welcome to living like the rest of the world. Now you might get to see how the other half lives. The half that isn't filthy rich..." Ron was back to biting insults.

"The only filthy thing around here is the fact that you've had your greasy mitts all over my family's financial books... Bet you are just loving the fact I'm practically penniless. I bet you're getting off on that." Draco's ire rose at Ron's childish insults.

"You'll have to show that you're co-operating, Malfoy, before the goblins will even consider any concessions."

"But it's my last semester..." Draco whined. It had never occurred that his tuition funding would be rejected. He hadn't planned on having all his money frozen, and the reality was setting in. "I _need_ this tuition money Weasley," he was starting to get a little desperate.

"Need? That's a little melodramatic, isn't it Malfoy? But then again, you were always one for the high melodrama, weren't you?" Draco just ignored the jibe. Ron continued. "Look, if it were up to me, I'd let you have your few measly tuition Galleons, just so that I could shut you up and let you crawl back into whatever hole you've made for yourself over in Paris. As it is, if your trustees can't be found, then this whole investigation could drag on for a while. Unless..."

"Unless what?" Draco grasped the slightly hopeful note in Ron's voice.

"Unless you really do know where those trustees are. You wouldn't be holding out on information because of _me_, now, would you?" So Weasley really didn't trust him, not to the full extent of his own words, anyway.

"Of course I'll bloody well co-operate. It's my money, and I want to catch these bastards probably more than you do." Draco was still in shock over what had transpired. He was still mentally cursing himself for not realising it sooner. "I still can't believe they would _do_ that."

"They were friends of your father's – no doubt as rotten to the core as he was..." Draco looked at him sideways, but made no move to disagree. Weasley had the measure of his father, and who was he to disagree, especially since it was his own belief as well.

"So the upshot of this all is that my hands are tied?" Draco was reluctantly coming to terms with the fact he was not going to leave London with any money. Indeed, he was leaving much poorer than when he arrived.

"Basically, yes, you'll just have to budget like the rest of us mere mortals for a while."

"But it's my last semester. I was planning on going into research..."

"Can't you defer a semester or two, like most students, or are you a right girly swot as well?" Ron was as tired of their conversation as Draco was. "My only suggestion is that you defer. I'm sure the Paris Institute de Beauty can do without you for a while."

It was really happening. Draco's tuition would remain unpaid. He had a deadline to meet that afternoon, with no way of paying it. What was he going to do? The sudden shock of it all overwhelmed him, and he needed to take a deep breath to calm down. He really didn't need this, not now.

It wasn't the only shock. A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that his stipend was no longer forthcoming. Draco was going to have to live from the proceeds of his chateau, and his small income from the winery. It was a rather nasty drop to earth to realise his hands were totally tied. He wasn't going to beg and cajole the likes of Ron Weasley – well, not any more than he had. It was not in his nature. He was still coming to terms with the fact that Ron, of all people was in charge of his money in the interim. _Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why the Weasel?_

"Oh, and there's just one more thing." Ron remarked casually. "Our F.I.G.s want to speak with you later this morning – just around lunch time. Of course, if you don't come back, we'll just assume that you aren't co-operating, and I can assure you that your father's estate will be handed over to the Ministry quicker than you could catch a snitch. Of course, you only managed that feat once when it mattered, so I'm not sure you'd know what it was like." It seemed Ron had recovered and was on his second wind, especially if he was now referring to their school Quidditch days. Gryffindor's defeat at the hands of Slytherin in that final match of their seventh year obviously still smarted for the former Gryffindor keeper and captain. Draco took a small pleasure in knowing that.

"I'll be back, I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, Weasley." He didn't really want to come back; he assumed the interview with the Aurors would be just a painful. It could only be worse if it was Potter, but from what Weasley said, Potter wasn't one of the bank's Aurors. Thankfully. Draco stood to leave, not pausing to shake Ron's hand. He had a sudden urge to leave with one final retort about his sister on the tip of his tongue, but thought it would be counter productive, so he held his tongue.

"Weasley. Adieu," he nodded politely.

"Oh the pleasure was all mine, Malfoy."

Draco mustered every ounce of his Malfoy bearing as he stalked out of the room. The whole meeting had left him with more questions unanswered than when he arrived. He was angry – at himself mostly, for not considering that the trustees might have been working on their own agenda, and it was not a pleasant feeling to know that others had been embezzling from him. He found that he was even angrier at the thought that Weasley, of all people, was not only the one to bring it to his attention, but that he, the friend of Draco's major nemesis, had gone through the Malfoy financial affairs with a fine-tooth comb in order to find this information and bring it to light. He honestly felt violated.

But what made him angriest of all was the fact that his own father had not even trusted him. That hurt more than anything. As he walked back through the bank, he bit back all thoughts of Lucius. This trip had brought almost every memory of the man to the fore. It hurt, and he wanted that to go away.

As he walked briskly – as briskly as his knee would allow – the full implications of it all began to settle in his mind. He needed to talk this through with someone. Looking up at the giant clock in the entrance hall of the bank, he saw he still had a quarter hour before he had to meet Severus. He had been so distracted by the whole outcome of the meeting, he never noticed the stares and glares that had previously dogged his trip through Diagon Alley. He barely registered his protesting knee as his brisk walk lead him to the end of the alley, and back to _The Leaky Cauldron_.

It was only early, but they were now open for business, and Draco had a major thirst to slake.

* * *

By the time Draco sat down in his private dining room, he was grateful for the short respite from the walk. As if his mood wasn't sour and contemplative enough, he thought back on the reaction the bartender gave to his presence. If he hadn't agreed to meet Severus, or if he didn't have to go back and talk to the goblins, then he would have already left the country and safely returned to his studio. He was so caught up in his own troubles that he barely acknowledged the waiter with his order, and practically growled as the squib fled from the room. He immediately regretted not ordering something stronger, as he felt the urge to drown his miserable sorrows in alcohol.

A sudden knock at the door, and the comforting presence of Severus made Draco smile and momentarily forget his reverie. "Thank the stars – a friendly face at last!" He greeted his old mentor and friend warmly. The Potions master was as genuinely delighted to see Draco as they firmly shook hands in the way of old friends long lost.

"It's been too long, Draco," Snape replied, the warmth in his voice deepening as he looked over the younger man.

Draco sat back down and it was apparent to his old teacher that the morning meeting at the bank had not gone to Draco's expectations.

"Why don't you start from the beginning, Draco?" Snape knew Draco well enough to know that the problem would just eat him up inside if he didn't share it. The raised eyebrow told Draco he wasn't going to be able to skim over any of the details.

"If I'm going to do that, I'll need to fortify myself first. Excuse me, Severus, I'm going to get something a little stronger than tea. Would you like anything?" Severus shook his head and picked up the teapot as Draco pulled off his green cloak and laid it over an empty chair. He nearly walked out of the room, but paused, pulling a small parchment out of the cloak and handing it to Severus. It was his latest suggestions to improve the Wolfsbane, and he wanted to hand them to Severus before he forgot.

Severus glanced over the parchment, raising an eyebrow and offering what Draco knew to be an approving smile as he read over the results of Draco's recent research. "Thank you. I'll try this with the next batch." Considering his now futile research plans, Draco didn't have the strength to respond to that just then. He simply nodded curtly before exiting the dining room.

The pub had become seemingly more crowded downstairs, and Draco had to wait a moment at the bar. He tried to wait patiently. It was a part of his new resolutions, to accept people in general and not get so easily irritated by them. That resolution had been sorely tested that morning. He could admit to that failing, and silently thanked his new friend, Flash for helping him come to terms with that. He doubted his patience would improve immediately, but he could certainly make an effort. Flash had indeed had a profound affect on him.

A small explosion and a pall of smoke erupted not far from the bar, and a few people screamed and shouted. In the confusion, a few witches and wizards ran in all directions. Old habits die hard and Draco had spent enough time around attacks, explosions and dark wizards that he tensed at the noise, but relaxed as he recognised the vile stench of the Dungbombs. He resigned himself to waiting a bit longer for the people to settle down, sighing at the level of panic from the crowd and desperately hoping that someone would soon clear away the acrid stench. It was already beginning to seep into his clothing and Draco knew it would be difficult to get the smell out of the fine fabrics. He was consciously trying to reign in his rising temper when he was bumped from behind.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..."

As Draco turned, he heard the apology and immediately knew that voice. He looked up slowly, and locked eyes with the one and only Harry Potter.

Stunned at the sight, Draco's mouth began to work before he had time to realise he was speaking. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Boy-Who-Sodding-Lived." His mouth quirked in a visible, but restrained sneer. His resolution to be more patient was completely thrown out the window. He found himself involuntarily checking Potter out and silently rejoiced in the knowledge that he was still the taller of the two, even if only by a few centimetres. He forced himself to stop with the height comparison before his mind could consider anything else about Potter's appearance. The last thing he needed was his mental desire to check out the person he had cursed at least once a day for the past two and a half years. It was too late - his eye had already performed a quick scan, and had absorbed every nuance of Potter's favourable features. He scowled as he quickly forced subconscious images out of his mind.

Harry blinked as he recognised his former nemesis. Blinking again at the finely tailored image of the grown man before him, he let out a condescending "Harrumph!" As the panicked crowd stood aside to let Tom cast spells to clear the Dungbomb smell from the air, Harry couldn't help but let a myriad of stray thoughts cross his mind. The most disturbing thought was that it was Lucius Malfoy standing before him, albeit without the long hair. His eye momentarily caught the edge of Malfoy's tongue as it briefly swept over the lower lip. Recalling that same mannerism from many years earlier, Harry knew it was definitely the younger Malfoy before him. Quickly taking in the sight of the Order's former spy, Harry's subconscious surreptitiously noted that he looked surprisingly good, despite the sneer spoiling his face. Harry's slow burning ire rose as he processed Malfoy's condescending words.

Harry thought back to the last time he had seen Malfoy. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it was some time before the end of the war. He did recall thinking it strange that the spy didn't attend the post war Order of Merlin ceremonies, but then again, rumour had it that Malfoy was in St Mungo's. This was the first time Harry had laid eyes on him, and he was momentarily stunned by the brilliance. To have literally bumped into the man on today, of all days, really didn't help his ever shortening temper. It appeared Malfoy seemed equally as thrilled to see him, as it was apparent he was still nursing old grudges.

"Just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse. First Snape, now you," Harry snarked back bitterly.

"Making a habit of _bumping_ into people, Potter?" Draco had forgotten just how much he enjoyed stirring up trouble with the vaunted war hero. "Don't worry yourself, I won't be sticking around long enough to ruin our saviour's stellar public reputation," Draco was surprised at the rising green fire in Harry's eyes. He found it rather appealing to discover his words had affected the other wizard.

Harry felt a familiar sense of déjà vu, as the drawling tone hurled a rather lame comment at him. His own automatic response seemed equally as childish, "Why don't you just crawl back into whatever ferret hole you've been hiding in these past couple of years, Malfoy?"

"Though I must say, I'm curious Potter, what brings you here? Shouldn't you be off saving the world somewhere? Or are you just fully relying on your fame to get you through life? You were making a good start of it back in school you know." Draco looked Potter over with a calculated look of disdain and allowed his features to slip into the familiar habits from his school days.

Harry felt his ire rising again at Malfoy's snarky comment and the well remembered sneer painted on his face. He'd never dealt well with the insinuations that he enjoyed his fame. Before he could formulate a response, however, Malfoy was speaking again.

"As pleasant as this little reunion has been, Potter, I do actually have someone waiting for me, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be going," Draco moved to head to the bar. He was yet to get his drinks, and if he had doubted whether or not he needed a stronger drink, he certainly needed one now. As he moved, he reluctantly leaned heavily on his cane, exposing his weakened side directly to Potter.

Harry stared after Draco, watching the obviously proud wizard struggling to maintain a show of dignity, even with his physical injury. Harry was slightly surprised at his former rival's limp – he assumed Malfoy would have eradicated such a weakness. _It must be killing him to put up with that,_ he thought. The slight limp was the only thing marring the seeming perfection standing before him. Harry couldn't pinpoint why he was suddenly annoyed to be confronted by an almost unscathed Malfoy – perhaps it was Malfoy's finely cut clothes – or the fact that his recently underappreciated libido seemed to perk up at the sight. Naturally, Harry was unimpressed with his libido's train of thought, particularly after spending so many years _not_ thinking of Malfoy at all.

Harry really needed to stop letting his sex drive do his thinking. That was all he seemed to be doing now that Oliver was out of his life, and he didn't need that right now. He would think about that later. _Better yet,_ he thought, _I'll have to tell Luc about this. He'll probably laugh at me and tell me I'm being silly._ It suddenly felt extremely familiar to be standing there, trading barbs with Malfoy. He didn't need it after his rotten day, but the forgotten familiarity of their verbal duelling seemed somewhat comforting.

"What's brought all the snakes climbing up out of their holes today? Is there some secret snake reunion society happening? The 'All-Slytherins-Are-Gits' club, perhaps? I'm guessing you're meeting up with the greasy git?" For some reason, now that Malfoy was right before him, Harry didn't want to lose that feeling of familiarity their encounter engendered. Insulting Snape seemed like a way to keep the other wizard from walking away.

Draco spun quickly on his heel. Harry's words had the desired effect. He could see the irritated rage in Draco's face reflected in his pale blue eyes as he came nose to nose with Potter. Just as Draco opened his mouth to reply, a bright flash bulb temporarily blinded both wizards.

"Mr Potter, Mr Potter! Welcome back to London..." a young reporter stepped up eagerly to talk to the wizarding world's hero, barely acknowledging Draco, as he muscled in to talk to the famous wizard.

Draco watched curiously as Potter mumbled under his breath. Within an instant, the dim pub lighting began to flicker and fade furiously as the brilliant green fire in Potter's eyes flared. Suddenly, the reporter yelped as the camera in his hands burst into flames.

"Hey – what the..." the reporter jumped back as he dropped the burning camera, watching as it quickly turned to ash. Harry's eyes had returned to their normal colour, and he looked slightly dazed and confused. A number of other patrons stood back, carefully staying clear of Harry. Even Draco took a simple step backwards. The reported gulped before continuing, "... I just wanted to see what you're doing and why you're in London..."

The sudden flash from the camera had initially startled Harry. Seeing the camera and hearing the reporter's question had been the final straw. He muttered a nearly silent curse under his breath, and was momentarily dazed. Next thing he knew, everyone was looking at him askance, and he saw a very nervous wizard standing before a pile of ash; a pungent tinge adding to the now dissipating odour of Dungbombs. He briefly wondered if his sense of smell would ever recover from the strong smells. The reporter looked at him nervously, still awaiting an answer to his question.

The last thing Harry had needed was to talk to the press. Having sparred verbally with Malfoy, Harry was in no mood to be polite. "What I'm doing in London is _my_ business..." Harry hissed, the anger in his eyes briefly flaring again - lighting up his face.

The reporter was pushing his luck. "But the public _wants_ to know what you've been up to. It's been ages since we've heard from you Mr Potter. I think you owe it to them to tell them what you've been up to." The reporter began to defend himself as The-Boy-Who-Lived wasn't being co-operative.

This was the very reason Harry kept himself away in a quiet corner of the countryside. He briefly questioned his motives for wanting to come back to the city. "As I said, my business remains _my_ business. The public has no right to my life. If I choose to tell them anything, I will decide when I'm good and ready." This reporter had brought out the simmering anger that had festered inside Harry all morning. The morning's events suddenly started to crowd him, and he had to let it all out in one giant rush of steam. His eyes glowed incandescently and the room lights flickered briefly.

"Don't you have more important things to report about?" Harry's tone of voice was firm. "Surely the new Minister and his sweeping reforms are more important than my mind numbingly boring life. What about the medical breakthroughs they've discovered since the end of the war? _That's_ newsworthy. Has anyone reported what's happened to the war orphans? Have they all been placed in loving homes?" Harry was heartily sick of the public wanting to know all about his life, and for once, he planned on telling them. Harry was the only one in the immediate area that didn't notice the rising surge of power that came with his angry words. The glasses on the shelves behind the bar began to rattle, and Tom was more than a little concerned when the first bottle fell from the trembling top shelf.

"Why don't you print that?" Harry continued. "Tell your readers _that's_ what they should be thinking about. Not me. I don't matter. So I killed Voldemort," He shrugged absently. "That's in the past, and my job is done. I don't matter any more." Harry didn't realise how hoarse his voice was as he shouted the last few words, but every patron in the Leaky Cauldron certainly heard just before their glasses shattered, the tiny shards falling to the floor and tabletops. The silence that followed was palpable, the tension building as everyone waited to see what Harry's anger would release next.

A young mother sitting nearby carefully held her sons close. She, like many of the other stunned patrons, was a little fearful that there could be another outburst of power from their wizarding saviour. Harry left the bewildered reporter standing there in shock with the quick-quotes-quill quivering quietly as he, along with everyone else in the room, stood in stunned silence. As Harry took a deep breath, he began to calm somewhat, and for the first time, noticed the flickering flames in the wall sconces. He could also feel the tinge of power decrease as it slowly dissipated from his body.

It had been years since Harry had lost control of a situation like that. Noticing all eyes on him, many of them fearful, he turned to leave. He quickly apologised to Tom as he saw the damage his fit of rage had caused. Flicking a few galleons onto the bar as he passed, Harry strode out the back door smartly, and headed back towards the alley.

The reporter wasn't the only stunned person left in the bar. Having been relegated to the role of spectator in the heated exchange, Draco's surprise was evident. Putting all his observation skills to work, Draco had carefully watched as his former nemesis completely lost it when the reporter interrupted them. He watched as the bespectacled wizard pleaded passionately for the reporter to channel his efforts into more worthy news. Not only had Potter managed to infuriate him with his childish taunts; the git had totally blown him away with a bludger - in more ways than one. However, as Potter strode away, Draco again found himself watching the other wizard. Despite the shock of seeing the sheer force of Potter's untamed power being unleashed, his mind picked up on the most trivial of points. Draco's inner voice was silently praising the fact that Potter had finally managed to get a decent tailor.

That stray thought continued as he watched Potter leave. For some unknown reason, he allowed his eye to rove over the cut of Potter's robes, watching as they draped and fell from his shoulders. It was hard not to watch the subtle hint of muscle that rippled just underneath the well cut robes. The robes' modern style hinted to Draco that Potter had certainly grown into the promise he had spied back in the Quidditch showers all those years ago.

That stray thought of Potter in the Quidditch showers brought Draco back to thoughts of Flash, and how that same memory had surfaced when talking to his friend. He turned away, pushing that entire line of thought to the extreme back of his mind. Somehow, he knew he'd eventually have to tell Flash about what had just transpired. No doubt Flash would say something cheeky about having long repressed feelings for the other wizard. Draco couldn't bear to think such horrifying thoughts.

_Seems Potter isn't the perfectly happy Prince Charming,_ Draco thought, surprised at this knowledge. _He doesn't want his fame; he doesn't think he's important. I always thought he revelled in his glory. Hmmm, I wonder what prompted this. _Draco couldn't begin to wonder what had caused the pompous, attention seeking and thoroughly annoying wizard to feel that way.

With no evidence of any Dungbombs or combusted cameras in sight, the patrons of the pub turned back to their animated conversations. Draco realised Severus was waiting upstairs and he was yet to make it to the bar to place his drink order. After the past few minutes, Draco decided he needed the firewhisky more than ever.

As he made his way back to the dining room a full bottle of Ogden's finest in hand, another stray, yet slightly disturbing thought entered his head, one that he couldn't shake easily. _I never realised Potter's eyes were so green. _He had recalled from their school days that they were an unusual colour, but he had never seen such an intense gaze. The angry green fire within Potter's eyes danced throughout their whole encounter, literally burning the image into his mind. He was so lost in those thoughts that he didn't even notice the rush of conversation as all the patrons in the pub began sharing their views of the unexpected outburst from the Boy-Who-Lived.

* * *

Severus could see the slightly confused look on Draco's face as he watched him sit down in the wing chair beside the fireplace of their dining room. Severus had helped himself to the tea, but Draco's order of soup had remained untouched. Severus watched as Draco quickly poured himself a rather generous shot of the firewhisky and downed it in one gulp, before staring into the fire. Having sensed the strong magical surge, even from the private dining room, Severus finally gave into his curiosity. "What was all the shouting and carrying on down there? Did I detect a magical surge?"

Draco snapped out of his disturbing thoughts. "_Potter_ happened, that's what," he suddenly realised he sounded surly and childish, but Potter had always brought out those traits in him. Especially since he found himself admiring how Potter's arse looked in his well tailored trousers. He shook his head in disbelief, and snorted. "Who else?" Looking up at Severus' raised eyebrow, he smirked. "I understand you also had a little run in with our illustrious wizarding saviour," Draco snickered, taking another sip of his drink.

"I wondered if you would see him downstairs," Severus nodded and commented wryly. "Please tell me you didn't provoke him and cause such an outburst. If I could feel the magic from here, then he must have truly put on a spectacular show. I believe it's been some time since he lost control like that, though I'll admit that he didn't seem to be living up to his heroic tag when I saw him earlier. Quite the opposite, actually." Severus recalled the young man's magical outbursts as a teenager, and after seeing Potter's mood during their earlier run-in, he wasn't surprised the former Gryffindor was the cause of the errant magical energy.

"_I_ wasn't the one acting like the spoilt, petulant child, Severus," Draco paused, staring at his glass. The Potions master looked at him doubtfully. He knew the history between the two former rivals, encouraged it for a while also. Draco relented, "Well Severus, could you really see me bowing down and worshipping at his feet? I highly doubt that. Besides, he was the one who thought I ruined his day." Draco took another large mouthful of firewhisky. _As if 'Perfect Potter's' day could be any worse than mine_, he thought, his subconscious agreeing a little too readily with the 'perfect' part of his throw away thought.

"Well what caused our illustrious hero to lose control? What did he do?" Severus questioned, still curious.

"We were just catching up on lost insult-time, when one of his sycophantic fan club reporters came over and fawned all over him. Apparently he isn't all that enamoured with his fame any more." Draco was thoughtful for a moment, realising just how much damage Potter had caused with his petulant outburst. "You know, for once, I'm rather glad I wasn't on the receiving end of his wrath. Although the reporter's camera wasn't so lucky."

Draco found himself suddenly curious about how Potter had finally killed their 'so-called' master. "You were there when he finished off Voldemort, weren't you, Severus?" Draco vaguely remembered Severus talking about Potter and that fatally final confrontation. Apparently it had been some sort of inexplicable outburst of Potter's power that had finished off Voldemort. Draco knew, had it been up to him, he could not have done it. It had been horrifying enough having to bow and scrape to the megalomaniac when he began his spy duties, and despite his life falling apart at the time, Draco was not unhappy to see the end of the madman, or the conflict. Perhaps he had underestimated Potter all these years.

Severus nodded at Draco's question "And you wonder why I had to step in and stop you from letting him kill you so many times when you were a boy? He was terrible at control. Apparently he lost it with Albus, once, but had he let his anger get out of control when in class, well, you can fully understand why we tried to keep him from killing all of you," he spoke reflectively. Still staring into the fire, Draco was lost in thoughts. Severus frowned as he watched his young friend take yet another quick drink. Something had obviously rattled him if he was not paying attention to how much he was drinking. Severus smirked as he realised what had shaken Draco's inner resolve. "You've let him get to you, haven't you?" he asked Draco.

Draco suddenly became defensive. "What? No I haven't," he said a little too quickly. "I just... didn't need to see _him_ after my perfectly joyful morning," he drawled sarcastically.

Severus raised the eyebrow again. "Oh, and what's so terrible about the sight of Potter these days? I do say, he is extremely easy on the eye, isn't he? Who knew that under all that heroic bravery and hero worship that he would end up being so completely and obliviously good looking? Must have inherited that from his mother, pretty little thing, she was," Severus looked away thoughtfully, lost in thoughts of Lily Evans.

Draco was lucky he wasn't drinking at that moment as his friend's words sank in. "Pardon? I could have sworn you just said that you fancied Potter," he asked incredulously.

Severus nodded again, "You heard correctly Draco. You'd have to be a blind newt not to notice Potter. I would have thought, considering your proclivities, that you would have at least noticed how well he wears adulthood. I know if I were twenty years younger, I might even consider..."

This time Draco did spray his drink all over the table, "Severus, you are not serious, are you? _Potter?_" he noticed the mirthful smile on Severus' face. "Don't scare me like that." Severus' eyebrow twitched slightly and he smiled as he cast a quick charm to help Draco clean up his mess.

The potion master's carefully schooled expression was unreadable, as he further taunted his former charge. "Surely you noticed that aura that just radiates from him? His mother had a similar aura about her..." Severus stopped for a moment, silent as he continued to think about his unrequited crush on Lily Evans. He didn't continue, staring into the fire in his reverie.

Draco was shaking his head furiously – surely Severus did not say that. "Severus, if there's one thing I don't _ever_ want to know, is just who you take a fancy to in your spare time. Especially if you are telling me about you and Potter's mother. That's just... disturbing - on so many levels." Draco could see the wry smile on Severus' face, and wasn't sure if his old friend was trying to stir him up, or if he was serious.

Having sufficiently rattled Draco, Severus suddenly became serious. "What did Potter do downstairs – other than unknowingly get under your skin, Draco?"

"I've not seen anyone wield that much power in anger since Voldemort." Severus nodded his head in understanding. "He just radiated this burst of power, destroying the man's camera and nearly all the glasses in the bar. I can still feel the aftershock of his rage, even after he stormed out of there in an angry huff. You thought I was prone to fits of melodrama?" Draco was still stunned at just how powerful Potter was. He still wasn't happy he had, for no apparent reason, let the other wizard rattle his demeanour.

Severus poured himself a small shot of the firewhisky, as he contemplated the incident. "Hmmm, really? How interesting." Lost in thought, both men sat quietly by the fire. Severus finally recalled Draco's earlier conversation. "So Draco, just what happened this morning to put you in such a mood? Dare I say you look like you've lost a Galleon and found a Knut."

Looking up from his drink, Draco sighed, "If I _had_ two Knuts to rub together," he paused, wondering how he could ask for Severus' help. "Did father ever talk to you about his plans – I mean did he ever say anything about our money – the Malfoy money?" Severus was a little surprised Draco would discuss such a topic with him.

"Lucius never said a thing, Draco. He always thought discussions about money were crass, and beneath him. Of course, that never stopped him from throwing it around to influence others. No, Draco," Severus shook his head, "Lucius said nothing. What nasty surprise did he leave behind that's got you so worked up?"

Draco spent the better part of the next half hour explaining what had happened. Severus was equally appalled at what Draco had learned at the bank that morning.

"I had no idea, Draco. I... I really don't know what to say." Severus had stopped drinking halfway through Draco's recitation. He watched in concern as Draco poured himself another generous drop of the firewhisky. "Don't you have to go back and talk to the goblins?" he asked.

Nodding, he reluctantly put down the freshly poured glass. Not wanting to think about his father, nor about his money, he turned to other matters. "Have you been questioned by anyone about these Neo Death Eaters, Severus? Just how bad are they?"

The Potions master snorted and nodded in reply, "Of course the Aurors came around and had a little discussion. I had thought they would realise by now that I'm not in the pocket of any Death Eaters. Dumbledore would know if I scratched my nose the wrong way. Why would I want to leave Hogwarts and join up with their little band of merry men?" His tone became sarcastic.

"Am I sensing some disillusionment at Hogwarts, Severus? Surely you jest? Why don't you get out – you know you're one of the most knowledgeable Masters in Europe. If half the tutors at _l'institut_ knew only half of what you do, then they might actually be better masters themselves. Your talents are wasted at Hogwarts."

"Draco, when have you ever known me to enjoy teaching those dunderheads? Surely you know by now that I have had little desire to stay in such a dead end job. The Powers That Be have every intention of keeping me under their noses, just in case I change my mind about my loyalties. Even more so now that these children play at being Death Eaters. Do they honestly think that after nearly twenty five years, I would suddenly change loyalties?" The bitterest edge crept into Severus' words, but Draco understood the sentiments completely. He assumed that he would always be associated with the Death Eaters, no matter how hard he tried to prove his worth. Hearing that Severus was still facing prejudice after so many years of proven dedication, Draco became even more disillusioned.

"So leaving Hogwarts is not an option?" Draco had always been curious about Severus' need to stay at Hogwarts. Surely that was well and truly in the past now.

"Oh, don't worry, Draco. I've been keeping up my correspondences, ensuring I don't stay out of the loop. I have a few plans, and I've actually been talking to a few people about them, so when the perfect opportunity arises, I'll be out the door quicker than a Niffler on a Galleon. But honestly, Draco. I do love teaching. It's just the students I can't stand." Both men had a small laugh over that. Despite this, Draco was still a little concerned about his friend's treatment at the hands of the Aurors.

"But what did the Aurors ask you?" Draco was curious.

Severus shrugged. "You remember the drill. It was the same questions they asked you when you were in St Mungo's. Don't worry, you'll be fine. You're the victim here, Draco, as much as you must hate to admit that. I honestly think that even if we find those trustees, you will find the money is all gone," he watched as his young companion visibly sagged as the enormity of his current situation began to overwhelm him. "At least you've got your studies, Draco. When will you be ready to start your research?"

Draco had conveniently forgotten about his tuition deadline, and now the silent fear overtook him. He drew a mental blank at how he was going to pay for the outstanding fees for his studies. Sudden images of destitution on the street overwhelmed him. Running his hands through his hair, he stared into the fire, deep in thought.

"Well," he smiled and laughed bitterly, "That's the clincher, isn't it? It seems father has managed to prevent me from even finishing study. My fees are unpaid, and with the accounts frozen, I have no way to pay it by the deadline in..." he looked over at the clock, "... a little over a few hours."

"Are you serious?" Severus asked in surprise.

Draco shrugged. "I can't do anything, can I?" he shrilled in near desperation. "I haven't got the funds to finish the semester, so I may as well just pack my bags and forget about finishing my studies. Of course, I could always go to Prague. Plenty of need for Wolfsbane in that fair city," he muttered ironically.

"You could always apprentice..." Draco held his hand up before Snape had the sentence out.

"You expect anyone to put up with _me_ as an apprentice? I'd like to see how long that would last! No, I couldn't do that Severus. My thesis is complete all bar the final draft, and my research proposal was almost ready to process. I couldn't bear the strictures of having to work for someone else, then let them take all the glory for my hard work. Besides, how long do you think I'd last under all that authority?" he smiled at the last. His ambition in his chosen field was admirable, but he could see his dream slipping quietly through his fingers.

Snape nodded at the ambition in the eyes of his former student. "Always one for the grand plans, Draco."

"What?" Draco knew it was a good natured rebuke. Seeing his mentor had been just the tonic he needed. He didn't need to stew any more over his horrid morning, but the thought of it all quickly began to overwhelm him. He downed another glass of firewhisky to help ease him through the situation.

"Draco, I need you to listen to me." By the look on his face Severus knew that Lucius' son was indeed on the slow and steady road to wallowing in depression. He mentally placed himself in Draco's position, and realised just how desperate the young man would be feeling. His words were firm, but warm. "I need you to stop dwelling and wallowing for a while. Why don't you forget what you can't change..."

"But I don't know whether to be angry at myself, or at father or at those damn trustees... I should have known better than to think that father would have trusted me. He could not leave well enough alone, he had to come back and continue to haunt me..." Draco snorted in irony, "No doubt this is some way of getting back at me for my sexuality. I certainly won't be passing the family fortune on to anyone, so why shouldn't it be spent on his great cause?" Draco was ready to down another drink, but Severus cast a very quick Sobrietus charm on the younger man, making Draco defensive and angry. "If I had wanted your help, Severus, I would have asked."

"You've had quite enough to drink, and I don't want to see you lose your temper with the goblins. Don't be a fool, Draco. Don't give in to them. You still have your dignity. If I can still manage to have mine after all these years, no matter how much my families name and fortunes have waned over the years, then you should be able to keep yours." As he spoke, Severus cast several freshening charms on Draco, helping him to get ready to head back to the bank.

Draco hung his head. He knew Severus was right. He still had his dignity, for what it was worth. "Why Severus, anyone would think you were fathering me." Draco drawled as he stood. Severus also stood, helped Draco put his green robe back on, smoothing out the lines at the shoulders. Draco took another deep breath.

"Well someone has to do it. I for one don't want to see you lounging in destitution on the streets of Prague, peddling yourself, or your skills on the black market. You are a Malfoy; you still have your dignity – nobody can take that away from you," Severus imitated Lucius' mannerisms as he delivered the last line to Draco.

Looking at Severus, Draco could see the concern in his old friend's eyes. He felt guilty that their lunch had not gone as well as he had expected. The soup had remained barely touched, and the tea in the charmed pot was still warm, but had steeped too long. Draco took a deep breath, steeling himself for the meeting. "I'll floo you when I have news." Just this one more meeting and Draco could head home. It had been wonderful seeing Severus, but he was looking forward to some rest, and the ability to brew some well needed painkilling potion.

Draco's knee was past the point of pain, but he could barely feel it as he made his goodbyes to Severus. He had no idea when he would next see him, but he felt a little guilty for not visiting him more often. He was suddenly reminded of Flash – he was making friends, and he could never afford to lose Severus' friendship.

As they shook hands, Severus gave one final piece of advice. "Remember, Draco. Remember the Slytherin Code."

"Live to fight another day? Don't worry Severus, I know, I remember."

As they parted, Snape turned to Draco. "Don't leave it so long before the next visit. Besides, could it get any worse than this trip?" he smiled sardonically.

* * *

Harry wandered the stalls and shops of Diagon Alley, walking aimlessly through the crowds. His excess magic began to dissipate but he failed to notice that it had an energising effect on the crowd around him. As he slowly calmed down he realised he was at the far end of Diagon Alley and he had only the vaguest of memories of where his feet had taken him during his wanderings. He'd been so focused on settling the magic within himself, that he hadn't paid attention to the physical realm.

He was pleased to be away from the suffocating crowd of The Leaky Cauldron. At times when his emotions ran high, he simply didn't care to be around too many people. It made him edgy. Glancing at his watch, Harry saw that while he had been wandering for over an hour, he still had some time before Ron would be free for lunch. Glad of the extra time, he decided to continue his mindless wandering in the hopes that it would continue to calm him down and put him in a better mood for his visit with Ron. In his attempts to calm down, Harry lost himself again in his quiet musings. He didn't even notice when his steps automatically lead him around the corner to Knockturn Alley.

With a flourish of robes, he descended the stairs leading down to the dodgy end of town. His eye caught a reflection of green as he passed the corner. Why did it seem so familiar? Turning quickly, he saw no one, but the familiar scent of that expensive cologne wafted past him for a third time that day. Surely it was no coincidence that he smelt it again. Whoever was wearing it was trying to trigger some long dormant memory. He couldn't quite place it. He shrugged. Goodness knew how many wizards wore that particular cologne, but he couldn't place anyone he knew who wore it.

* * *

Stepping out into Diagon Alley brought the flood of unpleasant smells to Draco's nose. If this were _Le Quart De Sorcier_, then the smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries would have overpowered even the weakest of noses. Instead he was bombarded with what could only be described as the fetid smell of war. The stench of the smoke and destruction was still fresh in his mind, despite the rebuilt stores and shops. Fresh timber and paint could not hide the acrid smells that held such bad memories. Combined with the stench of the overcooked curries and overboiled cabbage; the place did indeed have an interesting bouquet – one that Draco tried to forget.

Draco headed towards the bank as briskly as possible. As he neared the entrance to Knockturn Alley, he walked quickly; not wishing to reacquaint himself with the less salubrious part of town, for many reasons. Being in London was bad enough without visiting people who, by nature of their business, would possibly remember his father in a fond light. As he passed, he caught the scent of a musky cologne. Draco took a deep breath, savouring the other wizard's extremely pleasant scent. The stench from the earlier Dungbombs had burned his nasal passages, and this cologne was refreshingly clean and warm with that ever present touch of musk. It was compelling enough that Draco wanted to seek out the wizard wearing it. It certainly didn't come from any of the well known fashion houses; of that Draco was certain. He looked around for the wizard who might be wearing it, but the only other wizard he spotted was a short and balding owner of the nearby Doner Kebab stall.

Shrugging, Draco assumed the wizard wearing the divine scent had entered one of the shops, or headed down Diagon Alley. Had he not been in such a hurry to get to the bank, he might have made more time to seek out the owner of the intriguing scent. With a flourish of his green robes, he kept walking.

* * *

Harry wandered through the alley, studiously ignoring the people around him and the shops he was passing. He was lost in his own thoughts and he much preferred it that way. _I'll have to talk to Remus about this, especially if it continues._ Harry was still uncertain what had caused his outburst. Honestly, he'd never cared for the fame and attention, never wanted the reporters and questions and photos, but he had never lost his temper like that over something so small. In comparison, it really was small, and Harry was just thankful that no one had been injured, not to his knowledge anyway. It was only when he passed the vaguely familiar storefront of Borgin and Burkes that he realised he had left Diagon Alley. He paused, trying to remember the path back to Diagon Alley. Seeing the vaguely familiar Dark Arts store, Harry was reminded of Malfoy once again. Something in the back of his mind told him that it was a noteworthy coincidence that he would wander past the very store where he had nearly run into Malfoy many years earlier. He discarded that notion as he began to get his bearings in Knockturn Alley.

Not having been here since he was twelve, Harry fleetingly wished Hagrid would show up again to lead the way, but quickly pushed that thought aside as thoughts of his departed friend threatened to bring him to tears. He was too far on edge to deal with this now, his emotions broiling at the surface, waiting for another excuse to release the still-surging magic. He paused in a quiet corner between two shops and followed the instructions he normally gave his students until he felt more centred. Finally feeling a bit more control, he continued down the street and back toward the heart of Diagon Alley, silently applauding his memory when the bright white Gringotts building came into view. It was nearly time for Ron's lunchbreak, and Harry had yet to pick anything up. He'd planned on taking fish and chips from _The Leaky Cauldron_, but wasn't ready to go back there just yet. He decided that Doner Kebabs from the small street cart would be an acceptable alternative. He doubted Ron would notice the difference, his stomach doing his thinking for him.

* * *

It was a little after lunch when a very tired and weary Draco stepped out of the Special Investigations Office. He was more than ready to head back home. The Fiscal Investigative Goblins questioning him had been thorough. He was used to the disdain with which he was treated by a number of Ministry officials, but the goblins were thorough, yet impartial in their questioning. They actually believed every answer Draco gave, but of course, he had no doubt that they used some obscure goblin magic to ensure he told the truth. _At least their magic isn't as invasive as Veritaserum,_ he thought.

He smiled at the witch on reception as he left; she returned the smile warily. _At least the Weasel isn't around,_ he thought uncharitably. _I really couldn't stand to face any more Gryffindors today_. As he waited for the elevator, his foul mood returned as the reality of his situation suddenly struck. Nobody could mistake the murderous frown as he made plans about what he would do to the trustees if he ever found them. The immediacy of having to budget was something he was unaccustomed to. Not only was he going to have to explain the lack of money to the registrar at _l'institut_, but his stipend was now non existent.

Draco had never had to worry about money before. It had been bad enough when he first had to learn to live within the strictures of his stipend. _Have they been ripping me off for that long?_ He stewed over that thought as he waited for the elevator. _Could these elevators be any slower_, he thought sarcastically. _Any slower and you'd swear that Muggles were hand driving them._ It was frustrating not being in an area where he could readily Apparate, but Gringotts disallowed any method of coming and going other than your own two feet (other than their rather hairy cart rides, but he didn't want to think of those now).

* * *

Harry managed to squeeze into an elevator just as the doors were closing. The enticing fragrance of the warm food filled the small space and triggered Harry's appetite. He was looking forward to lunch with Ron and was glad he'd had the forethought to make these plans. _Ron will help me cheer up. He knows how frustrated I am with these rotten wankers in charge at work, although I don't think I want to tell him what happened at the pub, although he'd get a kick out of the fact I met Malfoy. _He pressed the button for Ron's floor again. _C'mon. Why is this lift so slow? I'll be Dumbledore's age before I get out!_

--oo0oo--

"Oh do Hurry up!" Draco muttered under his breath impatiently. The wait for the elevator seemed interminable. It seemed the quicker he wanted to leave London, the slower the elevator took. Finally, he heard the bell chime as the elevator arrived on his floor.

As the doors opened, he quickly stepped inside, hoping against hope that the ruddy contraption wouldn't take as long to get to the ground floor. He heard the second elevator arrive and caught a ghosted hint of that familiar cologne yet again. Craning his neck to look for the wearer, his view was blocked as the doors closed on his elevator, and he was again left wondering as to the owner of the perfect scent.

--oo0oo--

From that second elevator, Harry stepped out and started quickly down the hall to Ron's office. As he stopped in front of the neighbouring lift, another flash of green caught his attention in the shining metal walls before the doors closed. He was vividly reminded of his recurring dreams and couldn't help wondering why he kept seeing this dream image during his waking hours. He blinked. Perhaps it was something wrong with his eyes. The scent of _that_ cologne wafted past again – the same scent that had followed him around. He shrugged. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, or it was the latest fashion fragrance. If only he knew the name of it.

Harry continued down the corridor toward the offices as he pondered the déjà vu and the dreamed images that seemed to be taking over his life. He had noticed a decrease in the frequency of those dreams since Oliver cheated on him, but there was a nagging suspicion that the confusing images were making a resurgence.

Harry stopped thinking at that point. _I'm not going to get anywhere thinking in circles like this. _He was about to have an enjoyable lunch with Ron, and the Doner Kebabs were _not_ getting any fresher. He quickly cast a warming charm on the food, as he entered Ron's office. He smiled at Georgina, Ron's assistant. The blonde witches eyes lit up as she smiled warmly at Harry.

"Hi Georgina! The boss around?" She barely had time to nod before Ron appeared and ushered Harry into the office. As the door to Ron's office closed, the beginning of their conversation was lost in muted laughter.

--oo0oo--

The cheerful conversation and savoury lamb had done wonders for Harry's mood. He'd found himself in stitches as Ron related a story of the twins newest invention, flavoured socks. Seemed they were modelled after something Muggles called Toe Socks in which each toe had its own compartment, like gloves for the feet. Only the mischievous Fred and George had decided to combine this idea with Bernie Botts' Every Flavour Beans to create Weasley Wizard Wheeze's Every Flavour Edible Toe Socks in which each toe had its own flavour and the owner/wearer never knew what it would be.

Toe Socks aside, it had been lovely to catch up with Ron, and Harry was thrilled to hear that preparations for the wedding were already under way. Ron, however, was highly nervous about the honeymoon. He'd promised Hermione a very romantic getaway, but was completely unsure how to handle the promise now that it was time to follow through and make reservations. Harry grinned at the familiarity of his old friend's insecurity. Harry was glad to be there, just to listen to his old friend and the normal day to day worries of a normal wizard. It helped him to put things in perspective and take his mind away from his worries with the Ministry and the anger outburst.

All told, though, Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been so incredibly glad to be home. His day had gone from bad to worse and then continued on into the depths of hell before it was over. In retrospect, he was very glad that the meeting with Ron was his last commitment in London. The rest of the day was worth forgetting. He barely acknowledged Hedwig as he moved through the flat, heading straight for his bedroom in the hopes that a good sleep would help matters, despite the fact it was barely dusk. He was asleep within moments, the tension and pressure of the day draining out of his body as he drifted off into fitful dreams.

_Green. There it was again. Harry saw the flash of green reflected in the shiny surface of the metal doors in front of him. Turning around in the lift, he expected to see something green, or someone dressed in green, but all he saw was Draco Malfoy. The cream coloured shirt and dark brocade vest offered up a vision that cried out his immaculate taste and wealth. His trousers draped snugly over his slim hips and hung casually from there to rest atop his shiny dragonhide boots. _

_Harry expected an insult but somehow knew he wouldn't get one. What surprised him was how very glad he was of that knowledge. He didn't feel like trading insults with Malfoy anymore. He wanted to trade touches and kisses instead. Some distant part of his brain knew that this was not a logical thought for him, but he had no choice but to ignore it when he looked into Malfoy's crystal blue eyes. They sparkled like cut gems and seemed to flicker with invitation as Harry watched that luscious mouth quirk into a rarely seen smile. He ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip again, the familiar gesture that had haunted Harry during their final year at Hogwarts as he came to terms with his sexuality. "Come on, Potter. What is it you want?"_

_Harry swallowed hard at the thoughts that fought in his mind to answer that question. He wanted a lot of things, but the top of the current list would be to have physical contact with Malfoy. Rather than answer, he followed his instincts. He took the two steps quickly and placed his hands on the wall on either side of Malfoy's head before leaning in to claim those smiling lips. It was heaven. It was everything he'd imagined a kiss should be, but had never connected with Malfoy before. The pressure of their lips was perfect, and the silky warmth of Malfoy's tongue sent a shiver straight to Harry's groin. He took advantage of the moment, and their positions, by pressing himself fully against the other body, unmindful that they **were** in an elevator and the doors could open at any time. He felt his breath catch in his throat when Malfoy's hands came to rest gently on Harry's waist. The tenderness and sweetness of the gesture was so very different from Harry's expectations that he wasn't entirely sure what to do. He broke off from their kiss and searched that blue gaze for a clue._

_Malfoy just looked at him. "You should learn to control yourself, Potter." The voice came from Malfoy, but sounded more like Snape, leaving Harry feeling even more confused than before and slightly concerned. _

"_I do control myself."_

"_You called that control?" The room spun and suddenly he was standing in the Leaky Cauldron again, viewing the damage he had left after his mid-morning outburst. He saw the frightened looks from the patrons, the resigned expression on Tom's face, the shattered glass covering a majority of the floor, and the dripping Butterbeer and Firewhisky from the broken bottles. Spinning quickly to leave, he found himself face to face with Malfoy once again. "Leaving so soon?"_

_He opened his mouth to reply, but found he was now standing at one end of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. He took a step backward and felt the left goalpost in his back. Malfoy was too close for Harry to leave, and Harry realised he didn't really want to. He was trapped between the goalpost and Malfoy's firm body, suddenly wondering where their clothing had gone. His hands wandered up and down the smooth, supple skin of his childhood enemy, tracing the contours around the firm muscles, mapping the curve of Malfoy's tight buttocks. Malfoy smiled. "Ah, ah, ah," he taunted. "This time it's my turn."_

_With those words, Harry was spun around to face the post, and wrapped his arms around it as he closed his eyes tightly. He felt the confident fingers soothing over his skin, gliding towards his opening, and knew he was about to be well-buggered. He heard the almost imperceptible whisper as Malfoy's tongue ghosted over the shell of his ear, whispering a lubricating charm. He felt warm fingers trailing down his spine. As he felt a finger ready to breach his tightness, he gasped. Opening his eyes, he found he was now standing in front of his classroom. _

_He took a moment to quickly ensure he was indeed clothed and turned to discover that Malfoy was nowhere to be found. Either it was an odd daydream, or he had dozed off into an even more bizarre nightmare. Facing the class, he saw that his regular students were not there. The room was instead filled with young adults that he knew to be the children of his own contemporaries. He spotted a dog eared calendar on his desk, the year 2020 clearly marked on the bright parchment. Harry began to feel claustrophobic as he realised that he'd been trapped in this room, and in the tutoring position, for nineteen years. 'I'm not taking this anymore. I'll quit. I'd rather not work than be here any longer,' he thought. With that decision, he spun on his heel to leave, only to find that the door was gone. There were no doors, no windows, no form of exit or escape. He was stuck. Harry couldn't breathe, and began turning in circles waiting for the door to reappear. _

Harry awoke with a stifled scream, tangled in his sheets as usual, and with an unshakable feeling of terror creeping over him. He had the feeling that he had just faced his best and worst dreams all at once, but for a change, he couldn't remember a single image from his slumber. He rubbed his face, pulling the slick, sweaty strands of hair back from his face. He shivered involuntarily as a cold chill crept over his sweat cooled skin. _I hate it when I can't remember my dreams._ Looking at the clock, he saw it was just after midnight. He tried to rearrange the tangled bedclothes, but gave up before he turned over and forced himself to go back to sleep, briefly wondering if that flash of green had resurfaced in his forgotten dreams.

--oo0oo--

By the time Draco landed on the rug in front of his fireplace in Paris, the sun was long gone, and the moonlight played shadows through the window, casting long shadows across the studio floor. Petite Amie meowed in welcome, rubbing against Draco's sore left leg in an eager greeting. Falling heavily into the overstuffed chair by the fire, Draco absently waved his wand, lighting the candles in the sconces and burners. Another muttered spell, and the fire banked, rising in warm flickering tendrils.

_Well, if that wasn't the worst day of my life,_ he thought sourly, rubbing his temples in slow circles. He was tired, grumpy, and most of all - angry. His anger was mainly directed at the fact he was so stupid. _Why did I never bother to check up on those trustees? Why did I take them at face value? They seemed to have my best interests at heart. Who would have thought Father could have continued to have so much influence after being dead all these years?_

Thinking about his father made Draco wish for another strong drink. He appreciated the fact Severus had sobered him up a little before going back to the bank, but he was tired, thirsty, and as he rose from the chair, he realised he was in more pain than he cared to admit.

In his eagerness to get out of London, Draco had foolishly blocked out most of the twinges of discomfort as he made his way to the Ministry, and back home. Now that he was here, he wanted nothing more than to forget the worst parts of the day, but as always, he had other responsibilities.

Looking over his work area, Draco searched for the right cauldron to create a pain killing potion. All his regular sized copper cauldrons were currently simmering, or steeping on the countertop. Fretting for just a moment that he didn't have the right cauldron available, the reality of the situation struck very hard, and he faltered mid-step. He wouldn't need any of the potions he was currently working on. They were simply useless pots of bubbling research – totally useless now that he had no place at _l'institut_ and no future. His deadline had passed. His enrolment was cancelled.

The registrar would have made _sure_ that Draco's enrolment was cancelled. It wasn't the fact that he no longer had a place in the course that bothered him. The events of the day – from learning his father had again double crossed him, to the encounter with a rather angry Harry Potter – along with all that eventuated in between – had boiled down to one thing. Waste.

The bubbling cauldrons were a complete waste of his time – of time and effort and ironically, money. Not thinking clearly as he obsessively focussed on that one thought, he began to throw the pots to the floor in a fit of anger. It was a waste. All the work he had put into trying to be his own man had been for nothing. It didn't matter what he tried to do, his father was still dictating the terms by which he would live. He was making Draco pay.

Seeing the now oozing and bubbling mess of mixed potions and bases as they melded together on the floor, he came to his senses and cast a quick cleansing charm. Absently picking up one of the cauldrons, he placed it back on the counter, casually casting a scourgifying charm over it. He buckled slightly as another twinge of pain overtook his knee, radiating up and down his leg. Draco grabbed the counter top as he tried to remain standing, pausing a few minutes for the pain to subside. Looking up through the cloud of pain, he spotted a bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhisky. Without thinking, he poured an entire glass, throwing it back in one long gulp. The burning liquid passed down his throat, but failed to mask the pain radiating from his knee.

Although the alcohol didn't help the pain, it did numb some of the immediate anger. Draco didn't have any more resources to deal with anything else this day. All that mattered was that he was home, and that he was now going to brew a pain killing potion to stop the ever increasing and excruciating pain in his knee.

Draco barely paid attention as he threw the ingredients together for the potion. He had made this pain killer dozens of times before, and he easily mixed, blended, stirred and brewed until the potion was finished. As it cooled, he heard Petite Amie s yowls of hunger as she put on a show to beg for food. Looking into the pantry, he pulled out the fresh meats, undoing the preservation charm keeping them fresh. She gave a contented purr of delight as she relished her feast.

Draco downed the cooled potion, awaiting the cessation of twinges and aches that told him it was working. As he sat by the fire, he thought again on the astounding day. He wanted to find those trustees. He wanted to find them and... well, a myriad of uncharitable thoughts and a number of the darkest curses crossed his mind as he let his anger continue to overwhelm him.

Taking another long sip of the Ogdens, he started to become drowsy. _That's funny, _he thought. _This potion doesn't normally make me feel drowsy. _The flames in the fireplace began to reduce and smoulder, and it was all Draco could do to keep his eyes open. A deep burning pain began in his lower belly, and he felt quite nauseous. Needing to lie down, he cast an everburn charm on the fire, and warded the floo against any calls or visitors. It wasn't long before he fell into a fitful sleep on the couch.

--oo0oo--

_The streets were cold in Prague in the winter. It was the late autumn, and the city was cold as ice as a bitter wind blew in from the north. As Draco wandered aimlessly through the still and silent cobblestone streets, he turned up the collar on his leather jacket, wishing fervently for some other warmth._

_Passing a small alley, Draco stopped, stepping quietly behind the rubbish bins lining the Muggle streets. A feeble fire struggled to burn in the upturned drum. Crossing quickly, Draco warmed his hands by the fire, seeing for the first time the tattered gloves, and feeling the slow trickle of cold snow as it ran down his neck and into his clothing. He was cold. So very cold. He couldn't pinpoint why, but he felt guilty. Horribly guilty._

_Whatever he had done, he had been wrong. Not able to work out why he was feeling that way, Draco shook his head. He knew there was something important he had to remember, but he could not put his finger on it. 'Hey, move on, this isn't your fire – oh, it's you,' the angry hag suddenly changed her tune when she saw it was Draco. 'You got it?' the hag asked. Feeling into the dark recesses of his pocket, he passed the vial to her as she passed a small money pouch into his hands. He felt the guilt weigh more heavily on him as he pocketed the few coins. Nodding to the hag, he rubbed his hands once more over the fire before moving back to the wind chilled streets._

_As he walked, he felt a burning ache radiate from his left leg. The further he walked, the more the ache burned, until he could walk no longer. He had to sit, no longer able to support his weight. He leant heavily against a lamp post, suddenly weary and burdened by the ever present guilt._

_The cold winds blew more, and the snow began to fall heavily, but Draco continued to sit in the bitter cold. His hands were numb, but a warm, dark glove was extended. 'Here, let me help you', a deep voice said. He couldn't pinpoint the familiar deep inflection, but a warmth suffused him at the voice. When he looked up, the person was gone. Looking around, he could only see a dark shadow as a figure in dark robes quickly blended into the mid distance._

_Feeling a tingle from where the warm hand touched, he looked down to find himself holding a broom; the familiar grip was something Draco had missed. It was comforting to hold a broom again, and he suddenly felt the need to get on the broom and escape. The need to get away from his current situation was ever present, and he hesitated before standing astride the broom. _

_It had been too long since he had been able to ride, but the grip and the feel of the broom between his legs was not forgotten. He readjusted his grip, ready to take off. He could not determine why it had been so long since he had flown, but he knew that it was something he was eager to do. Bending his knees, he attempted to launch himself, but felt a sharp tug as he, and the broom, remained stationary on the ground._

_Something was holding him back, and as he pushed further to escape, he heard a familiar, yet long forgotten laugh. The sound sent chills through his spine, and he turned, not surprised to find Lucius holding the end of the broom as he laughed in amusement at his son's struggle._

_The more Lucius laughed, the more determined Draco was to get away from the sound reverberating through his mind. His urge to get away from Lucius became more important than the air he breathed. He finally found voice, turning around towards his father._

"_Can't you just leave me alone?" he cried._

"_What? And let you live the high life? Tsk Draco, did you honestly think I'd let you have it all? After what you did?" Lucius sneered, but didn't let go of the broom. "You betrayed us all. You betrayed your Malfoy duty, Draco, and now you have to suffer."_

"_Why can't you just leave me alone? Wasn't it enough that after you died, your friends came and killed mother?" Draco was struggling more desperately. He could see a hint of gold at the corner of his eye. His seeker reflexes wanted to take off and go after it. His palms were itching for the touch of the small golden ball. _

"_But son, you are only getting what you deserve. You betrayed your family, you betrayed the Malfoy honour –"_

"_You call bowing down to Voldemort honourable?" Draco bit back._

"_Had I known you would have turned out as such a dismal failure at being a Malfoy, I would have had you drowned at birth." Lucius looked his son up and down. "You obviously inherited your disturbing proclivity for men from your mother's side of the family..." Lucius looked at Draco in complete disdain._

_Draco blocked out Lucius' insults. "Leave mother out of this. If anything, I'm proud of the fact that my mother was a proud and decent witch. Why can't you leave me alone? You've ruined my future. I really didn't care about the money, why did you have to stop me from having a life – any life? If anything, **you** let **me** down. I don't care about the Malfoy name – it's certainly not something to be proud of after you were through trashing it." The sudden urge to chase the snitch became more urgent. He could sense it, and knew that it needed to be caught – was waiting to be caught. _

_Finally, Draco struggled enough to break the broom from Lucius' grip. As he took off, his heart racing at the familiar need to get to the snitch as it hovered teasingly before him, he could hear a final epitaph from Lucius' lips, 'You deserve nothing... you are nothing.'_

_As Draco raced away from Lucius, he could sense the freedom as he ducked and wove through the air, racing towards that ever present snitch. Strangely, the small golden ball wasn't flitting erratically, as was its wont; instead, it hovered teasingly in the one spot. Bending low against the broom, he flew straight and true towards it. A sense of relief suffused him as he moved towards the ball. As he closed in on it, he felt the presence of another seeker on his tail, and tried with all his energy to get to the prize._

_A sudden lurch, and he felt an excruciating pain in his knee. He recalled why he had not been on a broom in years as he remembered the awkwardness of his injury. Looking down, he could see the awkward angle of his leg, and he felt the broom lurch and sway as he veered off course._

_Losing control, a sickly feeling rose in his stomach, and he began to fall. A severe throb in his head accompanied the fall. Falling. Falling. Expecting impact, he felt a great rush of wind as warm hands grabbed him, arresting his fall and sweeping him away._

'_It's all right, I have you now.' The warm voice from earlier spoke again. He tried to turn around, but couldn't see the face of his rescuer, as he helped Draco onto the front of his broom. One hand grasped his waist as the other steadied the broom. As they hovered there, waiting for Draco to get his balance, the snitch hovered teasingly before him._

'_Go on,' the voice whispered teasingly in his ear, 'take it. It's yours. It's been waiting for you.' Draco reached out and took the snitch, as he felt the warm arms grasp him and keep him safe and warm._

* * *

Harry awoke slowly, as if emerging from a sudden dive into a deep, warm lake. He began to feel the sheets and duvet wrapped around him, but his sleep-addled brain couldn't quite make out where he was. Eventually, as he slowly untangled his legs from the bedclothes, he awoke enough to remember that he was home, and that he'd been to London the day before. As he finally summoned the energy to pull himself out of bed, he recalled the burst of anger he'd felt at the pub, and the resulting carnage he'd left behind. It hadn't been until he went back to the Leaky Cauldron to floo home that he had finally realised the extent of damage he had done.

He'd had to apologise to Tom, and despite the hunchback's objections, Harry ended up leaving a few more galleons to ensure the damage would be covered. He couldn't help feeling horrid for what had happened, but he was worried more about the damage he _could have_ caused than about the damage he _had_ caused. Harry knew that there were very few people in the world who understood the extent of his power, and the amount of work that had gone into helping him control that power. The fact that he had allowed that control to slip after so many years was not a good sign of things to come.

He sat down at the desk to send a letter to Claire, determined that this needed to be taken care of right away. He had to know what was going on. He had a _right_ to know. More than that, he had a _responsibility_ to know. He couldn't help the nagging feeling that this power surge had something to do with the Neo Death Eaters he had heard people mumbling about around the office. It had been decided at the end of the war that his power was somehow directly related to the threat presented against the wizarding world. He had experienced his first power surge when Voldemort attacked him as a baby. Then, during most of his youth, the power had simmered, only coming to a boil again when Voldemort began his efforts to regain his life. It was Severus Snape who had discovered this, realising shortly after Voldemort's death that Harry's power level was consistently lower than it had been in previous years, and that he was no longer prone to dangerous and uncontrollable outbursts when provoked, angered or frightened.

_**Tuesday, 18 March, 2003**_ _**Claire,**_ _**As promised, I will be returning to work tomorrow. I must request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. Something important has come up and it requires fairly immediate attention. I cannot begin to speculate on the outcome of this, nor can I emphasise the importance strongly enough. If I haven't heard otherwise from you, I will plan to meet with you at 3:00, after my last tutoring session of the day.**_ _**Thank you,  
Harry Potter**_

After writing the letter Harry felt slightly better. He knew that he could handle himself for a few days, and he felt that talking it over with Claire would help him chose a course of action for the coming weeks. Claire would be able to fill him in on the hushed goings-on of this new Death Eater group. Once he knew what was happening, what to expect, he would feel much better about the entire situation. _I should probably go talk to Remus and Dumbledore this weekend, though._ He knew that his old friend and the Headmaster could help him to put everything in perspective. They, along with Snape and a couple of the now-dead Aurors, had been the impetus for his initial grasp on his power.

Through them, he had learned how to recognise it, how to keep his temper in check and keep his power at a steady level. He had learned to understand that power and to reign it in when need be.

Ultimately, it was Snape's near imperceptible nod and encouraging gaze during that final showdown that allowed Harry to embrace his anger and channel it through his power. The result had been something Harry never imagined or expected. Unleashing the raw power upon the Dark Lord, Voldemort had been taken by surprise. He quivered and glowed as he writhed in pain, his essence quickly dissolving into a vapour cloud. The dense black smog folded in upon itself as Harry continued to glower and force his rage through his power. Ultimately, the ever decreasing pall of smoke disappeared into the now smoking length of yew that was Voldemort's wand.

Harry had watched this, feeling somewhat separated from reality at that moment and unmindful of the crackling and trembling throughout the rest of the room. Once the mist had been fully absorbed by the yew wand, Harry had conjured a flame, picked up the wand, snapped it into four separate pieces, and threw it into the flame followed by a curse to ensure that it would be disintegrated thoroughly. A far distant phoenix cry could be heard as Harry thoroughly destroyed what was left of the former Dark Lord. The cry was triumphant, and the last vestiges of the wand sparked in red and gold before disintegrating into the ashes.

He snapped himself out of the morbid memories, and pulled out another clean sheet of parchment.

_**Tuesday, 18 March, 2003**_ _**Remus, **_ _**I know I was just there, but I was hoping I could come back to visit this weekend. I've had a bit of a disappointment with the Ministry, and then a bit of an incident in Diagon Alley. I think a meeting with you and Dumbledore would be a good idea. It's got me a little worried, though I'm sure I'm overreacting. Owl to let me know if you are all right with me coming up this weekend.**_ _**Thanks,  
Harry **_

He sealed that letter as well, and offered Hedwig a treat before sending her off to deliver both messages. He set about the rest of his day, paying particular attention to his tea and crumpets. He relished the steaming cup of Irish Breakfast tea and immediately felt himself start to calm down, grounding himself to get rid of the excess energy that swirled within. After breakfast, Harry set about completing a number of mindless, but very busy chores. Cleaning the flat in the traditional Muggle way offered a further outlet for his anxiety. He went out for groceries to replenish the dwindling supply, stopped off at the local bookstore to see what new releases they had, and then decided to reorganise the items he'd brought back from France the previous week. He set aside the film that needed to be developed and made plans to buy himself a new photo album to support his hobby.

Pulling out another shopping bag, he realised that he'd nearly forgotten the final impulse purchases from the Indian textiles shop. He lovingly fingered the scarf he'd bought. The bottom layer of the scarf was a fine cream-coloured polished silk with a slight sheen to it. Hand-sewn over that was a sheer crimson silk with a delicate white lily embroidered on it. It made him think of his mother, and he simply had to have it. Reaching back into the bag, he pulled out the comfortable spun silk pants and jacket he'd bought. The black fabric was neatly hand embroidered with black thread in an intricate pattern of vines and leaves. He'd been so enthralled by the fabrics and clothes in that shop that he had finally gone back to buy this, but then promptly forgot about it.

Now, however, he quickly pulled off his jumper, slipping into the jacket to check the fit, which was perfect for him. He changed into the new trousers as well, feeling quite comfortable and relaxed in the loose garments. It had taken nearly all day, but he was starting to feel much better. He suddenly realised what he really needed to do, and he jumped up, nearly spilling his hot sandwich in his lap, before reaching for the journal. He could feel the tension ease from his rather mundane day, but it was the best therapy for what had happened the day before. _Why didn't I think of this earlier? I should really talk to Luc._ Grabbing his quill and ink, he found the words flying from the end of the quill.

_**Tuesday, 18 March, 2003**_ _**Hello Luc!**_ _**I know it's not yet Sunday, but I had to take a moment to tell you about some recent events in my life. For starters, do you remember when you asked if I've ever met someone who just oozed sex? Well, I have. Only, I knew him ages ago, when he was a kid. I guess, even though he had only just reached adulthood the last time I saw him, I never quite stopped seeing him as an annoying little brat. Now, however, I must admit to some immediate reactions when I saw this man again.**_ _**It's been a hell of a week, and I got the run-around from the Powers That Be at work. It appears that they want to keep me stuck in my current dead-end job for as long as possible. Then there was the quite unexpected run-in with that man I mentioned earlier. As I said, he was just a boy, and a rather spoilt boy at that. The sort that was obviously raised to believe he was better than everyone else. He seemed to be treated as if he were the best thing since pumpkin juice. Oh, I'll grant you that in hindsight I can admit he's not a bad bloke, and I suppose it could be said that he was rather helpful during the war.**_ _**Still, the point is that I ran into him and was quite immediately taken by the changes in him. He seemed to have an aura about him. Something subtle that quietly promises a fabulous experience to anyone who ventures there. In retrospect, I can even say that memory suggests he may have inherited this from at least one of his parents. It was quite confusing for me, Luc. I am by no means the right type of person to pursue an interest like that, not with this man, not even if I wanted to.**_ _**I don't, you know. I really don't want to pursue anything with him. I'm sure that underneath the finely tailored clothes and the carefully placed expression of disdain, he is still the same self-centred and spoilt little boy I knew.**_

Harry looked over those paragraphs, realising that he seemed to be desperately trying to convince _someone_ that he wasn't interested in Malfoy. He sighed, reminding himself that attraction is normal, and so long as he wasn't acting on it, there was really no problem with being attracted to Malfoy on a purely aesthetic level. After all, with the pale blond hair, and those sharp cheekbones, and his trademark sneer, he bore a slight resemblance to James Marsters, the Muggle actor in the role of the platinum vampire from _Buffy_. Harry was of two minds about admitting that to himself, having held a long burning torch for that particular vampire character. He didn't want to think that he would have to admit to hidden feelings about Malfoy.

_You did spend a bit of seventh year wishing he weren't straight,_ Harry's inner voice reminded him. He, of course, promptly told that inner voice to sod off, and reaffirmed that there was nothing deeper to be worried with. _Besides, Malfoy was hardly the most important part of my day in London._ With that thought, Harry returned to his writing, pointedly ignoring his abrupt subject change.

_**The only high point of my week was the opportunity to catch up with an old friend. We shared a few drinks and had a lovely lunch which was very pleasant. I regret that I haven't seen him as much as I would like, and I feel a bit neglectful of our friendship at times.**_ _**He's doing rather well, but did have some decisions to make and I was pleased to listen to his concerns and be a bit of a sounding board for him. I must admit to loving the feeling of being needed that comes with offering advice, and I do believe I've found a solution for him.**_ **_You see, I tend to shut myself off from others, losing myself in my hobbies and trying to forget some of the crap in my past. Merlin knows that my work can be very involving, and especially during the war I never had a free moment to myself. Now that it's over, I'm so set in those habits that it's not unusual for me to fully forget to communicate with people. If not for the required interaction at work, I would likely go days without speaking to another person._** _**That may well be why I value our friendship so much. I mentioned this to my friend as well, about our writing. You've really kept me from becoming completely introverted over the past months. I want to thank you for that.**_ _**Wow, I've only just realised how much I've written. I only intended to tell you about that man and his bloody sexual aura. I should be getting to sleep now, so I can face another day of my never-ending torture where I'm not allowed to explore my passions and I'm forced to deal with under-appreciative idiots who wouldn't know talent and skill if it bit them on the nose.**_ **_Flash_**

* * *

Harry begrudgingly walked into work the next day, thankful that he had had the foresight to take Tuesday off. He had a bit of a challenge to keep from showing his anger to the Aurors in training that he was tutoring. It was difficult to think of this as merely a tutoring position, and he simply couldn't bring himself to cheat the students by lightening up on the information he covered. It wasn't the student's fault that he was stuck in this job. He knew that his 'tutoring' sessions would be more beneficial to them than most of their official training program. He remembered that from his own days in the Auror training program. The trainers often had a tendency to approach things as if they'd never been in the field.

Auror Cowley was one that Harry specifically remembered. A great brute of a man, he was especially obnoxious, acting as if he were the authority on everything and conveniently omitting the minor detail that he hadn't been "in action" for over twenty-five years. For that matter, Harry had discovered that Cowley was taken off the field and reprimanded before he ever had to face Voldemort or any of the Death Eaters. Apparently the man had developed a habit of drinking a bit too much firewhisky and the Minister and Head Auror had decided, in their infinite wisdom, that a drunken git would be better off teaching the incorrigible young Aurors than fighting in the war.

Now, with the rising threat of the Neo Death Eaters, Harry was determined that the new generation of Aurors would be able to fight safely and effectively by learning from his own mistakes. He found it difficult, though, trying to keep his emotions in check after being told that he was really just a tutor. It was startling to realise that he was most bothered by his own expectations. He certainly didn't _want_ to be given special treatment because of his name, but he felt that he had surpassed the name with his actions; actions that included saving countless lives, fighting a war from the age of eleven and eventually destroying Voldemort, the darkest wizard of his time. Those actions warranted more than the name. Those actions warranted recognition, respect and a position of authority.

Of course, it wasn't truly his feelings that disturbed him. It was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy's snide comments at the Leaky Cauldron kept coming back to him. Malfoy had always seemed to get a thrill out of putting Harry down and presuming that Harry was enjoying his celebrity status. On more than one occasion during their time at Hogwarts, Harry had found himself facing off with Malfoy, pushed to his breaking point by the boy's comments and accusations. It seemed toward the end of their school years, those face-offs were nearly always interrupted by Snape, but it never made any long-term difference. Malfoy and his lackeys had always enjoyed making comments about Harry using his status to break school rules, to garner better grades and even to retain his friends. Those comments Malfoy made on Monday in his condescending tone, along with his feeling of indignation because he couldn't get the teaching position he wanted (despite his experience and power), left Harry feeling as if perhaps Malfoy had been right all along. Perhaps he really did rely on his celebrity status.

Harry was trying to keep these thoughts in check as he dealt with a class that couldn't seem to see past the ends of their wands. He'd been testing them, offering up scenarios all day, in the hopes that someone would finally realise that they couldn't always rely on their wands. Of course, it wasn't working. Between his thoughts and worries about the celebrity issue, his worry over the unexpected outburst at _the Leaky Cauldron_, his lingering anger towards the Ministry, and his frustration at not being able to get through to the trainees, Harry was quickly losing hold of his control again.

When his star pupils, Jasmine and Byron began discussing what they could fall back on to protect themselves, he began to think that perhaps they had finally seen the light.

"_Protego_, Byron. That's what you need. _Protego_ is a standard shielding spell!" Jasmine was once again reminding Harry of his old school friend, with her confident demeanour and her mental textbooks.

"No, Jasmine, you can't simply rely on that." Harry looked over the half dozen students in the room as they pondered what else could be used to protect them during a fight. Sighing, he finally realised that he would have to offer them a slight push. "What if your wand were broken, or lost, or taken from you? Or for that matter, what if your wand happens to be related to that of the person you are fighting, thereby rendering it essentially useless?"

Gary, a slightly nervous and unsure student, looked worried. "But, sir, without our wands, we can't do anything."

"I'll have you know, Gary, that you can fight without a wand, and you can, in fact, win _without_ a wand. I doubt you are aware, I didn't use a wand to defeat Voldemort. I mentioned related wands... my wand and Voldemort's wand were brothers; their magical core came from the same creature. I couldn't use my wand, so I had to use my wits instead, and my internal power. You all have that as well." A few murmurs broke out in the room, and a few of the students nodded in understanding. A few were genuinely surprised; the exact details of Voldemort's demise were not public knowledge.

Through the whispering, Harry heard a snort of disbelief. "Not like you," Clifford spoke up. Clifford reminded Harry a great deal of Vincent Crabbe and was a rather thick-skulled young man who often seemed oblivious to things around him and unwilling to consider new ideas. It was a sad reflection on the wizarding world when some of the longest pureblood lines resulted in idiots like Clifford. "We can't be expected to do those things, we're just ordinary people. You're **_Harry Potter_**; you're **_The-Boy-Who-Lived_**!"

That was the final straw for Harry. He couldn't believe one of his students would be spouting that nonsense. He heard Malfoy's words come back to him, _Are you just fully relying on your fame to get through life?_ Harry felt his doubts swirl about in his head again, and with them the anger returned to a full boil. He knew his magic was leaking out again, knew his tentative hold on self-control was slipping quickly. He felt the air around him crackle, and noticed the lights flickering just a bit. It reminded him all too much of what he had done in London just a few days earlier. The room became deathly silent as he glanced at Clifford. Harry didn't even notice the trembling desks, or the levitating books. All he was aware of was that he was dangerously close to losing his temper, yet again, and felt it best to leave the room before anyone could get hurt. Taking a few deep breaths to calm and centre himself, he turned quickly and left the room, walking straight toward the front door of the building, only stopping briefly at Claire's office to inform her that he couldn't handle being there and would contact her next week.

"But Harry," she complained, "you've been gone so much lately. I'm not sure it's a good idea..."

"Claire. Stop." Harry was consciously focusing all his energy on withholding the power that was threatening to cause a repeat of the Leaky Cauldron incident. Claire looked up and saw the fiery power behind his eyes, and stood agape. Upon noticing that various items around Claire's office were rattling, he took a deep breath in search of his centre and spoke through gritted teeth. "I can't be here right now, Claire. I will contact you next week." He left the office with a flourish as Claire watched in slightly frightened awe.

Rather than his usual walk home, Harry decided to Apparate directly into the flat. After taking a few moments to maintain his calm, he walked into his bedroom, changing quickly out of his bulky and uncomfortable robes. His new jacket and trousers were perfect, and the soft feel of the silk helped soothe some of his errant energy. As he lay on the end of his bed, Hedwig's soft hooting interrupted him. He smiled. Heading out to the living room, he was pleased to see a response from Remus waiting for him.

_**Harry,**_ _**Of course, you are more than welcome to come up this weekend. I must tell you that when you say you're overreacting, I worry. Was this a severe incident? Were you hurt? I'll contact Dumbledore as soon as I post this, and set up a meeting, but I'd like to know that you're all right. Floo me if you need to, I'll be home all evening.**_ _**Remus**_

Harry immediately went to the fireplace and reached for the Floo powder. He felt a bit calmer once he saw Remus' face. "Hello Remus."

"Flash!" He smiled brightly, obviously attempting a cheerful expression, but Harry was keen enough to notice the clear relief on his friend's face. "Glad to see you. You look well." It had been a while since he had heard Remus use his nickname, and for a fleeting second, he thought perhaps that Remus was Luc. He shook off the stupid notion, realising that Remus was not in France, and that his old friend was the one who gave him the nickname in the first place.

"Thanks, Remus. I'm well, but there is a problem, and I've just decided that it can't really wait until this weekend." Harry sighed as a slight sense of nervousness overcame him. "Do you mind if I come up to Hogwarts tonight?"

Remus blinked, trying to read his young friend, but knew that he would have a better chance of that once Harry was at Hogwarts. "Of course not! I'll leave the Floo open, come in whenever you're ready."

By the time Harry gathered his things for the weekend, warded his flat and Flooed to Hogwarts, he was both mentally, and physically exhausted. Remus knew him well enough to simply offer the guest room and not ask questions yet.

* * *

Harry's sleep was even more fitful than usual that evening. He remembered vague images from a myriad of dreams that seemed to all blend together. There were more memories of chasing snitches that turned out to be slugs, acorns, mouldy apricots, shrivelfigs, pulped dungbeetles, or squishy overripe tomatoes. He seemed to always be after these things in the oddest of places. He flew through busy, crowded city streets; Muggle towns; dark, cold, rainy forests; even endless clouds that held him trapped for so long he couldn't breathe and his clothes were damp. The snitch dreams were blended with a sensation of helping someone else, and he could almost remember the calm words and soothing tones he was offering to this person. He felt calm and confident during those moments, sure of himself and sure of his actions. It was a very nice feeling, and culminated in the moment when he knew this person – this frightened, anxious, distraught person who had in actuality done no wrong but was riddled with guilt and angst – this person was falling, and it would be completely up to Harry to catch him. He clearly remembered seeing a flash of green from the edge of his vision before reaching out to catch someone. Then suddenly, he was at Hogwarts, standing in the middle of the pitch, and holding an honest-to-Merlin golden snitch. The snitch fluttered in Harry's hand and the wind rippled through his blue flannel pyjama bottoms sending shivers down his spine. Harry looked around, feeling quite pleased that he had the real snitch this time, but there was something else. He couldn't pinpoint it, but he knew there was still something missing. It was almost as if that snitch was supposed to be shared with someone.

He woke with a start, shaken by the powerful emotions in his dream. He couldn't quite identify them, but he knew they were strong. Glancing at the clock, he saw that he still had a couple of hours before daylight, but he knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon. He decided some meditation would be a good way to start the day; thus, some thirty-five minutes later, he was calmed, centred, dressed and waiting for the house elves to deliver him a cup of tea.

* * *

Draco woke with a start – sitting bolt upright in his bed. It was a very bad idea as a pulsating thrum immediately took up residence in his head. It was such a bad idea, he was soon lying back against the sweat soaked pillow. He couldn't remember what had startled him awake, but he knew it was a fitful sleep. His dreams had been disturbing – at least what he could remember of them was disturbing. Lucius had been there, of that he was certain. It had been a long time since he last dreamt of his father, but he wasn't surprised to find the nightmares had returned.

Trying to wake up was just as much of a nightmare. As his consciousness crept slowly into the forefront of his mind, he attempted to swallow. The thick, dry sock that had replaced his tongue was unable to comply, and he coughed. Upon feeling the ache in his ribs and abdomen, he promptly decided that death would have been preferable to whatever had happened to cause such pain. The regret at opening his eyes was instantaneous; the bright light burned, causing the dull throb to increase in pace and volume. Hacking and wheezing, he ended up sitting upright, but being vertical was equal to the challenge of waking up.

With a deep sigh, he fell back on the pillow, desperately hoping to drift back to unconsciousness. He fervently wished he could remember the good parts of his dreams, if only to have something to hold onto when he was trying to get back to sleep. Images bombarded his brain as the memory of his hellish trip to London flooded him. _Oh_, he thought. He remembered drinking a considerable amount of firewhisky, but this didn't feel like any ordinary hangover. He gave up on ever wanting to get out of bed, turning his energies to rolling over instead.

The cause of his unease became instantly apparent as a wave of nausea swept through him. Lurching over the side of the bed he vomited up everything he had ever eaten, and then some. The dry sock in his throat tasted even worse for the effort. As he wretched and heaved until he could give no more, he felt a comforting presence, and the warm tingle of magic.

A strong and firm pair of hands helped him back under the covers, as a softly muttered spell cleaned up his mess. Embarrassed at the need for assistance, Draco opened his eyes, fighting the light, only to see a dark silhouette. He squinted, but he couldn't make out who it was. A voice offered up a clue.

"Good evening, sleepyhead. I see that you've passed the first stage. You'll be okay now. Thank the Gods! It was a close call, Draco. I was lucky Tante Em found you in time and Flooed me." The deep, dulcet tones somewhat soothed the throb in Draco's head.

"Jean... Jean-Paul?" Not his most articulate thought, but as he tried to sit up, he felt the strong hands helping him back to the pillows.

"Shhh, now just lie back. It was touch and go there for a while, but the fever's broken, and I think you'll only be left with a bad headache. I'd like to give you something for that, but after the poisoning, well, I don't want to risk any more potions. Particularly ones I brew. I might cause more damage," he chuckled at the last, brushing a stray strand of hair back from Draco's face.

"P... poison? I... what?" now Draco was confused, as well as ill.

"You were brewing some sort of painkiller?" Draco nodded. "Hmmm, well that would explain it. I knew I could smell the mandrake root – did you soak it properly?" Jean-Paul asked.

"Of course I did," his throat protested as he spoke.

"Well then I hate to suggest it, but I found quite a bit of alcohol in your system. I think perhaps that your potion counteracted with it, Draco." His mild reproval could not hide the concern in his voice. "I've been trying to leech it out of your system now for nearly two days."

Draco was confunded. "Two days?"

"Shhhh, don't worry yourself. It's now Wednesday night. You've been running a fever whilst the poison left your system. Now I think of it, of course it had to be the alcohol. It counteracted the mandrake properties, and the toxicity of the roots came out instead of the healing properties." Jean-Paul's hands were resting warmly on Draco's chest. Draco's naked chest. He was lying in his bed naked – a thin sheet between him and the other man. Draco couldn't pinpoint why this bothered him. His head was still too clouded.

Squinting, he recognised the swift and sure movements of Jean-Paul's hands as he performed Reiki healing on Draco. He had seen the alternative method of healing before, but had never experienced it. He felt an inner warmth as healing energy was pushed into his body. The warmth pushed through his skin, along his chest, through his body and right up into his head. The throbbing headache seemed to cease, but the blissfully euphoric state he now found himself in soon lead to his thoughts quietening and his mind closed.

He could hear the low murmur as Jean-Paul chanted healing spells, and he fell asleep with the sincere hope that the handsome and very talented medi-wizard would still be there when he woke.

* * *

The next time he reached consciousness, Draco immediately felt the glow and warmth of the positive energy Jean-Paul had fed into his suffering body. _Did I really poison myself?_ _How could I be so idiotic?_ His now sharpened mind recalled the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed on the day-from-hell. Even the Sobrietus charm Severus had cast didn't help. The alcohol remained in his system, and it had reacted with his painkilling potion. _I should have known better than that. What sort of dunderhead makes such a basic mistake?_

The positive energy was dissipating as his self confidence took a blow in the early morning light. He knew it was morning from the angle of the sun as it fell across his bed. That, along with the telltale sounds of the Paris streets awakening, were just two things he would miss about having to leave his studio. _Well I can't stay here now, can I? How will I pay for the rent? I own the chateau; guess I'll just have to live there and use my winery proceeds to pay my basic expenses. I don't think I'll be able to manage, otherwise._

Slowly sitting up, the wave of depression that had threatened him earlier in the week came back with a vengeance. A sudden thud from the living area alerted Draco to the fact he was not alone. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he quickly grabbed his silk dressing gown from the end of his bed.

"Ah, I see you are now completely awake – and might I say you look much better than you did yesterday." Jean-Paul stretched and yawned, his mussed hair sticking up in all directions. Draco thought it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. _I really don't need to be thinking these thoughts now. He won't want me now, not after showing him how stupid I could be. What sort of potions genius nearly poisons himself?_

"You stayed?" he asked, surprised that the other wizard was still there. From Jean-Paul's statement, he figured it must be Thursday morning. Draco tried to stand, but as soon as he stood, he desperately wanted to lie back down.

"Hey, slow down," Jean-Paul grabbed Draco and carefully helped him to sit in the settee by his bed. "You have been one sick young man, and you're going to need to take it easy for a while." His firm grip lingered overlong on Draco's arm, but it was not unwelcome. Draco looked up to find Jean-Paul kneeling beside him – his gaze intent on Draco's face. "I just need to make sure we have all the poison out of your system. Once that's out, well, you should be back to your beguiling ways in no time at all."

"Beguiling? I could say the same for you." Jean-Paul didn't answer, but the knowing smile on his face warmed Draco. "You stayed this whole time? What actually happened? I thought you were due in town today." It suddenly dawned on him what was so special about Thursday. "Hey, aren't we supposed to go out for dinner tonight?" That invitation had seemed a lifetime ago, and only now did he recall the anticipation of that dinner. _Guess I've ruined that now, as well._

"Well, I've heard of people cancelling dinner when they don't want to go out with someone, but I think attempting to poison oneself is a little harsh, don't you think?" The imitable grin was not shaken as he waved his wand at Draco, muttering a few simple diagnostic and healing spells at the convalescent.

"If it's any consolation, it was a complete accident. I guess I didn't realise just how much I'd been drinking." Jean-Paul picked up on the dejected tone of Draco's voice.

"I guess you don't do things by halves, do you Draco? Tante Em Flooed me late on Monday evening. Apparently your cat had nearly howled the building down in worry." Draco looked out for Petite Amie, but she was nowhere to be seen. That was no surprise. The animal was a law unto herself. A soft hoot in the rafters from Melchett told Draco that his owl was displeased with him. "He certainly has a personality," Jean-Paul indicated the owl, "he barely let me anywhere near him. Of course, he did accept the owl treats I left out. There, almost done." With a final flourish of his wand, the magic ceased.

Draco felt invigorated, but the maudlin thoughts in his mind did not leave so quickly. "How can I thank you?"

"It's all right, you help Tante Em out so much, this was the least I could do. Besides, she would kill me if I let anything happen to you." His smile was broad, and Draco found the laugh lines in his face truly mesmerising. It felt so wrong. Here he was – practically knutless and destitute, and this gorgeous, sensual creature before him was grinning at him like a loon. He didn't deserve it.

"Hey, what say you to some breakfast? You can't pass up eggs. Not today, anyway. It's Ostara. Besides, you need some sustenance to build up your strength." Draco watched as Jean-Paul, clad only in light sleep trousers and an open neck sleep shirt, leapt up and made his way to the kitchen. Draco could not help but watch the promising muscles beneath the light fabric. Halfway to the kitchen, a low, loud growl in Draco's stomach made Jean-Paul grin.

Draco stifled a small smile. "Guess I am hungry." He neglected to mention the focus of his hunger, but he was sure the other wizard did not lose the meaning behind his words. He stood carefully and slowly. He looked around quickly, but couldn't find his cane anywhere. He braced himself to put weight on his knee, but was pleasantly surprised to find very little pain in it at all. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he felt the lack of pain.

Reading his mind, Jean-Paul piped up, "Oh, I figured you were taking that potion for that knee of yours. I had a bit of a look at it; hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of casting some pain reduction on it. It was rather swollen." He sounded guilty for taking the initiative. Draco didn't mind at all. Normally he didn't want to talk about his knee, but with the recent amount of pain, he would accept any help. He swung his knee around a few times gingerly. Not quite perfect, but the range of movement was much more than he had in the past couple of months.

"Wow, I can't remember the last time it felt this good. Besides, it wasn't a liberty. I daren't ask how I got into bed completely naked. Last I recall, I was fully clothed," He smirked back.

"Oh, well, erm..." Jean-Paul seemed embarrassed now. "Well, we didn't want to have to cast any wrinkle free charms on your exquisite robes, now would we? Trust me Draco, I'm a medi-wizard. You were gravely ill. I'm just so relieved you pulled through. Tante Em came around again last night – she's been beside herself with worry. I don't envy the tongue lashing you'll be getting from her."

_I'd rather another type of tongue lashing._ Draco could not believe he thought that. His body was positively brimming with all the positive healing energy, and some of it was undoubtedly leaking into his mind. Of course, the fact that Jean-Paul's sex appeal was oozing all over the studio could have had something to do with it.

"I'm going to shower," Draco called out. He could still smell the cloying stench of his own illness. Somewhere in all of it, his nostrils still scented the wafting detritus of Diagon Alley.

As he felt the steaming water sluicing down his back, Draco began to feel his equilibrium returning. The positive energy the medi-wizard poured into Draco was waning, and his mind turned to more maudlin thoughts. His past. His future. His hell. How could he have been so stupid as to let the trustees get away with his inheritance? Of course, now his tuition would remain unpaid. Where would he go? What would he do? Draco pondered it all over again, letting the negative thoughts well up inside him once again.

It was totally numbing to realise everything he had wanted – everything he had worked for since the war – would account for nothing. He had defied his father and joined the Order at greater personal risk than most of them, even Potter, and what did he have to show for it all? Nothing. He really wasn't surprised to discover that many of his war allies still questioned his loyalty. _Are you satisfied father?_ The bitterness returned. As he stood under the steaming water, trying to drown out the depressing thoughts, one recent event skimmed to the forefront of his mind. Potter. He never really gave their confrontation that much thought – he was too surprised by what he had seen. The boy had fulfilled all his promises, and was now the powerful and well thought of wizard that Draco had aspired to be. _Just something else to hate him for, _he thought with bitterness. Not only well dressed and dashing, but powerful too. The strength of Potter's power had surprised Draco, but he had been glad not to have been on the receiving end of the dark surge. It had indeed been a surge of dark magic. Draco could still recall the pull of it that tugged at his own inner darkness.

Not only did he sense the tug of Potter's dark magical impulses, but the sight of the other wizard had piqued Draco's interest. _He certainly showed fine form under those robes. If only the body didn't have such a git associated with it, I would have probably propositioned him._ _Who the fuck am I kidding? It's Potter, for Merlin's sake! Even Severus thinks the prat is good looking._ Unfortunately, Draco's libido chose that moment to display its opinion of the look of Harry Potter's legs and firm, toned body under the fine silks and linens of his robes.

The tinny screech of the shower curtain being pulled back startled Draco from his thoughts, and he turned, fully naked, to find Jean-Paul standing there.

"I thought you were drowning yourself. Come on, you've been in there long enough." Draco couldn't help but notice the appreciative gaze Jean-Paul gave his naked form. He felt self conscious for just a moment, before complete mortification set in. He was aroused. Not just aroused, but completely hard. No wonder the medi-wizard was giving him such a lascivious look. "I, er, didn't interrupt anything, did I?" he asked querulously, slightly disappointed. He obviously thought the worst of Draco.

Grabbing his fluffy white towel from the rack, Draco quickly covered up, fleeing out of the room and heading for the dresser. In a vain attempt to open his drawers and find some boxers, he fumbled, finding he really didn't have the strength to open the drawer. Dripping wet and half hard with embarrassing arousal, he flopped onto the side of the bed. _Jean-Paul must think I'm crazy. I guess I've just blown all hope or chance with him._ He hung his head in his hands. It was official. Everything that could go wrong with his life _had_ gone wrong. This was the final nail in the coffin. He was destined to have no love interest. He'd be a lonely, bitter old wizard pouring his heart out to Flash in that journal until his beard touched the floor – and beyond.

"Hey," Draco felt the soft hand on his shoulder, but didn't look up. He was so embarrassed, and felt stupid. He didn't deserve any sympathy from this man, and Jean-Paul certainly deserved to be with someone who didn't have such a tumultuous life. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm a medi-wizard, remember. And I promised – we'll take things as slowly as you need."

Draco shook his head. "Why? It's not fair." His hands grasped lamely for something to hold. Right at that moment, he craved a cigarette – something he'd not indulged in since the start of the war. His whole body was shaking – from the combined effects of embarrassment, mortification, or arousal – he didn't know, but the chill rose up his spine.

"What's not fair? That you're ill? It was an accident."

Draco shook his head furiously. Droplets of water flew in every direction, landing on everything from the silk pillows, to the woven rug on the floor beside the bed. "It wasn't meant to be like this," he whispered. "At Imbolc, I had all these grand plans – they were all supposed to come to fruition. Instead, everything's gone wrong since then." He barely noticed the warm hands rubbing in slow circles across his back. The movement was soothing and not unwelcome, but became more enticing the longer Jean-Paul stayed in contact with his skin.

Jean-Paul shifted on the bed to get a better seat, but didn't once stop the comforting massage of skin to skin. "Well, you can't expect things to improve overnight. If it's bad enough, Draco, it takes time. But it's Ostara now – time you put those Imbolc plans into action. Whatever bad things have got you so worked up, they've really put your Yin and Yang out of balance," The older wizard frowned.

"My what?" Draco asked dreamily. The soft circular motion had progressed to simple kneading, and he felt the pressure slowly draining out of his back as he relaxed into Jean-Paul's touch. He sensed a hint of magic in the medi-wizard's hands as he sensed the tingling ripples of energy following the lines of his warm touch.

"Your Yin Yang energies. Right now I'm guessing your negative, dark energy– that's your Yin; seems to be outweighing your Yang – the positive and strong energies in your body. That could be a side effect of the poison," the medi-wizard mused. "Perhaps there are still some traces in your system." As he spoke, Draco felt those hands change course slightly, applying pressure to a variety of new areas along his back and shoulders. The agony was brief but the relief was positively amazing. Draco let out a stifled breath as he closed his eyes.

"This massage should get rid of any of your excess negative energy, Draco. It will help you face all those trials you are yet to encounter. Now, just relax. I promise I won't do anything you don't want."

His body was already in such raptures from the touch, he could only nod – lest he let out an embarrassing moan. He sat on the edge of the bed, his arms leaning back on the mattress for support. He couldn't see the other wizard, but sensed that Jean-Paul was kneeling on the bed behind him. Either that or his hands were in so many different places at once he must have grown extra limbs. "Just breathe – slowly," the instruction was whispered in his ear. The cold air across such an erotic place sent gooseflesh up and down his arms, and a very different message to his still very alert cock.

The first time Draco met Jean-Paul, he was mesmerised by his hands. To have them on his body, in such an intimate way, was truly even more spellbinding. The man kneaded muscles with the gentlest of touches. His fingertips followed the arch of his spine, from his neck, down to the tantalising top of Draco's tailbone. Draco felt the trail of inherent magic as it followed the hands. He could feel the energy as it quested around, seeking out the negativity and releasing it in a blaze of fire. Draco's body became more lax, and he felt the inner coil of tension start to drain away.

As they delved lower, the fingers hesitated slightly, seeking permission to knead away the pressures and tensions within Draco's lower body. He didn't remember giving explicit permission, but then again, Draco couldn't articulate much more than a few groans and moans of satisfaction. He nodded furiously, trying to keep up the steady pace of breathing.

Unable to think any coherent thoughts beyond that of immediate pleasure, Draco began to feel the unmistakeable coil of sexual tension unfurling in his lower belly. The fire began burning low, but he was unable, and very unwilling, to force it back down. At that same moment, Jean-Paul moved closer and brought Draco into the V between his knees. This allowed him better access to Draco's chest, and his touching ministrations soon moved in that direction. Unsure if he heard a stifled moan, he soon felt the long hard lines of Jean-Paul as he let his body move in flush against Draco's.

The coil of tension burst as the magic of the medi-wizard's hands became more insistent – kneading and pressing and releasing the pressure that weighed down on him. He was vaguely conscious of Jean-Paul voicing words, but again they ghosted across that pleasurable spot along his ear, and all he heard was the sound of gooseflesh as it rose across his body.

Jean-Paul's kneading became more insistent as his hands ghosted along Draco's abdomen and stomach. Draco's hips began to buck with the rhythm, and the other wizard was also moving surreptitiously with the unvoiced rhythm. The burning fire in the pit of his belly ignited the coil that had been slowly tightening, and as Jean-Paul leant in to knead away the last of the tension, his bare chest brushed against the sensitised skin of Draco's back. He also felt the unmistakeable bulge that indicated the masseur was also inherently aroused.

The electrifying touch was all that it took. Having paid little heed to his burning arousal during the feast of sensual sensations, he was thoroughly taken by surprise when the coil of tightening tension sprung and unleashed, making him buck and come and cry out as a wave of sheer pleasure overcame him.

The rush of power and magic and sex subsided along with the roar in his ears. He fell back on the bed, and he mourned the loss of Jean-Paul's hands and touch. He lay quietly, allowing his heart rate and breathing to come down to earth. That had been the most intense sexual experience of his life, and Jean-Paul had not even touched him that way. Still not properly dry from his shower, the towel that had hastily been wrapped around his waist was loose, and the sticky residue of his release cooled slightly on his stomach. A warm body shuffled in beside him, and he turned to face the other wizard. He was suddenly very embarrassed. This was not what he had expected, and he avoided Jean-Paul's gaze.

Those hands cupped Draco's face, forcing him to look into the deep chocolate brown eyes. He was surprised by the hint of lust in them, along with the playful grin on his face. He came down to kiss Draco softly on the lips. He was too intoxicated to respond properly, but the soft lips were already gone, as Jean-Paul brushed that stray strand of hair away again. It was then that a wave of guilt was swept away by Jean-Paul's winning smile.

"Woah, that was intense," Jean-Paul murmured softly, as he lazily wrapped his arm around Draco. "When I started that massage, I never suspected you were repressing so much sexual tension."

"I... I don't know what to say, Jean-Paul. I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened. I wasn't ready..."

"Shhh, your body disagrees with you. That would never have happened if you hadn't needed to have such a release. Of course, I can guarantee you that the last of the poison is definitely out of your system. You don't have to apologise. You did nothing wrong. If anything, I should apologise for forcing that upon you. I just thought I could help release some of your other tensions," the concern on his face was soon dispelled. "I, erm, well, you could say that we both needed it." Draco looked down to see the increasing wet patch at the front of Jean-Paul's trousers, and the sheepish grin of apology on his face.

Draco sat up, now eager to bring those lips to his. Grasping Jean-Paul by the back of the neck, he brought him down and gently captured them. There was no pressure, no tension between them, and Draco didn't want to hear any more apologies. For once, Draco took what he wanted. Their kiss lingered, but with their recent mutual releases, there was no urgency in it – only the promise of more to come. Draco was either seeing stars, or was still on a post orgasmic high, but behind his closed eyes he began to see visions of what was to come – a hint of green, a flash of dark hair, slippery, sweat soaked flesh grinding against each other, and a touch of Jean-Paul's dark hair as Draco grasped it firmly.

He woke to find a worried Jean-Paul leaning over him. "Wha..." Draco was disoriented.

"You blacked out, and I guess that's my fault. Sorry. You really need a little more rest, and some food," Jean-Paul was apologetic as he moved off the bed. He grabbed his wand and quickly cast a cleansing charm over the pair of them, before running a hand through his hair, and heading down to the kitchen. "It's high time we both ate. After such an illness, you'll need to regain your strength. And you'll need if it you are planning in engaging in any more _physical_ activities," Jean-Paul chuckled at his own joke.

Draco sat up again slowly and eventually made his way to get dressed. He could not believe the intensity of what had just transpired. He had held off on forming any relationship with Jean-Paul as he was too reluctant to make the same mistakes. Was he really ready to have a relationship with the sexual being that was radiating such presence from the kitchen? Or was he just still coming down from such an amazing release of physical and sexual tension?

Jean-Paul's ability with his hands started and ended with healing. After a dismal attempt at cooking some breakfast, he hauled Draco down the back steps as they headed for some breakfast and coffee at a nearby café. As they ate, Jean-Paul managed to get Draco to tell him everything about his horrid time leading up to his accidental poisoning. Jean-Paul was a good listener. He seemingly understood all that had transpired in Draco's recent life, and he was sympathetic.

"Draco, you have to understand – none of this is in any way your fault. So you made a little mistake. Anyone would have under the circumstances. It's not every day you find out such shocking news. It's good to talk it out. Don't repress it. But no matter what, you should never drink alone, Draco."

Draco's appetite was more voracious than he first thought. It had been a while since he had eaten so well. _Yes, but will you be able to afford to eat this well in a few weeks? _The negative thoughts were still humming in his head, and he tried to shake it out. Draco watched Jean-Paul become engrossed in his own meal, a simple omelette.

"I should have let you do the cooking this morning, Draco. I'm sorry again. They say Potions masters make the best cooks. If that's the case, I can't wait to sample your cooking," it was an open ended invitation if Draco had ever heard one. Obviously Jean-Paul felt no more guilt over what had transpired between them earlier. Alas, the comment didn't quite have the desired effect.

"Well if I'm as good at potions as everyone thinks, I wouldn't nearly kill myself," he said dejectedly as he picked at the dill on the side of his Eggs Benedict. In the harsh light of morning, the reality of his future hung right in front of his face.

"You have to stop cutting yourself up over what happened, Draco. Now, I'm only slightly empathic, but I can feel the negativity just building up in you again." Jean-Paul sounded terse.

"Oh, and how can I do that?" he asked, sarcastically. At that, Jean-Paul leaned over the table, and brought Draco's mouth into another hungry kiss. The hint of fire behind it left him with no sense of doubt about Jean-Paul's intent. An elderly wizard a few tables over coughed in embarrassment, but Draco barely heard him. Again he felt bereft when Jean-Paul again sat down, and finished his breakfast.

Draco just stared at him. Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow in return. "What? Well, it made you forget about your worries, didn't it?" he teased. Blushing, he realised just how much he wanted Jean-Paul to stay around. He had allowed Draco to forget about his father, and his other problems for just a moment. It felt good to hand over control to someone else, someone he trusted.

"I... I... well, I guess you did. Or you confunded me more. I don't know what to say, Jean-Paul," Draco was truly confused. He had told Flash he wanted to be with this man, and now that he was here, and they had taken their first step, he was scared to take another. Something was holding him back, and he hesitated. _Am I afraid of a relationship? Why? Could this work out to be the right one?_ As he sat and watched Jean-Paul, he realised he was doing it again – jumping into something after thinking about little more than sex. He barely knew the man, although his body was drawn to his sexual magnetism. _Am I going to stuff it up all over again?_

"After I've finished with my meetings today, why don't you come back with me to Marrakesh?" The offer came straight out of the blue, but Draco saw the sincerity on Jean-Paul's face. "We could work on those negativity issues you keep having. I thought that since you have no pressing commitments, now that you are free from study," Jean-Paul made the cancellation of his enrolment sound like a holiday, "you might like to come with me. You'll love the place. And if you felt you needed to brew a potion or two, I could certainly use your expertise. Who knows? You might want to stay, and I certainly couldn't say no to that. Not now." The hint of lust was unmistakeable in Jean-Paul's voice.

"You want me to come with you back to Morocco?" he asked, still unsure of what to say.

"I don't make hollow offers, Draco. I _want_ you to come back to Marrakesh with me. Hell, if you come, I don't think I'll want you to leave, but I can't make that decision for you, and I respect whatever you want, Draco."

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. Here was an open offer to start a relationship. It was offered so openly, and not couched in any hidden terms, and he could see the open and inviting look of hope on Jean-Paul's face.

"Of course, if you just want to come and visit as a friend, I can understand that too, although I won't hide the fact I'll be bitterly disappointed."

"I don't know what to say, Jean-Paul. I... wow." Draco sat back in his chair, thinking. This was all happening so fast. "Are you sure?"

Jean-Paul shrugged. "I've been nothing but open and honest upfront with you Draco. You know how I feel, and I think you know what I want. I can sense your hesitation, and I can't say I blame you for that. Tante Em told me a few things about your past relationships, and I think you have shown marvellous restraint. I know I could never be that strong." He took a deep breath, "Of course, if you just want to be friends, I can understand that as well. Although speaking as your medi-wizard, it isn't healthy to repress certain desires for too long. Although, I'm sure you wouldn't mind me helping you with that – if the need ever arose again," he raised another suggestive eyebrow.

Both men laughed at the humour. "I don't know if I'm ready for another relationship, Jean-Paul," Draco said in all seriousness. "But, I can't help but find you thoroughly intoxicating. I can barely think clearly around you."

A hint of colour rose in Jean-Paul's cheeks. "I don't apologise for that. I had hoped you would feel that way. So, instead of our date tonight, how about Flooing back to Marrakesh with me?" he asked casually as he downed the last of his shot of espresso.

Draco was so conflicted. He wanted to run away with Jean-Paul to Morocco, but then he remembered that even though his enrolment had lapsed, he did have some responsibilities. Responsibilities to Emmaline, and to finding those thrice cursed trustees. He couldn't just run away, no matter how much he wanted to. Here was another dilemma he faced.

* * *

Draco was somewhat dejected when he returned to his studio. Jean-Paul had accepted his decision not to run off to Marrakesh straight away, but the older wizard left the offer open. Jean-Paul had quickly returned to Emmaline's studio, where he dressed in full robes and headed out to his meetings. He would not be seeing Draco before he went back to Marrakesh, and Draco was immediately regretting his decision.

What Draco needed was a little time. A little time to make plans for his new direction in life. He would need a nice long chat with Emmaline, she would be able to help him out. He really wanted to talk to Flash; after all, he was the only other person who could fully understand what Draco had been feeling towards Jean-Paul. It probably wouldn't hurt to talk to him about the other craziness that had ensued in Draco's life that week as well. He remembered that Flash was also looking forward to something that week, and he had a strong desire to talk to his friend right at that moment.

As he walked around the studio, he shook his head at the freedom of movement his knee currently gave him. Unfortunately, like everything else, Jean-Paul warned that the spell would wear off, and he would again find the pain return to its familiar level. Unfortunately, the magic sustaining the spell was terribly draining, and if Draco attempted to cast it again, well, he had learned from some mistakes.

Sitting carefully with quill in hand, he was planning on writing out a list of places where the trustees might hide. He tried to call on knowledge his father had tried to pass on, but Draco had conveniently forgotten. The task was futile. Each time Draco thought of another place where the trustees could be, he thought back to his father, and just how much he despised the long deceased man. It took a real talent to make people hate you even more after you were dead, but Lucius – well, he would no doubt be priding himself on the fact.

An officious looking owl tapped at the window, as Melchett let out an indignant hoot at the intrusion. Revelling in his momentary freedom, Draco walked over to the window to let him in. Upon seeing the official seal of the envelope, he instantly regretted the decision. The small, childish script belonging to the registrar of _l'institut_ adorned the envelope and the inner parchment.

Draco sat for ages, just staring at the letter. Until then, it hadn't seemed quite real. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could pretend that everything was normal. Seeing a letter from the school asking him to attend a meeting on Friday morning to finalise his 'voluntary withdrawal' from the course, made it all too real. In sympathy, Petite Amie, sensing Draco's sadness, came and jumped into his lap, purring furiously. Even Melchett gave up his indignant hooting for a while, heading out to hunt for his own dinner.

"Well Petite Amie, looks like things are about to change," he rubbed the cat under the chin, which brought about another bout of intense purring. "Say, what would you think about living in the Chateau? Think you could handle moving from Paris? Or perhaps Prague? Do they like cats in Marrakesh?" he joked with the cat, but she was oblivious. As long as Draco kept up the love and attention (and regular meals), she'd follow him to the ends of the earth.

* * *

Early Thursday morning, Harry sat at the edge of the lake, lost in memories as he watched the breeze ripple over the water during the earliest stages of the sunrise. Returning to Hogwarts always made him melancholy. Today Harry looked out over the vast lake, remembering his flight on Buckbeack in third year and the frantic worry as he dove into depths of the lake in his desperate search for Ron during the Triwizard Tournament. He thought about the over-water Quidditch practices that Ron had instigated in their sixth year, hoping to offer new challenges to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. There were a great many memories here, happy and sad alike, but as his mind mulled over recent events, it was his final day at Hogwarts that stuck out in his mind this morning.

There was no rest for Harry once school was over. The leaving feast of his final year was barely digested when the Order had held a very important meeting. The time had come to step up the defences and to bring out the offensive moves on Voldemort. This was it. Finally, within a few days, the second war against Voldemort that had been threatening for all those years would begin in earnest.

This, the largest Order meeting Harry had ever attended, was a chance to determine the next step - the strategy with which they would begin. It was during this meeting that Harry had been officially recognised as the one who would call the shots. Any active advances from the Order would be done by direction of Harry Potter. Any planned attacks, rescue missions and ambushes would be discussed, cleared, and – at least in part – planned by Harry Potter. He wasn't thrilled to learn that these duties would fall on his shoulders. At that time, despite his three years leading the DA, Harry didn't view himself as a person prepared to lead a true army. He'd never pictured himself directing a war, just fighting in it, and ultimately knowing it was up to him to strike the winning blow.

Now, years later as he sat by the lake and thought about that day, it wasn't really the war that he had on his mind. He was certainly not reminiscing about the responsibilities he'd been given that night. He wasn't even contemplating any of his subsequent actions throughout the war. No, the one bit of information from that meeting that was plaguing Harry's memories at the moment, was the announcement that Draco Malfoy had taken the Dark Mark with the Order's full knowledge, in order to become a spy.

"_Excuse me, sir, but what is Malfoy doing here?" Harry had a dread suspicion he knew the answer. It was the only logical answer, really, when one considered the purpose of this meeting. Nonetheless, Dumbledore looked at him patiently and smiled. _

"_He's working for us, Harry. It's one of the things we'll be discussing tonight." They were interrupted at that moment by the Slytherin in question._

"_Evening Potter. Still checking with the Headmaster to ask for a rematch? You know you can't change anything. Must be hard for you, losing like that." The ever present smirk had not waned, despite what Dumbledore had just told him. Here they were on the eve of a truly important strike in the upcoming war, and Malfoy was still harping about his one and only victory over Harry in their final Quidditch match. No doubt the pointy git would still be harping on that in years to come. _

_Harry quickly became exasperated. He didn't need to hear any more of Malfoy's nonsense. "Honestly Malfoy, you think that's what I'm worried about? You catch one measly snitch after playing against me for five years and you honestly think I'm going to be upset? Hardly! Especially since Gryffindor got the House Cup anyway... just bugger off!" The conversation was quickly brought to a halt by Dumbledore signalling the beginning of the meeting. _

_Of course Malfoy, being Malfoy, had to get the last word in. As he slipped by Harry to take a seat, he leaned close to whisper "Bugger off, eh, Potter? I'm flattered, truly, but I don't swing that way. Sorry to disappoint, Potter. Although if you're offering to convert me..." The raised eyebrow accompanied the smirk, but Harry turned away in disgust as Dumbledore began talking._

The gentle breeze flowing over the water rustled the hair at the back of Harry's neck, brushing tiny strands against his ear and reminding him of Malfoy's breath when he whispered. The sensation sent a chill down his spine and set off a case of goose bumps.

_Throughout the rest of the Order meeting, Harry had tried desperately to forget the feeling of that warm breath against his ear and neck. It had only been a few weeks earlier that Harry had spied Malfoy in the Quidditch showers, and unfortunately, the mental images were combining with the new sensation he'd been provided with. Not only were the thoughts entirely unwanted, it was obvious to everyone with two eyes and ears that Malfoy was heterosexual. He had a girlfriend. He was practically married to Daphne Greengrass. Harry should not even be thinking of him in such a way. By the time he shook off the unwanted thoughts, Dumbledore and Snape were explaining Malfoy's purpose in the Order. _

_It seemed that Lucius had arranged for Draco to take the Dark Mark, so he had approached Snape and the Headmaster with his plan to help the light side during the war. He would be privy to information that could prove very useful in defeating Voldemort, and didn't want it to go to waste. Harry had to admit he was bludgered by this notion. He would never have expected Malfoy would have considered turning to the Order and helping to defeat Voldemort. Not based on the attitude the git displayed at every given opportunity. Later that evening, Harry had his own chance to question Malfoy at length._

_Harry had gone out for a walk by the lake, hoping to clear his mind and relax before bed. It was late. The Order meeting had gone on for hours and if Harry couldn't settle down before long, the sun would be coming up before he got any sleep. He was just grateful that he, along with most of the Order, would be staying a few extra days at Hogwarts. He'd hate to think of travelling this late, as tired as he was. _

_He'd been walking for a half hour or so when he happened upon the shadowy figure of another wizard leaning against a tree. He could make out the silhouette, one foot propped against the tree, robes open and shifting slightly as the breeze blew past. He saw the red embers of a cigarette glowing in the darkness and wondered who he knew that was a smoker. He had just begun to think it must be a Muggle-born student - because he'd never heard of a wizard smoking anything but a pipe - when the clouds shifted and the nearly full moon shone down on the lake and the trees and the top of the smoking wizard's pale blond hair._

"_Malfoy?" He hadn't intended to speak aloud, but realised his mistake a moment too late._

"_Potter," came the quiet reply as Malfoy took another drag off the cigarette. "Aren't you supposed to be planning your acts of heroics?"_

"_Aren't you supposed to be grovelling at Voldemort's feet?" Harry couldn't understand why the two of them always fell back on the snide remarks and childish cut-downs. He had wondered on a few occasions if there had ever been a chance they could have been friends. If Malfoy hadn't insulted Ron, if Harry had been raised as a wizard, if... but that was a pointless train of thought and he honestly didn't know why he cared. "Why are you doing this?" he asked after a few moments of silence._

"_Doing what, Potter? Smoking, standing outside, breathing? What is it that you're questioning?"_

"_Why are you working for the Order? It seems to be against everything you've spouted for the past seven years."_

"_Perhaps who I am, and who you **think** I am aren't quite the same. Or perhaps I have an ulterior motive," Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe I've just had a change of perspective. Is it really any of your business?"_

_Harry suddenly realised what he wanted to articulate to the annoying wizard. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I think it is my business. If I'm supposed to trust you, I have a right to know what makes you trustworthy. You've always acted like your father's shadow, just waiting for your chance to serve the Dark Lord and help revive the pureblood numbers and status. Yet here you are, working for the Order, spying on that Lord of yours and ... and indulging in a Muggle habit! Isn't all this beneath you?"_

"_Beneath me." Draco was silent for a moment, taking another long drag on the cigarette, thinking about what Potter had said. Was this beneath him? His father had certainly made it clear that Muggles and Muggle-lovers were not worthy of associating with Malfoys. For that matter, all things Muggle were looked upon with disdain in his father's eyes. Yet, he could no longer bring himself to see that view. "No Potter. It's not beneath me. I have layers. I have angles. You think you know me, Potter? You don't. I have my reasons for what I do, and they are many. You don't need to know any more than what Dumbledore told you. Although if it will make you feel better, I'll clue you in. I've met Voldemort. I've heard his rhetoric. I don't agree with it. I had no choice but to take the Mark, and so I approached the Order before that fateful day." Harry was stunned, not expecting the passion behind Malfoy's words. But he wasn't finished. "I've given my word, and I've been cleared by Dumbledore's fancy chicken in there. That should be enough for you." Malfoy turned away, puffing quickly on the remainder of the cigarette._

"_So I'm supposed to just accept that you've all the sudden gone from being a right evil git to being a perfect little angel who's going to help save us all?"_

_Malfoy turned, staring down those mere centimetres at Potter. "No. I'll never be perfect, and I'm hardly an angel, but then, neither are you." Harry watched as Malfoy stomped his cigarette out in the damp ground and took a step away from the tree. They were face to face and Harry could see the intense blue of Malfoy's eyes and the determination that flashed through them as he continued speaking. "That's something you might want to think about, you know. You present yourself as the perfect student, friend, warrior, or whatever. You're our saviour," Malfoy mimicked, "The good boy. Well, I have news for you Potter, something your goody-goody friends might not have told you. You're not all good – or perfect." He poked Harry in the chest. "Deep inside of you there's a seed of darkness. It's probably small, and you might not even believe it's there, but one day you'll know. One day that's going to sprout if it hasn't already, and when it does, you'll find out what it means to know the different aspects of your personality. Because you see, Potter, no matter how bad you thought I was, I still have something good to offer the world. And no matter how good you think you are, you have a bit of the devil inside you, just as we all do."_

_Harry was left speechless as Malfoy walked away, heading back to the castle. _

The sun had risen over the hills by the time Harry halted the course of those long forgotten memories. It had been the last time he and Malfoy spoke before the meeting on Monday in London. Of course, that comment had stayed with him. _He had no idea how right he was,_ Harry mused. He had, at that time, already begun his training in meditation and Tai Chi because of the various outbursts he'd had. That temper worried him because he didn't know where it came from and he didn't know how to control it. Malfoy seemed to be talking about his anger and the effects it had on his magic. Harry could even believe that perhaps Malfoy knew about these issues because of Snape. What he didn't think Malfoy knew was the theories on Voldemort marking him as a baby. 'A bit of the devil' indeed. Harry had discovered a few bits of Voldemort's power within his own magic, expressed by the visions, the Parseltongue and, possibly, the rage-induced eruptions of errant power.

He wondered if Malfoy knew more about it now than he had then, or if Malfoy still had that desire to offer something good to the world now that the war was over. He shook his head. He had to get past the entirely inappropriate thoughts of Malfoy wandering through his mind. No doubt by now the git was probably well and truly married off, and producing equally annoying offspring to come back and haunt him in his old age. It was entirely unfair that someone who exuded such sexual radiance, was wasted on the female population. _Story of my life,_he thought bitterly. _I'm either attracted to the wrong ones, or they are bloody straighter than an arrow. Or in Malfoy's case, it's likely both. _Oddly enough, as he walked back to the castle for his meeting with Remus and Dumbledore, he found himself absently wondering if Draco Malfoy still partook in the Muggle habit of smoking fags.

* * *

Despite the fact he was nearly 23 years old, sitting in Dumbledore's office still made Harry feel like a child. Something about the curved walls with the floor-to-ceiling shelves always made him feel small. Fawkes sat on his perch, preening his newly acquired feathers as he carefully watched Harry and Remus in case they were intent on trouble.

Harry knew that both these men had to be wondering what was happening, why he felt the need to meet with them. He'd had so many meetings with them over the years, he had thought perhaps he could keep his nerves at bay by pretending this was a standard check-in. When that didn't work, he tried to convince himself he was just here to catch up on old times. That one had almost been accepted by his subconscious, until he walked into the office and saw Albus looking down at him over his half-moon glasses, that damnable twinkle glinting merrily.

"Tea?" Harry declined as he watched the charmed tea service pour a cup for Remus, who smiled at the headmaster as he reached for the levitating cup. Harry knew what would be offered up next. "Sherbet Lemon?" Albus held the small tin of sour candies out, offering them to Harry as he had done for a dozen years.

"No thank you." Harry really didn't want small talk, although Albus' traditional rituals were somewhat comforting. He needed to get this over with so they could tell him he was overreacting and that nothing was wrong. He wanted to be normal. He needed for things to be normal "I don't know if Remus told you why I wanted to meet with you..."

"He simply said you had something to discuss. I presume it relates to the incident in London?"

Harry's head shot up in surprise. "Do you know everything?"

Dumbledore chuckled, his long white beard bouncing with the rhythmic movement. "No, my dear boy. I simply read the papers." And with that, he conjured that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet to show Harry. Not surprisingly, there were no pictures with the article – Harry imagined that it would have been difficult to salvage a photo from a pile of ashes – but there were plenty of statements from those in the pub who had seen Harry's outburst. He should have known better than to hope that his statements would have made a difference to that reporter. Scanning the article, he noticed that most of the sources had chosen to go unnamed, but none of the quotes sounded like Malfoy, which was at least a little bit of relief.

He sighed, laying the paper down and looked back and forth from Remus to Dumbledore in desperation. "So, It's happening again, is it?" he sighed with resignation. "What am I going to do about this?"

"Well, Harry, is what that paper says true? Did it really happen that way?" Remus looked concerned and defensive, as if he were ready to go hurt anyone that might have lied about Harry's actions.

Harry nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid it is. I just lost my temper and the next thing I knew..." he looked down, once again beginning to feel overwhelmed by the fear of his power and the shame of his lack of control. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible and held a slight tremor. "The next thing I knew there was broken glass everywhere and people were backing away from me in fear."

"Harry, I think you already know what to do, don't you?" Dumbledore was forthright, and Harry didn't really expect any miraculous answers. Deep down, he knew what he had to do to help himself, he just needed to share his fears with those he trusted the most. Harry nodded in assent. "Well, then," Dumbledore nodded. "You'll need to reacquaint yourself with your old training regime. I trust you remember your old control exercises?"

Harry simply nodded his head before Dumbledore continued. "But I do think we need to find out more about the cause of this. That's why you're here today, isn't it?" Harry was grateful that Dumbledore understood his anxiety in the matter. "I think we should contact Rufus Scrimegour - if there is anything going on that would trigger a surge in your power, he would know."

Harry saw Remus nodding his head in silent agreement even before the Headmaster finished speaking. "You remember the former Minister, don't you Harry?" Remus asked.

"How could I forget? He's head of Magical Law Enforcement. What's that got to do with my power surges?" Harry was a little confunded as to why they needed to involve another party in this. Surely it was his own problem.

It was Remus who spoke up. "I don't think I have to remind you that we suspected in the past that your power surges were connected to Voldemort's threats over the wizarding world." Harry nodded. This was why he had tried to talk to Claire about it, in the hopes that she would have been able to offer some insight. "We need to determine if there are any new threats. The Department of Law Enforcement would be working on that."

Harry nodded. "Of course, how could I forget? It's all I've worried about since yesterday. I planned on having a meeting with my boss, Claire, but if anyone would know of any threats, then I'm sure it would be Scrimegour."

Dumbledore made a quick Floo call to Scrimegour's office, but he would not be able to meet them until the next morning. Harry and Remus took their leave moments later, planning to reconvene after breakfast the next day, when Scrimegour was scheduled to arrive. They walked toward Remus' quarters in silence until they passed the Great Hall. One set of the heavy wooden doors was opened slightly, and in his peripheral vision, Harry caught a quick glimpse of green that made him stop in his tracks. He turned suddenly and looked into the Hall, but couldn't see anything green in there until he took another step, adjusting his view. It appeared that Slytherin was in the lead for the house cup, and the Hall had been dutifully decorated in their green and silver banners. Harry felt a slight chill run down his spine as he realised that the green he'd been seeing in his dreams was exactly this shade – Slytherin green. He stood transfixed at the sight of so much of that colour that had eluded and haunted his dreams.

"Harry?" He was startled by the soft voice behind him, momentarily unsure if he was even awake. He turned to look into Remus' soft brown eyes, certain that he must look like a madman. His mind was racing, his senses reeling with the sudden onslaught of emotions being dredged up from his dreams. Those dreams had left him feeling nervous, worried and anxious at times, yet also triggered comfort and satisfaction, sometimes an inexplicable joy, and on more than a few occasions... arousal. As he stood there looking into Remus' eyes, and thinking of that fleeting glimpse of green, it was the arousal that seemed to take over. "Harry, are you all right?" Remus asked.

Harry cleared his throat and quickly looked away, snapping out of his daze as he silently willed the swell of lust to recede. He continued down the corridor. "Yeah, just remembering some really strange dreams I've had lately. They leave me feeling... odd."

"Do you think they're related to your power leaking? You didn't mention it to Albus." Harry could sense the hint of concern in Remus' voice.

"No," he shook his head, "they don't seem related. Actually, I can't remember most of them, and what I do remember comes to me in little snippets, like random images thrust into my mind." His steps paused again and he audibly took a deep breath to quell the thoughts triggered by his own use of the word 'thrust.' His burgeoning erection made itself known to him and he had to stifle a moan deep in his throat. _Merlin, I've never had such a one track sexual mind before!_

"Are you sure? Maybe you should talk about them; I might be able to help." Remus stopped in his tracks as he looked his younger friend over, a vexed frown on his face. Harry felt it only right to assure his friend that he would be fine.

"Well, I'll tell you this, Remus," he began, locking eyes with his friend. "I wake up from these dreams feeling very emotional, all over the charts. I rarely remember anything but chasing snitches, or talking to people I don't know. Sometimes there's a lot of disappointment, sometimes there's a lot of happiness, sometimes I just feel worried about someone, but I don't know who. I think it's someone who's lost, only not really lost in a physical sense. I can't explain that part, but there's one thing that's almost always the same." At this, Harry leaned forward slightly and tilted his head just so. His green eyes were burning with lust and he could tell that Remus' wolf senses had been triggered by the building arousal. Remus looked confused, but interested and Harry could see his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, signifying that the werewolf was consciously taking notice of the pheromones being released.

Harry briefly acknowledged the quiet little part of his consciousness that wondered why he was acting on this. He ran his hand through his hair in that well known nervous gesture. Why was he teasing Remus like this and how close was he to offending one of his oldest friends? He pushed those errant and entirely inappropriate thoughts aside and continued his explanation. "That one thing is that I wake up feeling horny as hell, as if someone's been teasing me mercilessly all night long but they never let me come." By this time he and Remus were mere centimetres apart, and he felt a very unexpected urge to actually kiss the older man. Instead of following through with it, he simply plastered a teasing grin on his face as he leaned back and asked, "Is _that_ something you think you can help with, old friend?"

* * *

**March 21 - Friday**

For the second time that week, Draco wore his best robes and headed out for a meeting he didn't want to face. He was too stupid to deserve a place at _l'institut _anyway. What sort of Potions master would he make? Was there some fundamental flaw that made him do such stupid things as drink before brewing something – particularly something as specific as a painkilling potion? _Who am I kidding? _

Delaying the inevitable, Draco chose to Apparate rather than Floo. That way he could walk from the fifth Arrondissment, and savour the atmosphere of his former school. Gratefully, he didn't run into Emmaline on his way out. He didn't want to face the lecture he knew was inevitable, no matter how good natured it might be. Of course she had been worried for him. _Still, _he thought, _how lucky am I that Jean-Paul was coming, and that he knew how to help me through the illness. It could have been worse._

He took his time walking to the office. Knowing now that he was no longer enrolled, he wanted to truly appreciate the campus, and to savour the atmosphere of the old buildings, the stale yet sweet scent of the potions classrooms. He would truly miss it.

He didn't hear the voice calling his name until a hand touched his arm. He looked up. Arianna was smiling at him sweetly, giving him a warm and friendly hug. "Where have you been? We haven't seen you all week! I tried to floo you, but you had the fireplace locked." Arianna seemed truly happy to see Draco.

Draco smiled slightly, honestly glad to see a friendly face. For some reason, he had felt that since he would no longer be at the school, then the entire establishment and all its inhabitants would frown upon him. Knowing he still had friends was something he felt glad for. Thinking of friends, he realised he should talk to Flash. He wanted to talk to the other wizard – help sort out his crazy week, but he didn't want to wait until Sunday night. He made a mental note to write in his journal when he returned home.

Draco kissed Arianna on the forehead, "Hey there, glad to see you too. I've been... indisposed... all week, so I haven't been around. Sorry." He was truly sorry. He would miss her friendship now he would no longer be at the school.

"So, are you walking to class?" she asked, but suddenly noticed his fancy robes, and his distinct lack of his familiar carry bag. "Since when has formal wear been required for Professor Lefèbvre's class?" she asked curiously.

"It isn't," he indicated the nearby door to the administrative offices. The distinct yellow of the university's interoffice memos lit up the hallway as dozens of memos constantly flitted too and fro in the entrance to the busy administrative wing of offices. "I have a meeting with the registrar," he tried to sound casual and confident, but Arianna had an empathetic sense for his feelings.

"What's wrong? You sound as if the world is ending," she asked him. Looking at him closely, she watched his difficulty keeping a look of despaired regret from his face.

Shaking his head, he grabbed her hand. "Oh, it's just the end of the world for me. I'm talking to him about the fact I can't pay my final semester's tuition, so it looks like my enrolment is cancelled."

"What? That's crazy! They can't do that – can they?" Arianna was suitably upset and angered on Draco's behalf. He nodded and she shook her head furiously in denial. "But they can't," she drawled petulantly, like a spoilt child being told she couldn't have what she wanted. "Can't they do something? Surely you could pay the tuition by working it off? You could tutor!" her eyes lit up at her own brilliant suggestion.

Draco shook his head. "I've got no idea, Arianna." He quickly looked up at the clock tower in the courtyard, and checked the time. "I do have to go now, or the Registrar will probably hex me on top of taking pleasure in kicking me out of here." He gave her a little kiss and squeeze of her hand to say thank you.

She smiled, kissing him back, "We're having coffee." He nodded in agreement as he swept into the registrar's office. The registrar was kneeling before his Floo, finishing off a conversation. Draco felt momentarily annoyed at the man. Standing in the Floo with your back to the door was the height of rudeness, and Draco could not abide bad manners.

Turning around, the registrar saw Draco, and indicated he take a seat. Words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could control them. "I must apologise for not contacting you earlier in the week, but after I returned from the bank in London, I became quite ill."

He was quickly cut off by the registrar, "Mr Malfoy," his stern face was unreadable. Draco wasn't surprised. The man shuffled a pile of parchments aside, before pulling out a folder containing Draco's official records, "You're a very lucky young man."

Draco didn't hear his words. "I had a few thoughts about my enrolment. I know the deadline has passed, but seeing as it's only one more semester, couldn't I work as a tutor, or even an assistant? Surely you could use my services. You know I am more than qualified..." The registrar cleared his throat to cut Draco off.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr Malfoy."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, that's no longer necessary. As I was saying, you would have to be the luckiest young man alive." Draco thought about that, never considering that statement would apply to him. That was something someone would say to Perfect Potter. As he glanced over the table, he could see transcripts from the British Ministry sitting inside his official record folder. He suspected what the registrar was talking about.

"Really?" he drawled sarcastically. The man had obviously been reading Draco's war record. He knew how much the man hated Death Eaters, and no doubt he was going to use this meeting to have a final say before taking distinct pleasure in booting Draco out on his ear.

The registrar picked up Draco's war record and perused it casually. The man had obviously read it and knew its contents intimately. "Perhaps your luck is what allowed you to survive in such a dangerous role during the war," he intoned bitterly.

"You no doubt found my war record of great interest. Perhaps I should write a book about it," Draco drawled back. This man had dragged him in here to have a pissing contest. He was starting to get angry. He didn't need this crap right now.

"I make a point of finding out the background of all our students, Mr Malfoy. I'm always particularly interested when decorated war heroes wish to attend our school."

Draco really didn't have time for this. "Look, is there anything I can help you with? I know I did not contact you earlier, and our deadline has passed. If this is about any outstanding library books, or any borrowed ingredients from the universities store, I can assure you..."

"Yes, well, I did wish to discuss your enrolment, Mr Malfoy."

_Here it is,_ Draco thought. _He's going to take great pleasure in this._

"It appears that everything seems to be in order. Your tuition has been paid – in full." Draco suspected he misheard. Surely he didn't just say the money had been paid. _Surely Weasley didn't just change his mind and pay the money out of my account. He wouldn't be so noble. Not for me, anyway. _

"It appears your services have been bought by a Master in need, and he has provided remuneration to the school in lieu of your tuition. Of course, you are now bound to his services - for the standard three year apprenticeship contract..."

Draco's ears were still having difficulty. He could not comprehend the words he heard. "I'm sorry, did you just say that my tuition has been paid, and I'm now bound in apprenticeship to a Master?" he asked incredulously.

"That's right. Congratulations, by the way," he didn't sound sincere.

"You just let some old Potions master pay for my tuition, and then sign an agreement on my behalf, giving away three years of my life?"

"On the contrary, the master in question was quite adamant that he only wanted your services, and not those of your classmates," the registrar frowned at Draco.

"So who is it that wants my services so desperately?" As Draco asked the question, he suspected he knew the answer.

"Well, you know him apparently. Quite well, after all, it was upon his recommendation that we accepted your enrolment in the first place. It's Master Severus Snape. Congratulations, you are now his apprentice."

* * *

"Draco? Did you hear me? Are you listening?" Arianna's sounded concerned as they sat at the student's coffee shop a few hours later, sipping on celebratory drinks. He was still stunned by the fact Severus had helped him. He wasn't sure if he was happy, or if he was angry at Severus – it was taking quite a while for the news to sink in. He had walked out of the office in a daze. It hadn't all gone pear shaped. Draco hadn't been booted out. The opposite had happened - his old friend had taken his concerns and addressed them, paying out his tuition and helping him in a way he couldn't begin to imagine. Arianna poked him again to get his attention.

"What?" he asked absently. He noticed the coffee in his cup had become cold.

"You – why look so glum? You just managed to be the first in your year to be offered a place as an apprentice, and officially graduate! You would think by that look on your face that you would rather be facing a Dark Lord, or something..." Arianna was excited for Draco, and she chattered animatedly on dozens of topics.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her comment about Dark Lords. _If she only knew how up close and personal I was with the last Dark Lord... I certainly wouldn't want to face **that** again._

"But you should be _thrilled_, Draco. You deserve this, although I would like to be selfish and say that I don't want you to go," she pouted. "I want you to stay so I can continue to pick your brain when I'm having troubles," she sighed heavily.

"You'll miss me?" he asked in surprise. It suddenly occurred to him that if he was apprenticed to Severus, then he was to leave Paris, and no doubt return to Hogwarts. That was if Severus was remaining at Hogwarts. His mind was racing with dozens of questions, many of which would be answered if he just spoke to Severus. He would have to wait until the classes finished, so he sat back and ordered another coffee.

"Of course I'll miss you. I miss friends when they leave. Besides, the girls sometimes are a little too self absorbed in their own little world. I think you are a great listener, Draco, and I'll miss not being able to dump all my problems on your shoulders," she held his hand a little long, and seemed sad that he would be leaving her.

"I'm not dying Arianna, just leaving Paris. You can always Floo me or send an owl." The thought of leaving Paris was tinged with sadness, and he knew that he would miss the city more than ever.

"So are you quite prepared for my novella length correspondences, Draco?" she asked teasingly. "I've been told I can be rather wordy at times." He nodded as a grin crossed his face. He realised he would miss her. His friend. "Good," she continued when she saw his smile. "I need someone to dump on when father is getting too much," she sighed in exasperation.

"You just tell me when he gets on your case, and I'll listen." Arianna smiled and nodded at Draco's genuine offer of a friendly ear, or shoulder to cry on if the need arose.

Draco took his time walking back to his studio. This was a perfect ending to the craziest week of his life. It felt good in many ways, but he was still a little unsure of where to go and what to do next. He had Jean-Paul's invitation to Marrakesh, and now, a real chance at a future, despite the fact he would be an apprentice, as much as he loathed the idea. Earlier in the week, before finding out he was practically knutless, he would have been more vocal in his objection to being an apprentice. Now, he was more grateful than he cared to admit.

His knee showed the first sign of resistance and pain since the healing Jean-Paul had done, so, not wanting to make it worse than necessary, Draco Apparated the remainder of the way home. He had barely thought about the knee, but knew he had to take it easy, as he couldn't use the painkilling potion again until he was a little stronger. He was reluctant to use any potion on himself, at least for a few more weeks. To add to that thought, he was reluctant to even take a drink. Pouring a glass of cold, refreshing water, he checked the clock, and threw a hand of International Floo powder into the flames.

"Severus," Draco sounded stern.

"I was wondering when you'd call," the familiar face of the Potions master came into view.

"Would you care to explain? What the bloody hell were you thinking..." Severus interrupted before Draco could start his rant.

"What else was I supposed to do? See you wallow in your own self pity again? I saw how upset you were on Monday. I remember the melodrama that you carried on with when you discovered you weren't getting your inheritance until you turn twenty-five! Look at you. You look dreadful! You've made yourself ill with worry, for Merlin's sake. You didn't just expect me to sit back and watch that all over again, did you?" Severus pleaded.

Draco became suddenly defensive. He didn't want to admit that Severus was right. "I could have taken care of it myself..."

Severus shook his head "I've known you since you were born, Draco. I know you too well. You might have been able to fool yourself for a little while, but you would be miserable inside. I've watched you grow into the intelligent and handsome young man before me. You've worked too hard to let Lucius take away something that he could have never had."

"Oh? Surely father could have bought whatever he wanted," Draco sulked.

"That he could, but he was so bitterly jealous of the fact he was rather useless at potions, and no amount of his money could help him to be his own Master. I guess you have your Grand-père's talents with the cauldron. Old Abraxas Malfoy was one of the brightest masters of his era. I guess that must have hurt Lucius as well. To see you doing so well, when he failed, made him more jealous than you could possibly imagine." This was news to Draco. He never realised his father had been jealous of the one thing Draco excelled at. Severus continued. "You have one of the brightest minds in the potions world Draco. I couldn't bear to see it go to waste." Severus pleaded dispassionately.

"I didn't think I was being melodramatic," was the first thing Draco could think to say.

"I'd offer some more pearls of wisdom at this point, Draco, but I've exceeded my quota of those for the year," Severus frowned as he scrutinised Draco carefully. "You truly do look sick. I wondered why you took so long to get back to me."

Draco nodded. "I was ill," there was no way he was going to tell Severus that he botched a potion, thus nearly poisoned himself. The fact he was now an apprentice was still sinking in.

Severus could see that Draco was still unsure of what to do. He would beat it into his skull if he had to. "Look, you said yourself that you didn't know any Potions master who could put up with you. I know I can, and I know you already know my own quirks," Severus was being frank. "Besides, where else will you be allowed to work on your Wolfsbane research? You have a willing participant right here – at Hogwarts."

"You... you'd let me work on my Wolfsbane research?" Draco asked, so caught up in his confused thoughts, he'd overlooked that part of his future.

"Did you think I was going to make you wash out cauldrons, Draco?" Severus rolled his eyes. Draco was truly in disbelief. "You are far too good for that. We both know that this is an apprenticeship in name only. You are practically a Master already. I doubt you've ever botched a potion without good reason..." Draco tried hard not to look guilty as Severus spoke. Now he definitely knew he would never mention the past few days to his old friend.

"I guess I had the best teacher in the first place," he remarked dryly, covering the awkward moment. It was more testament to Jean-Paul's healing skills than his own brewing skills that allowed him to stand there and talk to Severus.

Severus was uncomfortable with the praise. "Yes, well, it's all signed and formalised now, so don't think I'm going to change my mind. It's high time you returned home – even if it's to keep an eye out for your father's friends." Draco nodded. The more he thought about the trustees, the itchier his wand hand became. "We'll talk more about that aspect of things when you start."

"When do I start, Severus? Of course, I'll need time to pack up this studio, arrange some quarters for myself in Hogsmeade, and quite likely will need some time to adjust..." The mere mention of leaving Paris made it all seem so real.

"Oh, there's no need for all that Draco. Dumbledore was rather pleased that I've finally agreed to take on an apprentice. He mumbled some nonsense about it being well overdue. There's no need for you to go looking for a flat, Draco. You will have rooms here in the castle. Besides, I wouldn't want you to walk too far," Severus looked at Draco's knee as he spoke.

Draco knew it made sense, but it was nonetheless a surprise to realise he would be living back at Hogwarts. The one place he never expected to see again. The one place with so many errant memories. He wasn't yet sure how he felt about that.

"But if you read your contract carefully, we still have a month before you need to be present and accounted for."

Draco nodded absently, still in thought. If he had a month, that meant he could still head to Marrakesh. The sly smirk on his face was so obvious, Severus commented.

"Well what's made you look like the cat that got the cream?" Draco nearly snorted at the metaphor. Things seemed to be falling into place, and if he was lucky, he'd do more than just get the cream. His mood had taken a complete about face in the past few moments. Talking to Severus had made that happen.

"Oh, just making plans, Severus," The grin widened.

"Why does that make me worry? You remind me of someone I once knew when you get that look on your face." Severus didn't seem to like the predatory look that Draco had when he suddenly thought of heading to Morocco.

"Oh, do tell, Severus. Was he as devilishly handsome as me?" As some of the worry was lifted from his shoulders, Draco found his old humour returning. It felt good to throw jibes at Severus. It had been too long since he had the opportunity.

As usual, Severus was not amused by Draco's teasing. "Well if you must know, it was a rather acrimonious split. I don't like to talk about him any more," the older man's sense of humour fled as he undoubtedly relived a number of unpleasant memories.

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Someone actually dared to cross you? Who could have been so bold?"

Severus sighed. "I can see you will just keep harping on it until I tell you. Don't expect me to ever talk about him again. I was so silly to think I could find happiness at my age," Severus began to murmur. Draco was now sorry he brought the subject up. "But I honestly thought Jason Ollivander and I were going to share quite a few years together. As it were, well, I'd rather not talk about it any more Draco. It's still rather fresh."

Mentally kicking himself in the head for being a fool, Draco nodded, and quickly changed the subject. He really regretted getting onto this topic with Severus. The man was sometimes unbearable, but Draco knew that he had a lot to give. This Jason Ollivander must have been more than just a casual acquaintance to make Severus seem so downcast.

"Well then, Severus, I should go. Or should I call you _Master_, now?"

Severus glanced at Draco askance, "Cheeky Monkey."

* * *

The momentum of the afternoon had continued, and it wasn't long before Draco found his bag packed, ready to go to Marrakesh. He thought about surprising Jean-Paul, but he remembered Flash's nasty experience with surprising Ollie, and he didn't think he would want the same sort of surprise. _One fleeting opportunity with Jean-Paul, and I'm acting as if he's exclusively mine? Hmmm, am I truly ready for this_? Draco had a sudden moment of insecurity at the thought. He shook his head, refusing to wallow in any more self doubt. Hadn't Jean-Paul told him the same thing the day before?

A quick Floo call, and Jean-Paul knew to expect him. He was certainly thrilled that Draco changed his mind about visiting.

Looking around the room, he realised he was forgetting something. Heading over to his desk, he found the journal. He hadn't forgotten about Flash, indeed, his friend was in his thoughts more often than ever. He would need to take it with him if he were to keep to their arranged chat time for Sunday evening. _But what if I'm busy then? I would hate to ruin any of Jean-Paul's plans. _He decided it would be prudent to leave a note – just in case he was indisposed.

At the thought of being indisposed at Jean-Paul's hands (yes, those firm and confident hands), he smiled and took a seat. Just as he was about to dip the quill in his emerald green ink, he realised that Flash had written his own short note. Draco grinned from ear to ear. It seems the Englishman couldn't wait until Sunday either.

He couldn't help but smile as he read about Flash's horrific time. It wasn't nice to think that way, but it was somewhat nice to know that he wasn't the only person in the world who had been dealt a horrid week. He was glad that Flash had discovered someone who oozed sex appeal. If the man in question was anywhere as good looking as Jean-Paul, then Flash was as lucky as he was.

As he read further through Flash's entry, an uneasy sense of déjà vu crept over him. _I've heard this before,_ he thought. Somehow, he'd heard Flash's words somewhere during the week. His heart pounded as he read one particular paragraph:

_**The only high point of my week was the opportunity to catch up with an old friend. **_

Phrases jumped out from the purple ink, and flashed across his eyes, the words suddenly given voice by a familiar baritone. _The Powers That Be at work; I knew him ages ago, when he was a kid; he was just a boy, and a rather spoilt boy at that; I was quite immediately taken by the changes in him; he may have inherited this from at least one of his parents._

Draco sat back, staring blankly at the page. Flash's words suddenly spoke as clear as a bell – In Severus Snape's voice. He recalled his earlier talks with Severus, and found that the beautifully crafted purple letters on the page mirrored his friend's thoughts perfectly. Right down to his description of meeting Potter. _No,_ he refused to believe it. _Severus **can't** be Flash._

Draco's hand began to tremble as he put down his quill. _Could Severus be Flash?_ He replayed the entire meeting and their later Floo conversation in his mind. Severus had been telling Draco how impossibly good looking Potter had become. Flash was telling Luc how he met a kid he knew who was now oozing sex appeal.

Draco reopened the journal. Rereading the words, he fervently wished that he had misread them all, and he was just daydreaming. Just as he realised they weren't any different, another glaring coincidence occurred. _Jason Ollivander. Ollie. Acrimonious split. Fuck. _He quickly closed the journal, pushing it as far away as he could, merely staring at the cover. He shook his head. It couldn't be possible. Severus was not Flash.

His heart thumped heavily in his chest as his discovery began to sink in.

* * *

An hour later, Draco was still sitting at his desk staring at the cover of the journal. He couldn't bring himself to open it again and check. He had mulled over every word he recalled from Severus that week. It had matched up perfectly with Flash's words, and he couldn't get his head around that thought. A soft hoot from the rafters brought him out of his reverie, and he looked at the clock. He should have left for Marrakesh ages ago, but was too stunned to even move.

As he stood, he looked at the journal and hesitated. _Do I ask him outright? Do I leave any message, or should I just say something non committal? _He felt guilty about leaving things up in the air. Knowing Severus like he did, he would be a real sourpuss if things didn't go his way. If Draco didn't write something, and then didn't manage to get to their scheduled chat on Sunday, the Potions master would be grumpier than ever.

Guilt got the better of him, and he quickly decided to pen a short reply. Suspecting the identity of the wizard on the other end, his words seemed hollow, and lacking in sincerity.

_Vendredi 21 Mars, 2003_ _Bonjour Flash,_ _Just a quick note to let you know I may not be around on Sunday night. I'll be taking the journal with me, but don't worry if I'm not there to chat with you. It's been a hell of a week, and I'm spending a couple of weeks with Jean-Paul in Marrakesh. Yes, with Jean-Paul. That's a development that's taken a pleasant turn – believe it or not he's been the only certainty in my life this week._

Soon, the magic of the journal drew some of his concerns to the fore, and he continued to write.

_Have you ever had one of those weeks where it feels like you are just a participant in your own life? Where every other little detail is out of your hands? Well, welcome to Luc's world. Of course you have, you were only telling me about your own horrible week. I sympathise completely._ _I have had a mixed bag of fortunes this week, but I don't really have time to elaborate on them all at the moment. Apart from nearly killing myself (by accident – life isn't that bad), having my arse saved by a very old and trusted family friend, and having to deal with a number of narrow minded people, well, let's just say that I have a lot to think over whilst I'm in Marrakesh. The fact that I broke down and kissed Jean-Paul (amongst other wicked and not terribly wholesome things) seems almost anti-climactic (even though it definitely wasn't). It's the only sure thing in my life right now – apart from your friendship, of course, which I find to be the one solid thing I have clung to at each twist and turn this week._

Draco paused. The words had flown out of his quill before he could think. He re-read the last sentence. It was true. He did find Flash's friendship to be a rock. But then again, Severus was always a rock when he needed to turn to someone. _Is it just that I am drawn to this one person? To Severus?_ It seemed the quill was not finished writing words from Draco's subconscious. Thoughts of his meeting with Severus lead down the path to thinking about Potter, and before he could stop himself, the words were on the page.

_But I did want to pose one question to you, my friend. Have you ever had to deal with people who have a preconception about you? For instance, if someone from your school days, or an ex lover met you, would you have expected their opinion to change, just because you have? I've had some interesting conversations this week and I find my own preconceived notions about others have been somewhat challenged. Has there ever been anyone you've met from your past, then realised they appear to be totally different to the person you thought you knew?_ _Well, this short note has turned into a ramble. I will try to be here for our Sunday chat, but if I'm not, then you'll know that Jean-Paul is keeping up his duties as a good host (amongst keeping up other things! – I cannot believe I wrote that. This journal is truly dangerous. Definitely some dark magic in here, if it makes me write such lurid thoughts)._ _Adieu for now,  
Luc._

He closed the journal. He couldn't even detach himself from Flash, not even when he tried. He couldn't deal with those thoughts now. Jean-Paul was expecting him. Shoving the journal down the side of his bag, he donned his jacket and entered the floo. As he called out his destination, he suddenly thought it was strange that someone would name their home 'Souk Souk', but it was too late. With a whoosh of flame and air, he was hurtling though the floo system, his journey nowhere near as churned and confused as the thoughts within his own mind.

Draco was surely hoping a warm pair of hands and a lustful chocolate brown set of eyes would be awaiting him in Marrakesh – helping him forget.

* * *

Friday was turning out to be just as emotionally charged as the rest of Harry's week. After many hours and many flying emotions the meeting with Rufus Scrimegour ended. The Headmaster had decided that the core members of the Order should all be in attendance because of the brief report he'd received from Scrimegour the day before. This meant that Harry had to repeat the information about his leaking magic and raging outbursts in front of not only Remus, Dumbledore and Scrimegour, but also Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein and Alicia Spinnet, who had all become prominent Aurors during the war, as well as the new Minister, Arthur Weasley, along with Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, and worst of all, Professor Snape.

Scrimegour was, by far, the most outspoken about the idiocy of those who chose to keep Harry uninformed about the Neo Death Eaters. He told them about the most recent attacks. "It seems they are a group of distant supporters, many of them children of the First Wave," he said. The phrase 'First Wave' had been coined to refer to those Death Eaters active during the war, so as to differentiate them from those who began to show dark sympathies after Voldemort's death. Scrimegour wasn't finished, though. He was near livid! "I can't believe those fools would keep you in the dark like that, Harry. Guffries and Bridgewater should know better than that. Honestly, a rising threat like this, people all over the place beginning to fear for their lives, even fearing that Voldemort has returned yet again – and they had possibly the greatest power of our time, and most logical person to offer vital input… but they stick you in a back room somewhere tutoring kids instead of working on this case."

Harry felt rather good about Scrimegour's outburst, glad to hear that someone had finally recognised his power and his strengths without falling back on the familiar titles; The-Boy-Who-Lived or The-Defeater-of-You-Know-Who. He was one of a handful of people who had mentioned Harry's power in a nonchalant manner, as if it were just one more thing that makes him who he is, rather than being the whole of his personality. Harry could not be sure, however, if Scrimegour was doing it to get on Harry's good side, or whether he had finally managed to respect Harry and his power. Jones however, seemed to disagree with him. She insisted that the Ministry had made the right decision because they shouldn't be allowed to rely on a child like that.

"He's hardly a child, Hestia," Remus replied angrily. "For Merlin's sake. Have you forgotten already what Harry has done? Perhaps you'd like it better if Harry hadn't killed Voldemort? He's as experienced as the rest of us, more so in many ways. It just seems to have been a long-standing habit of the Ministry to ignore the gifts available to them, the warnings offered to them, and the basic ideas of logic." The werewolf was on a roll now, defending Harry like he would a pack mate. "Harry is, as Rufus said, the greatest power of our time. He is also the one who had a connection to Voldemort, studied the Death Eaters, and was silent witness to countless Death Eater meetings. He went to school with many of the people you suspect of being Neo Death Eaters, and could likely pinpoint many of those likely to have joined. If that's not enough for you, he's also a decorated war veteran, a fully trained and certified Auror, a qualified Auror instructor and, just for the record, a nearly 23-year-old adult! I suggest, if you wish to remain a regularly informed member of the Order, that you think about this and offer him the respect he deserves."

Harry felt himself grow warm inside at the memory of Remus' defence. It was nice to know that he was held in such high regard by the friend he admired so much. He always got a little sentimental when heard nice things about himself from other people, real people who actually knew him. _Amazing how much of the rubbish that we hear as children affects us when we are adults._ He thought momentarily on his time at the Dursleys. _I guess I'm just starved for affection and kindness. _

That train of thought ended abruptly when Jones snorted derisively and was promptly attacked by Fawkes. The magical bird had taken a liking to Harry immediately and was known for standing up to adversaries of those he considered loyal. Hestia Jones seemed to be quite taken aback by the sudden flutter of red feathers in her face and the obviously angry squawking of the Phoenix. Fawkes swooped over to the Headmaster, chirping and squawking at him in a manner which clearly said "Get this woman out of here, I don't like her anymore," then swooped back to Jones and perched on the arm of the Auror's chair. Jones watched in silence, her cheeks turning pinker than usual as Fawkes regarded her closely, and finally turned to Dumbledore as if seeking help. Albus Dumbledore, however, had no help to offer the woman. He appeared to be thoroughly involved in sucking on a Sherbet Lemon and, to all intents and purposes, seemed completely oblivious to the uproar taking place in his office.

Of course, those in the office were quickly disabused of that notion when Albus held out his arm for Fawkes to perch on, and looked Hestia Jones square in the face, his expression one of carefully schooled disdain. "I believe you have been plainly asked to leave."

With an insulted huff the black-haired witch rose and exited the office, much to Harry's relief. He had begun to worry that Remus would completely lose his temper if the woman didn't leave. Dumbledore allowed a moment of quiet murmuring among the remaining members before reminding them that they still had pressing matters to discuss. The meeting progressed uneventfully and Harry was grateful when it was finally over and they could retreat to the Great Hall for dinner.

He thought about the Neo Death Eaters as he walked through the castle towards Remus' quarters that evening. It seemed logical that they would have someone heading up their plans, organising their attacks, motivating them. He wanted to know who. Just as with Voldemort, if he could take out their leader, it would give the Order a huge advantage. Of course, he doubted he was dealing with anyone as resilient as Voldemort this time, which would certainly tip things in his favour. _Just when I thought this nonsense was all over. How many more upstarts will want to crawl out of the woodwork? Am I destined to relive this every few years? _He had always imagined a quiet life after the war, but it looked as if things were about to start all over again.

All thoughts of the First Wave, the Neo Death Eaters and his upcoming struggles left his head the moment he entered the guest room in Remus' quarters. The journal was lying open on the desk, and Harry could see a new section of green writing in it. _Amazing how this seems to take precedence over everything else, _he thought. It never failed, a journal entry or conversation with Luc could brighten Harry's day and relieve his stress like little else. Even talking to Ron or Hermione wasn't quite the same. They were wonderful, helpful when needed, and great fun, but they didn't spark that little sense of excitement in his stomach. Harry was beginning to wonder about that, what it meant, whether or not Luc felt it, too. He was afraid to mention it, afraid he was becoming obsessive and strange about this, so he just pondered on it occasionally, and kept it to himself.

Of course, he was given something altogether new to think about when he noticed a keen sense of disappointment and irrational hope after reading the first few sentences of the entry. He felt foolish getting upset at the idea that he might not be able to talk to Luc on Sunday, but tried to ignore that as well as he kept reading.

_...apart from your friendship, which I find to be the one solid thing I have clung to at each twist and turn this week. _

Harry found himself incredibly touched by that, pleased to note that Luc seemed to be just as invested in this friendship as he was. He was sympathetic to Luc's feelings about life being out of control, and couldn't help the sudden worry over Luc's health, despite the fact that the other wizard seemed to have recovered from his bout of ill health.

_Have you ever had to deal with people who have a preconception about you? _

_Every day of my life_, he thought. He wondered about this; wondered who Luc might have run into to prompt such a question. Harry thought back on his earlier run-ins with Snape and Malfoy, as well as that afternoon's meeting with the Order. Did any of those people realise he had changed? Could they tell he wasn't the same person he had been as a teenager? Did they care? Did he care if they knew? He remembered the way Malfoy had leaned surreptitiously on his cane at the Leaky Cauldron. That cane, that limp, those were new characteristics of Malfoy that seemed incongruous with the image he'd always had of Malfoy. Harry felt a familiar surge of sorrow and guilt, once again wishing that he could have found a way to kill Voldemort earlier, to keep that conflict from spreading between the two of them. It had been his fight, destined since birth, and he hated the fact that so many were killed and injured. He felt he owed each and every person affected by the war a personal apology – even Malfoy.

After he finished reading, Harry smiled slightly at Luc's suggestive closing comments. He understood his own desires all to well, especially since his odd dreams and the hungry looks he kept imagining he saw coming from Remus continued to send him a myriad of mixed messages. He was entirely unsure what to do about that. _I should mention that to Luc during our next chat_. The Frenchman seemed to have incredible insight on such matters, even though he held no confidence in that insight when it related to his own relationships.

Harry slid into bed that evening with mixed emotions. He felt that there was entirely too much activity in his head, but couldn't deny the feeling of contentment he felt being at Hogwarts again. The lush bedding and warm, crackling fire made the place feel like home in a way his flat never did, and the subtle magics that ran throughout the castle were a nearly tangible reminder of the difference between a Muggle building and a wizarding building. _I need a new place,_ he thought sleepily. _Something inviting, something magical. Something…green._ He was already dreaming before the thought finished.

* * *

-TBC-

**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 28-August-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005  
**Chapter Length:** 40,345 words.

* * *

**Review Thank You's!**

**Wintermoon's Notes:** Wow – I never in my wildest dreams thought we would have a single chapter that was this incredibly long! We honestly had every intention of finishing it up during Azhure's visit to the States, but we just couldn't get it all done that soon. I will say that we had a fabulous visit, and she got to see an honest-to-goodness redneck, as well as a stereotypical annoying Yankee! (_Az: Only one?)_ It was great, it was fun, it was over far too soon. But as we sat at the airport waiting for her departing plane, we worked out a great many details for the rest of this fic, and there are a lot of things planned! I think you'll all be pleased, surprised, annoyed, frustrated and satisfied by the time it's over. I know you've already been reading for ages with this nearly 40,000 word chapter, so I'll get right to the replies!

**Azhure's Notes:** If the net effect of two Trans Pacific authors meeting up and writing together is 40,000 word chapters, then wow, we'll outstrip War and Peace before they actually get to snog. No, only joking. Oh, did I say snog, I wasn't supposed to say anything. Bugger, looks like the cat is out of the bag. Yep, ditto to everything Wintermoon said.

We've decided to catch up on review replies, now that we aren't going to be alternating chapters any longer. However, with nearly 100 reviews for chapters 9 & 10, we absolutely can't reply individually to very many at all. So, many thanks to:

_**Venenatus.venustas, DarkMagicianPrincess, chi7890, chico, tomboy101, Ashley, Emerald Dragon08, AsheslovesHarry, Sunset Shadows, It'sJustMe, NiaSphinx, TheSilverLady, Jen Red Robe, CelestialDrgn, thedarkside45, Menecarkawan, futago akuma-tenshi02, Yaoifestive, Kellie Mclean, Dragenphly, lalauu, dragonrose, Raven Deathstar, trivium, Angel-Wings6, darkest demon child, Immortal Tears of, Kaaera, HpDevotee, Imp17, SilverDragon161, draconias, yaoi-is-gay-13, Crimson Colored Cloaked Figure, kt, Beth Weasley, Emerald Icicle, NayNymic, Silvia-Silver, CuriousDreamWeaver, Infinite13, XXRogueHeartXX, Asitha, Lily Evans Potter Black Lupin, Rowenna, TTF, firedragonluver, Dragenphly, E-san, Hitomi-des, Jenica, M'Lady, floramorada, Nocens Calamus, N.U.Washa, the royal bitch, AnnieT, EdenMalfoy017, Benjis VIP, Obscurus Imber, fayee, Emily22, driven to insanity, Loria Amnekia**_

_As well as the following special comments that just couldn't be ignored:_

**_MJLuvsPolar:_** _I just have to say thank you for recognising why our boys behave the way they do. Trauma changes people, but they are still 22 year old boys which is why they still do stupid things sometimes. As for your ideas of what would happen, you are one of a few who seem to have been conversing with our muse. I'm not sure I like that, but the silly little bint doesn't seem to know when to keep to herself._

**_Louise4:_** _Yes, as you can see, someone has had a moment of "ah hah! I know who I'm writing to!" Probably not quite what you expected, though, was it? WEG And a quick note about Lupin, in case it helps any, I believe Azhure and I finally settled on David Wenham in our personal casting for Remus Lupin in this fic. Azhure has found the perfect picture and uploaded it to the Yahoo group's photos section so you can put a new image in your head! ;)_

**_Lizliterarius:_** _I had a few things I had to reply to – 1) you're right, letting Flash and Luc discover each other now is not wicked enough to pass muster with us. We've derived great joy from discovering all the little events that have happened/will happen throughout the course of this fic. Bits and bobs have changed over time, but the basics of the timeline have remained fairly constant. We just hope you're all along for the whole ride, no matter how long it takes. 2)in reference to our president and his lot, I agree with you whole-heartedly and have to say it's always nice to know when there are other supporters out there. Gives me hope for November. I just hope you're old enough to vote. Please tell me you're old enough to vote, and that you plan to vote, and that it will be for Kerry so we can get rid of the village idiot. Okay, enuff about that. 3) what separates me from a Wiccan…long story, would love to talk about it. Send me a personal email or IM me (yahoo – wintermoon30, msn – wintermoon) and we'll chat._

**_Hitomi-des:_** _So here you go, just a couple days early – Happy, Happy Birthday! And it's twice the length just for you! (not really, but I can say that to make you feel more special than you already are.)_

**_SilverDragon161:_** _I hope it was cleared up in this chapter, but no – Draco is not the shorter one. He was just looking down at the time. Sorry to disappoint. Azhure and I actually debated on that one, but realised that the pics we have to accompany the fic clearly show that 'Draco' is just a smidge taller than 'Harry.'_

**_Thedarkside45:_** _Harry accidentally apparating to Luc's house. Now that's a very interesting idea. So interesting that I would be tempted to try and work it in, but it just doesn't fit anywhere. Thanks for all your reviews, though. Keep reading!_

**_Brennend:_** _Now where would you get the notion that two incredibly clever and knowledgable witches know anything about those journals that our boys don't know? WEG_

**_Lupine9:_** _Just to clear up the confusion – there have been two authors on this fic from the word go. In fact, it was the idea of this fic that got us talking through email last June, despite the fact it took a while for us to even start it. So here's how it works. Chapters 1,3,5,7,and 9 were primarily written by Azhure and beta-read by Wintermoon. Chapters 2,4,6,and 8 were primarily written by Wintermoon and beta-read by Azhure. Chapters 10, 11 and beyond are/will be written by both authors and beta-read by both authors. Azhure writes almost all of the Draco stuff and Wintermoon writes almost all of the Harry stuff. Clear as Mud?_

**_Sailor Grape: _**"_No doubt it's going to draw the attention of the entire establishment." I have one word for you – **understatement! **Az says – Well if that wasn't the longest review ever! Thanks for every word!_

_**Charlie Heath: **Unless I'm mistaken, 'merde' means, basically, 'shit.'_

**_CelestialDrgn:_** _Just to clear this up for you and anyone else who reads through these replies…Yes. Harry did rent Draco's chateau when he went on holiday._

**_Mary:_** _Sorry Mary, but a link to the pictures won't work unless you are a member of the Yahoo group. The link is listed in my author profile, so you should be able to click on it from there. All you have to do is join the Yahoo group, and then you can see the photos section, as well as the files section which contains the censored bits of this fic and all our other work!_

**_Silver-Sunn101:_** _Yes, that bit you mentioned that shouldn't have been bold, you were absolutely right. I've requested that Azhure make that correction when she gets a chance (she's the brilliant mastermind behind all our formatting). Thank you for pointing that out for us!_

**_Cheer4life-2005:_** _No, Arianna's father did not replace Fudge. Arthur Weasley replaced Fudge as the UK Minister of Magic. Arianna's father is the French Minister of Magic. Azhure – care to clarify any further? Az: Nope, you got it in one!_

_**Michael Serpent: **Glad we could cheer you up. Hope this chapter lived up to your high expectations!_

_**Roguemessenger: **Congrats on the wedding, I know what it's like to have pc and internet withdrawal, (but my honeymoon was back in the pre computer days, well, at least my pre computer days). Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	12. Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 12: _But I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For..._ **

_I have climbed highest mountains,  
I have run through the fields,  
Only to be with you,  
I have run, I have crawled,  
I have scaled, these city walls,  
Only to be with you,_

_But I still haven't found what I'm looking for… _

**U2**

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams, Letters, or Diary entries from Luc.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

* * *

**March 21 – Friday**

The trip to Marrakesh seemed interminable. As he hurtled through the Floo, Draco realised that for the first time in many days he was finally taking control of something. It seemed every important decision in his life had been taken out of his hands; his inheritance, his studies, and ultimately his future. It irked him to be reliant on others, in particular Severus, but he could see no other way out of his dilemma. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of his mentor, and his thoughts immediately turned to his friend Flash. That was a revelation that he didn't want to think about right at that moment. He was too busy trying to quell the very sudden attack of nerves that overcame him as he tumbled and spun through the Floo system.

_But I can't ignore the nagging thought that Flash and Severus are one and the same - it just won't go away. _He desperately wanted to talk to Flash, but was hesitant. Could he still talk to his friend impartially – consciously knowing who he was? _Do I just blurt out that I know who he is, or expose my own identity, or just play along? _He was at sixes and sevens, but knew that for once, he just had to stop thinking. The invitation to join Jean-Paul in Marrakesh was something solid, despite the sudden anxiety attack. He was in little doubt as to his host's motives for the invitation.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply, ready to once again take control of his destiny.

* * *

The atmosphere inside Hogwarts seemed to reflect the unseasonable storm that was raging outside. As he stood at the window watching the torrential rains, Harry thought back on his blatantly obvious invitation to Remus a few days earlier, and the casual reaction he'd received from the werewolf. Remus had simply looked at him, seemingly nonplussed by Harry's sexual suggestion, and finally asked if Harry really meant it. This took Harry by surprise. He hadn't thought about his words before they came flying out of his mouth, and was forced to ultimately admit that he was experiencing higher than usual levels of desire, and that the notion had crossed his mind, but he wasn't actively propositioning his old friend.

Not only was Harry losing control of his magic at the most inopportune times, it seemed his mouth was out of control along with his power surges. How stupid was it to blatantly blurt out such an invitation – especially to Remus? Despite that, Remus had seemed fairly comfortable with Harry's response (after some very quick thinking), and they had both agreed to continue as if it never happened. That plan was easier said than done, however, and Harry hadn't failed to notice that Remus had practically avoided him since then. He found himself unable to get past that moment, and constantly considered the real possibility of an encounter with his friend. _Do I really want that with Remus? Merlin, the man is a sexy beast – how come I never noticed him before? _Regardless of the man's sex appeal, Harry had to consider the level of discomfort that had come between them during the past few days. He was beginning to feel unwelcome as he stayed in Remus' guest quarters. The inclement weather just added to the feeling that he needed to get away from the castle. There was no way he was going to get away from all his troubles in that environment.

Saturday morning, he actually caught Remus trying to avoid him. Harry didn't wrestle with his conscience any longer. He quietly packed his things and left a brief note before leaving the castle.

_Remus,_ _I'm sorry for causing you so much discomfort – and in your own quarters. I don't know what's come over me, but I think some time to myself is in order. Perhaps Hogwarts isn't quite the right environment for me at present. You can reach me by owl, should you have the desire to. If nothing else, I'll be in touch by the end of the week._ _Harry_

Harry thanked the gods for the use of one of Hogwarts' carriages, as the incessant rain had increased and the flashes of lightning lit up the sky – making any sort of travel highly uncomfortable. He didn't relish the idea of travel – not with luggage anyway, but he had no intention of Apparating away. Not even a shielding charm could hold back the rain – besides – nobody would attempt to Apparate during a storm. The lightning exponentially increased the risk of splinching oneself. Sometimes even Mother Nature defied the laws of magic – making the effort of casting a spell not worthwhile. A quiet and leisurely train journey was just what he needed, especially since he hadn't slept well the night before. He remembered having seen a quaint little Bed and Breakfast on the border of the Inverness wizarding quarter during a previous visit to the city, and it seemed just the place where he could gather his thoughts and start to work on his control issues.

Upon his arrival, he was pleased to discover that the place offered all the privacy he needed, including full access to the kitchens if he desired. The lovely view and easy access to Tie Rannick Alley were an added bonus. It wasn't quite as spectacular as the chateau he'd visited in Roussillon, but it was peaceful, just the same.

Mrs O'Donnell, the matronly owner, was only too pleased to cater to Harry's every whim, and he was extremely grateful for the very filling lunch she cooked just for him. She would have prepared all the meals for her guests, but left them all with the choice of providing their own fare. She reminded Harry a great deal of Molly Weasley, right down to her tone of voice. He was grateful for her helpfulness, and would most certainly be taking her up on her offer of assistance. It was just the break he needed to get away from everything threatening to overwhelm him.

* * *

**March 23 - Sunday**

Marrakesh: A seething, writhing mass of living and breathing humanity tucked into the ancient fertile oasis tract on the northern borders of the Sahara desert. Nestled at the base of the surrounding Atlas Mountains, the city itself is a study in stark contrasts; drab desert tones clash with the sparkling silks and brightly painted homes. Staunch followers of the Islamic faith live and work alongside modern Western Christians. One vibrantly lush tree in the oasis stands proud in defiance of the monotonous landscape of the surrounding desert. Even in the laid back heat of the midday sun, the hustle and bustle of the town square diametrically opposed the frantic yet very different crowds and festive atmosphere that permeated the bustling souq markets during the night.

The ancient Berber outpost of the Medina – Old City - seemed like a completely different world to the surrounding New City, built by the French in the late 19th century. Hidden behind the giant walls, the wizarding residents of the Medina went about their business in very much the same way they had for centuries, without much notice or interference from the tens of thousands of Muggles passing by.

Most Muggles casually observing the Medina would barely notice the difference between wizard and Muggle, so caught up were they in the distracting contrasts of the city, and the frantically keen stallholders from the market bazaar. It would take a discerning eye to notice the subtle flows of magic constantly weaving throughout the surging flow of Muggles. One observer was trained to notice such things. Despite the diversion his time in Marrakesh was proving to be, Draco found it hard to not keep his eyes firmly open and on guard as he scanned the crowds this Sunday afternoon.

The residents of Marrakesh were in themselves a study in contrasts. The ancient Berbers lived peacefully with a literal melting pot of people from other cultures – all living out their mundane lives, or seeking unfulfilled desires amongst the oppressive heat and the fetid stench of decay that was Marrakesh. Draco didn't quite know where his visit to Marrakesh would lead him, but he knew that since his arrival two days earlier, many desires had already been fulfilled.

For centuries, wizards had lived peacefully alongside the Muggle population in Marrakesh. The Statute of Secrecy did not apply to the Berber race; the descendants of this ancient culture had passed knowledge of wizard-kind down through the generations from their forefathers. Apart from producing a considerable number of their own Muggleborn wizards, the Berbers were fully versed in the feats of Salazar Slytherin, Snake Charmer. The Berbers did not betray the wizards to the greater non-Berber population, nor did they ask for any great feats in return for their silence. This silence garnered the respect of the wizard population, and for the most part, the wizards would help their non-magical neighbours as often as possible. The Sheik - the constitutional ruler of the Berber peoples - had always enjoyed the support of a wizard advisor, often letting the wizard perpetrate the myth that the Sheik was somewhat more magical than the regular human being.

Jean-Paul had been advising the current Sheik for ten years. In addition to his ceremonial duties, his healing expertise was called upon almost daily to help bolster the Sheik's ailing health. The man had been unwell for many years, long before Jean-Paul entered his service, and the talented medi-wizard could not cure the festering cancers within the elderly man's failing body. Without any inherent magic within a Muggle's body, it was nigh on impossible for something as severe as cancer to be cured by magic. Had Jean-Paul been around to identify the festering cancers in the Sheik's youth, then perhaps he could have stopped their near fatal spread. As it was, he spent less time advising the Sheik, and much more time easing the man's ever increasing pain.

Despite the heat, the oppressive humidity and the ever present stench of sweat and spice (a heady combination), Draco immediately fell in love with the city. He knew that it was everything most people would hate, but he couldn't help noticing that nearly everything about the dusty, dry and sweaty oasis was in direct contrast to his almost sterile upbringing in the mausoleum that was Malfoy Manor.

Then again, perhaps it wasn't the city he was enamoured with – perhaps it was a certain medi-wizard that brought the hedonistic smile to his face. Perhaps it was the well deserved rest after the storm of emotions Draco experienced in the previous week. Whatever the reason, Draco was practically humming on Sunday afternoon as he sat drinking the strongest tasting coffee he had ever experienced. The coffee was full bodied, hot and strong, without the slightest hint of being bitter. _Just the way I like my men,_ he thought wryly. And in the past forty-eight hours, Draco had certainly partaken of plenty of the pleasures Jean-Paul had to offer. No one could doubt the self satisfied grin that crossed his face at that thought.

Whatever Jean-Paul had awakened inside Draco, it made him feel more alive than he had felt in a long time. The only thing dampening his spirits was the fact that this sexual healing provided by his own personal medi-wizard had been so rudely interrupted earlier that morning.

* * *

"No rest for the wicked," Jean-Paul had groaned as a distant bell chimed above the fireplace, interrupting their sweaty, yet extremely satiated Sunday morning sleep in.

"What's that?" Draco asked sleepily, flicking a stray strand of hair from his face, not wanting the body lying comfortably under him to leave.

"It's the Sheik's personal call. I have to go," Jean-Paul said dejectedly as he eased himself out of Draco's embrace and slipped into a light cotton caftan. Draco admired the man's physique as he watched the taunt body disappear beneath the simple, yet practical alternative to wearing robes.

Draco smirked as he thought back on his arrival a couple of days earlier, and the fact that his own lack of appropriate clothing had started what was to become a blissful slide into debauchery. Not that he minded one bit.

* * *

Within five minutes of arriving in Marrakesh on the previous Friday, Draco had felt considerably overdressed in his traditional robes. Not really sure what clothing would be most appropriate to pack, Draco had packed his lightest weight robes, along with his few Muggle clothes. As he arrived, it took only moments to realise that even the lightest of robes were still too much in the unbearable heat. It felt hotter than Hades as he stepped quickly out of the Floo, the distinct lack of air in the oppressive humidity making it hard to breathe. He cast a quick cooling charm in an attempt to rebalance his equilibrium.

"You came," Jean-Paul seemed very pleased at Draco's arrival. "I was beginning to think..." he didn't finish the sentence, an unsure hint in his tone.

"You invited me," Draco replied awkwardly. He wondered if the other wizard had changed his mind about the invitation. "I... I still have to thank you. For all you did. I feel so stupid. I should not have made that potion under the influence. But thanks to you, I'm all better – and very much alive."

Jean-Paul stared questioningly into Draco's eyes. He seemed to be looking for something as he stared transfixed. Draco frowned, feeling self conscious and wondering what his host was up to. A sudden shake of the head, and Jean-Paul seemingly returned to reality as he eyed Draco from head to toe – savouring every inch of the young man standing in his living room.

"Why don't you slip into something more... comfortable?" Draco couldn't help but grin as he nodded in assent.

He barely looked around the flat, but noticed it was roughly the same size as his studio, and had only one bed. A very large one with an ornate headboard. He couldn't help but notice this fact, and proceeded to assume that he would indeed be sharing this bed with his host. Of course, he didn't mind one bit.

The intent behind Jean-Paul's invitation to slip into something more comfortable was obvious. Draco was only too happy to oblige him with a small taste of his own intentions. Jean-Paul's deep brown eyes had followed his every move as he slowly divested himself of the already damp clothing. Draco could feel those eyes undressing him faster than he could undress himself. Jean-Paul's lusty approval was evident in his eyes as Draco's robes fell to the floor. Draco smirked seductively at this realisation and, pulling his shirt over his head, he accommodated the voyeuristic intentions of his host.

Turning and flexing a muscle nonchalantly in profile, Draco glimpsed those eyes glowing with hunger in the split second before Jean-Paul lunged, throwing him up against the wall. Their mouths connected and Draco found this first taste of Jean-Paul to be just as sensuous as he had hoped. He was held firmly against one of the ancient wall hangings that decorated the walls, their tongues searching and yearning as deeply as their bodies ground against each other. The velvet touch of Jean-Paul's tongue quickly moved to other bare patches of skin, as Draco found his arms bound by his half doffed shirt. His own hands were effectively useless, but grappled for any available fabric on the other wizard's rather flimsy caftan.

NC-17 Deleted scene

Falling into a very satisfied and languid sleep after such amazing sexual encounters, a stray thought crept to the forefront of Draco's mind. It had taken a while, but he noticed the scent of his lover was very similar, but not quite the same as that mesmerising cologne that had dogged his steps in London earlier in the week. The heady scent of spice laced with pure sexual musk was hard to forget; yet Draco couldn't quite pinpoint the actual cologne base. His potions hardened nose could sniff out many of the popular brands and styles, yet that one scent had seemed unique. Undoubtedly, the wizard wearing it had a natural chemistry, his own body odour and pheromones combining with the cologne to produce such a unique aroma. Draco suspected the other wizard must have been exuding a great deal of sexual energy in order to produce such a musky and totally erotic scent. He made a mental note to ask Jean-Paul about its source, but the thought again slipped his mind, and he never got around to asking the question. His mouth was usually too busy with other activities of a more carnal nature.

After such sexually enlightening activities, Draco suddenly found himself with another type of hunger to be sated. Waking early on Saturday, a gnawing emptiness rumbled through his stomach. He recalled Jean-Paul's non-existent culinary skills. Not only had he burned the eggs back in Paris, but the one cupboard wrapped in preservation charms contained absolutely nothing but a jug of something that looked somewhat – but not entirely - like milk, and a bottle of something green and rather glutinous. Draco wasn't game to ask.

Feeling so hungry he could pass out, Draco quickly donned the first caftan he spied, and quietly made his way out to the square below the flat. The side streets and alleyways were littered with stalls selling a myriad of goods, but it was the faint yet tantalising aroma of the coffee beans coming from the market bazaar that had woken him and his hunger. Formerly known as the souq markets, the market bazaar was no longer the exclusive domain of the traditional water sellers. Magically charmed and purified water had replaced the souq sellers years earlier. Their places were taken by a myriad of other, more colourful traders selling everything from the traditional Berber carpets, to silks and satins, jewellery, fresh spices, fresh fish and produce. An abundant supply of citrus fruits, along with ready to eat treats such as spicy lamb kebabs, and tasty leaven breads rounded out the sheer diversity of the food available. But most importantly, there was coffee. Thick, dark coffee, unlike anything Draco had ever tasted before.

"_Translingua Audio," _Draco quickly cast his translation charm, realising it would be very awkward haggling with these stallholders if he couldn't understand a word. He need not have worried. Most of them spoke French, and those that did not, spoke passable English. Dozens of scents assaulted his senses as he walked past the stalls. Everything from the bitter tang of dried lemons, to the spicy aroma of the cardamom and cumin, and the rich, fatty sweetness of lamb (although he suspected a lot of it was actually goat) spitting over open flames, all fought for dominance over Draco's already overstimulated senses.

He finally chose a stallholder displaying a promising variety of fruits - both fresh and dried. The range of citrus fruits surprised Draco, who had imagined the desert would have little to offer in the way of such sweet delights. He gratefully sat down with a tantalising plate of cous cous sweetened with honey yogurt. He added a generous amount of dried apricots, figs and dates to his long overdue meal. He couldn't recall eating a decent meal since before he went to London earlier in the week, and after his illness and his recent sexual exploits, his hearty appetite was understandable. He added more honey to sweeten the dish, his sweet tooth craving the extra energy.

The violent grumble in his stomach eventually disappeared; however, his sweet tooth still craved more. A heavily sweetened cup of coffee helped soothe that craving. Colours brightened in the wake of the added sugar and caffeine in his system. The aromas of the food became even more distinct, and Draco soon realised that he was in desperate need of a shower. He smelt of sex and the ever present underlying stench of stale sweat. He made note to spell his clothes with some cooling charms, as the heat was already stifling, despite the early hour.

Walking back to the flat, he realised his knee was relatively pain free - the usual twinges just not there. He revelled in this slight liberty, but was not fooled that the pain was gone forever. It would return, but in the meantime, he would enjoy the freedom it gave him. He surmised that the dry heat of the desert was helping prolong the strength of the spell Jean-Paul cast. He knew the aches would return with the first sign of cold weather upon his return home.

As he entered the flat, he heard the sound of running water. Jean-Paul was awake and already in the shower. With one hunger sated, he realised that another one was currently showing interest at the wicked thoughts that passed through his mind. He raised an eyebrow and headed into the bathroom, not wanting to miss an opportunity to surprise his new lover. The sight of Jean-Paul's lean and soap-slicked form under the steaming spray had an immediate affect on Draco.

NC-17 Deleted scene

After that, Draco was unwilling and extremely reluctant to keep his hands from Jean-Paul. After denying his sexual urges for so many weeks, he felt the need to touch, and fondle and share energy with his exotic lover.

In a rare moment of conversation, Jean-Paul suggested that Draco's eager responsiveness was perhaps due to the fact he was allowing his chi to regain its inner balance. He admitted that Draco's almost incessant responsiveness was feeding his own empathic nature and Jean-Paul couldn't deny the heightened arousal that resulted. .

As the oppressive heat of Saturday bled away, the cooler air sent a chill through the stones, cooling the buildings, but not the lovers' ardour. Draco and Jean-Paul lay entwined on the Indian cotton sheets, exploring each other's bodies slowly and languidly. Draco felt more relaxed than ever before, and Jean-Paul wanted to take their 'therapy' to another level. He felt that with Draco's chakras and chi starting to balance, he would be receptive to the next level of sexual awakening.

Tantric Sex. Draco had only heard of this method of lovemaking, and was quite willing to submit to his lover's lessons in such heightened stimulation. If it meant more time with his talented new lover, then he would try anything.

He felt insatiable and unstoppable, but his mind and body were totally unprepared for such sensate and slow burning lovemaking. He was held in erotic thrall for hours by Jean-Paul's skilful ministrations. Prolonging one's desire to come for days and days seemed like the ultimate form of lovemaking, and Draco was a keen student. Unfortunately, his body was protesting the concept of prolonging the ecstasy. It was writhing in agony - protesting the urges to retain his passion – not willing to let his desire move to a deeper level. In fact, he found himself barely able to prolong _anything_ under Jean-Paul's ministrations. Despite the lack of intensity he had come to associate with their usual roughness, Draco found Jean-Paul's tenderness was just as painfully hard to resist.

_I guess I'll just have to practice_, he thought wickedly as his body's desire for sleep eventually overcame the passion and sheer animal lust that had driven him most of the day.

* * *

As memories of the most hedonistic weekend of his life hazed into one lust filled blur, Draco was surprised at how serious and focussed Jean-Paul now seemed as he made ready to go to work. The medi-wizard almost ignored the naked body stretched languidly across the bed in a very cat-like manner.

"So what about me?" Draco pouted as he pulled himself up against the carved satyrs in the headboard. As enticing as Draco's naked, and obviously interested form seemed to Jean-Paul, he did nothing more than kiss Draco longingly before pulling on some shoes.

"I have no idea how long he'll need me today. Sorry," he sounded honestly repentant, "Although, I'm sure you'll find something to amuse you down in the bazaar. Just don't overdo yourself. You need your rest. You have a busy night ahead of you."

Draco sleepily followed his lover to the Floo as Jean-Paul made ready to ease the elderly Sheik's ailments. They kissed deeply, Draco groaning in frustration as the medi-wizard made to step into the warded fireplace. The flames quickly returned to their usual cooling blue flame as Jean-Paul vanished from his sight. He felt the cool breeze from the charmed flames fanning against his heated body, belying the heat that lay outside the building.

No longer feeling so self conscious, Draco showered before donning one of his lover's caftans, quickly realising the practicality of such a garment in this climate. The feel of the coarse fabric as it moved against his body heightened his memory of his recent activities. _Still,_ he thought wickedly, _I would have been wriggling around from more than the heat in my jeans if I had been forced to wear them today._

Draco had quickly negotiated his way back to the coffee merchant at the bazaar. Sitting carefully on the stone bench against the brightly painted wall as he sipped at his coffee, Draco dared to think on everything he had tried to forget when he ran away to Marrakesh. He knew that realistically, he would have to eventually face each and every one of his responsibilities. The pressing decision about his future had already been resolved, even though Draco had not been particularly enamoured of the thought of an apprenticeship. If he had the full resources of his inheritance at his disposal, he would not have been in this situation. Alas, he had been foolish enough to let a large portion of that inheritance slip through his fingers, and he was realistic enough to realise that being apprenticed to Severus was the only way he could build the future career he wanted.

He stared at the bitter dregs of the coffee grounds in the bottom of his cup. He was purposely avoiding thoughts about his long time friend and mentor. It was almost unthinkable that Severus was very likely the same English wizard he had been corresponding with since Yule.

On so many levels, it made perfect sense. Since the first words written by 'Flash', he had felt an odd kinship to this other wizard. As a young teen, Draco had been awed by his school professor, and as circumstances of war threw them together as comrades, that awe turned into a mutual respect, and eventually, friendship, as the two men realised the parallels their lives had taken. Pondering their true friendship, a very fleeting thought was immediately thrown out of his head.

Their almost flirtatious words in the journal started to haunt him. _Surely Severus wasn't flirting with me? Would he have tried that if he knew who 'Luc' was? _Draco shuddered at the thought. Despite the fact they both shared the same sexual proclivities, Draco had no desire to become romantically attached to Severus Snape. He did not desire the man in any way. Friendship and understanding were the only things he sought from Severus. Of course, now that the man had single handedly saved him from a life of destitution, he had to add deep gratitude to that list.

_Hang on; does he know that I'm Luc? Did I somehow manage to give myself away?_ Draco worried that perhaps his identity in the journal was transparent to the one man who knew him so well. He knew what he had to do. Reluctant to go back and read through the journal, he wandered mindlessly through the stalls of the market bazaar, putting off the inevitable. Eager merchants pushed a myriad of goods into his path. Despite the temptations that wafted underneath his nose, he paid little attention to the enticing goods. Shaking his head, he knew he had to find out the answer, one way or another. He had to stop wondering if Severus was Flash. He had to go back and do the one thing he had been avoiding.

He had to reread the journal.

As much as he wanted to browse through the markets, they would still be there once he knew the truth, and he felt it would be more fun if he were to let Jean-Paul guide his shopping adventures; just as he was guiding their recent sexual adventures. The possibilities of combining the two crossed his one track mind, and he smirked.

* * *

Jean-Paul had not returned, and for a brief moment, Draco was grateful. He needed some time to reread and decipher the words he had shared with Flash these past few months. His reading glasses instantly steamed up with humidity as he put them on, and very quickly slid off the end of his nose. Pushing them back up, he quickly waved a wand at the fireplace to renew the cooling flames.

Draco opened the journal at page one, and again read the first few lines of purple ink. He sat for the better part of the next few hours, painstakingly rereading and analysing every line of Flash's words. He had forgotten some of their conversations, yet he was equally surprised to find that some of Flash's own thoughts and words had been going around in his head for months.

He tried to clear his mind of all thought, allowing the words to speak for themselves. It was hard work trying to disassociate the words from the voice of his beloved mentor, but it wasn't long before he realised his foolish mistake and return them to the anonymous voice he had invented for his new found friend.

With each turn of the page, Draco's smile returned. This man was **_not_** Severus. Not unless the Severus he had known for so many years was truly a closet romantic with a flair for self uncertainty.

As he read each word, he realised why he found it so easy to like Flash. Draco wanted the same things in life as he did. It was no coincidence that the two men had similar disappointments in their past. Draco suspected that perhaps that was the reason why the magic of these joined journals brought them together in the first place.

He relaxed as he lost himself in rereading the passages.

_**I need to be happy on my own before I can truly be happy with anyone else... Sometimes I feel like there's no one in the world that can understand me... Merlin's bunny slippers, I see what you mean about erase charms not working...**_

_Well unless he's faking it, there is no way in the world Severus would say 'Merlin's bunny slippers', _he thought wryly.

'**_Flash' is a nickname from a long-time family friend. I honestly wasn't sure why I chose to sign off with my nickname, aside from it being a very sentimental and personal thing..._**

_Well I doubt Severus would have that for his nickname._ The more Draco read through the entries, the more foolish he felt. This man he'd garnered friendship with over the past few months was so unlike the Severus he knew, he began to wonder what possessed him to even make such a mistake in the first place. _At least I don't have to go and embarrass myself in front of Severus._ Draco lay back on the grand pile of cushions pushed back into the corner of the room, his good leg tucked under him, and his other leg stretched out in front along the scattered cushions. The more he realised he had been wrong, the more comfortable he became, and began to enjoy the re-read.

_**I can honestly say I never 'watched' while I was in school. I'm sure I 'thought' about it, but I never followed through...**_

_Well I know for a fact that Severus **has** watched, _he thought as he recalled some of their more unpleasant duties during the war. He allowed the comforting sense of relief to continue to wash over him. There was no way that Flash could be Severus. Flash admitted to his failings with potions brewing. No way in the world would Severus ever lie about _that_. Besides, Draco couldn't lie when writing in his journal, and he doubted Flash could either. _It's not Severus._

Lost in the reread, one passage stood out from the rest as clear evidence that he had been particularly hasty in his suggestion that his friend was Severus.

_**The moon reflected on the water by Pont Neuf and I felt incredibly cuddlesome and romantic...**_

That entry seemed to seal the man's identity. Draco knew for a fact that if he had correctly spied Flash with Ollie that night by Pont Neuf, then he was _not_ Severus. He would have known Severus by profile from miles away. Besides, had Severus visited Paris, he would have most certainly stopped in to visit. Draco stopped reading for a moment, his embarrassment turning to concern as he realised that he had been a little curt with Flash in his short note on Friday.

_Merlin, should I tell him? Will he laugh it off, or will he be offended?_ He tried not to let it worry him too much, but as a strong shaft of light passed over the journal, he looked up to see the sun beginning to set. Jean-Paul wasn't home yet, and this worried him. He had been gone all day, and Draco had spent all afternoon re-reading a journal because he was a complete fool, and had nearly damaged a friendship because of that. He couldn't afford to alienate the few friends he had. Not after he had worked so hard to gain them.

* * *

Harry had made a brief trip into the shopping district of Inverness. His craving for sweets was not going to go unsated. He browsed the combined selection of wizarding and Muggle sweetshops before deciding to stock up on Walnut Whips and Pumpkin Pasties, purposely avoiding the Sherbet Lemons. Once he made it back to the Bed and Breakfast, Harry closed himself off, trying desperately not to think about his strange dreams, his unexplainable moods or his raging hormonal urges. Of course, this was a pointless endeavour, as it seemed the more he strove to avoid these thoughts, the stronger they pushed at his brain. These symptoms had never plagued him the last time his magic went out of control and he was at a loss to explain their sudden appearance.

He finally managed to get to sleep late Saturday night, only to have another round of disjointed dreams that wouldn't come to mind the next morning.

_The images flashed before him like a Muggle slideshow on fast forward. There was that flash of green again, on the Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch, the frightening notion of being completely and totally lost, and the immense relief when at last he was found, or he found the lost one, it was incredibly unclear. Then suddenly he was being held closely, reverently, as if he were the most important person in the world. The scene changed again and he was standing in the shadows, watching a couple nearby. They seemed oblivious to his presence, but he was enthralled by their actions. He watched as the pale skin of one man moved sensually against the tanned skin of the other, the contrast in their tones and colouring adding to the excitement that built from watching them. Their movements were highly impassioned, but torturously slow at the same time, as if they were in search of the slowest orgasm possible. He watched as tongues moved across the sweat-sheen on their skin, muscles rippling with activity and desire, fingers tangling in contrasting hair. He heard the sounds of their voices as they joined together in a harmony known only to lovers. Indulging in his recently discovered voyeuristic fantasies, he reached down, finding himself in nothing but a simple robe that hung loose from his shoulders. Just as he began to pleasure himself, lost in the images before him…_

Harry woke up, drenched with sweat and throbbing with desire, but was completely unable to remember what had brought him to such a point. He sighed in frustration as ghosted images of his dreams ran completely out of his head. Looking down, he was not surprised at the burgeoning erection that lay heavily against his stomach. This was starting to become even more frequent than when he was a teenager. _Guess I'll be taking care of this the old fashioned way again_. _I must remember to ask Luc about those spells he keeps hinting at, _he thought as he took himself firmly in hand.

* * *

It was late Sunday evening, and Jean-Paul was still not back from work. With absolutely no resources in the meagre kitchen, Draco again braved the myriad of stalls in the market in search of some food. His appetite had returned in full force after his illness, and the mouth-watering scent of the aromatic herbs only proved how famished he truly was. _Still, I'm going to need all the energy I can get, if things continue the way they have been going._

The meal of spicy lamb, in an exquisite yogurt dressing, was accompanied by tabouleh and more cous cous, and had sated his immediate hunger, but the festive pull of the market was tugging at his curiosity. As the sun disappeared and the heat drawn away from the brightly coloured buildings, the carnival folk came out to entertain the rapidly building crowd. Like sleeping snakes, the population of Marrakesh came up out of their holes and swarmed over the square, making the daytime hustle and bustle seem dead in comparison.

Ever mindful of his host, Draco knew he should return to Jean-Paul's, eager in anticipation of his return. The markets were definitely something he planned to scour in more detail, but he had plenty of time to do that later. He realised he should really return and make his apologies to Flash as well. He hoped his friend would understand his mistake.

He had picked up a few fresh supplies for Jean-Paul, in case their other appetites struck during the night. If Draco had his way, they most certainly would be in need of sustenance before the dawn. But the flat was still dark when Draco returned, and he realised he would have time to chat to Flash after all. With a wave of his wand, the supplies unpacked themselves, and he set about making himself comfortable as he wrote in his journal.

There was no desk or dining table to be had in Jean-Paul's flat. The only surfaces were the kitchen bench, and the coffee table. Draco didn't feel up to the complex transfiguration required to turn the cushions into a more solid surface. Improvising, he levitated the cushions until he built a very cosy workspace. He had felt so comfortable there earlier that afternoon, he wanted to sit back and enjoy himself more. He transfigured the coffee table into a small lap table, and comfortably rested it up against his knees, the journal open on his lap. Reinforced with an untippable charm, his emerald ink bottle was hovering just at his side.

Draco was quickly settled into this cosy space, and after setting the lighting and cooling to the right level with a few well muttered charms, he found his quill already in his hand and writing in the journal.

* * *

Harry was a little worried that Luc would be too busy with Jean-Paul, so decided to let the Frenchman make the first entry. If he didn't hear anything from him in the next hour or so, then he would know that the lucky bastard was most likely in the throes of fantastic sex. This was something Harry didn't particularly want to think about at the moment. Not in his current state, and especially not after last night's dreams. He had been teetering on the edge of sexual frustration for so long now, and there was only so much wanking he could do in one day. His permanent state of arousal was starting to hinder his every move.

Harry suddenly noticed the routine he had begun to perform each time he started to write in the journal. Just organising his quill, ink and the journal was a simple ritual, but it helped him to clear his mind, and made him eager to talk to Luc. He sat back, trying to relax as he waited for the tell tale rustle of pages. If Luc didn't show, perhaps he could at least attempt some meditation.

It felt like mere moments had passed when the rustle of the journal roused him from his deep breathing. The huge grin across Harry's face was similar to that he had as a teenager receiving presents at Christmas or his birthday. He was truly pleased to hear from his friend.

* * *

_Mars 23_ _Bonjour Flash, _ _I hope you're there, and still up for a chat, because I've suddenly found myself alone, with time up my sleeve to talk. _ _**Hello Luc! I'm here. How's Marrakesh? Dare I ask if you've managed to see any of it yet? And you're alone? Please tell me nothing's wrong... **_ _No, nothing's wrong. Jean-Paul is just working, that's all. Of course I've seen Marrakesh... Well, parts of it anyway. There's a nice view outside Jean-Paul's window, actually. If I look out, I can see straight down into the bazaar in the square below. So see, I have seen some of Marrakesh._ _**Perhaps I should have rephrased my question. Have you spent any significant time outside of Jean-Paul's flat, and more specifically, his bed? Is that a good thing, or a bad thing – that Jean-Paul isn't there? I can sense that you are in some sort of good mood, so I'm guessing there's either a sad pout on your face because he isn't there; or a stupid grin from having too much of a good time? Are you planning on giving this lonely and somewhat frustrated bloke any details? You know you can tell me everything... I'm all ears. **_ _Well, Jean-Paul's been gone nearly all day, and I've been left to my own devices, which can be quite dangerous. I confess to being concerned, and if you could actually see me right now – I just had a horrid thought that perhaps you could 'see me' as I write in this journal. Goodness knows the book has turned out to be more than just words on parchment. I guess you are beginning to know me all too well. There is indeed a smile on the face, but it's actually a smile of relief. _ _**Relief, eh? Glad to be with him, after all that agonising you've done; or relief that you've got five minutes away from Jean-Paul and his relentless pursuit? I regret to say that the inside of Jean-Paul's flat is hardly 'seeing Marrakesh' though I certainly hope he's made it worth your while.**_ _Oh it's been definitely worth my while, and I will get around to seeing the sights... eventually. Jean-Paul is a perfect host. I'm just relieved that this past week is finally over (not to mention the ending of my self imposed sexual drought... that was indeed an immense relief)._

As Draco wrote, he realised that talking to Flash was a sort of closure on the horrid week that had passed. Only a scant week before, both men had discussed grand plans for their upcoming week. Little did Draco know then that his life would be so different in such a short amount of time. It had been a relief that the week was over, and yes, he was _very_ glad to have accepted Jean-Paul's invitation.

_**Ah, so you're not going to share any sordid details? There's a sad pout here if that's the case. I take it things are going well with your infatuating man. You said it's been a hell of a week. Care to share any of the other details (unless you want to regale me with tales of your sexploits... you have a willing listener here). **_ _You are determined to drag details from me sooner or later, aren't you? Yes, it has certainly been worth every second. He's been at work all day, actually. Not having seen him since this morning has certainly curtailed my plans for today, but I realise how busy a medi-wizard can get, especially one with hands as talented as his... _ **_Talented hands, hmmm? You know you don't _have _to tell me anything unless you want to, but you might want to be careful about sitting too close to the journal if that's the case. We've both experienced the way these books pull information from us. _**

Harry thought of Luc's last hurried note from Friday, and recalled why he was so eager to hear from the Frenchman.

_**Are you doing all right, really? You mentioned in your last message something about having a bad week, and nearly killing yourself, and, well, I've been a little worried about you to tell the truth.**_ _Yes, well, I apologise for making you worry, it was a week to forget, but before I tell you about it all (yes, all of it... I know you're truly a voyeur at heart, even if you won't admit it), I have a slight confession to make._ _**Oh? **_ _Well, I wasn't going to leave a note before I left on Friday, but I got a little fright, and it was only today that I realised the stupidity of what I had been thinking. You see, I should have done this before jumping to foolish conclusions, but, well, I jumped in feet first, then decided to re-read your words in the journal, and now I've made a bigger fool of myself… Merde, now see, I wasn't actually going to say anything about this, but now I have, and I'm making entirely too much of it all, and I'm going to have to spill the whole saga, even though you'll think I'm a git. I could curse this journal sometimes, but you know what I'm trying to say?_ _**Yes, I think I understand completely. Now, why do you think you are a git and have made a fool of yourself? I confess that I have been hoping to hear wonderful news about your week, but now I'm beginning to think things are a little more serious than I first thought. What melodrama have you made out of nothing now? And yes, I think I've got some of the measure of you from what you have told me. Now, enough of that self deprecating rubbish. Spill...**_ _Well, even though I didn't want to leave a note, I did, and I apologise for its rather terse and curt contents. I am truly sorry. _ _**I honestly didn't notice, Luc. There's no need to apologise. What made you think it was terse?**_ _Well, like I said, it was a horrid week. It began badly, got worse before it got better, then to top it off, I spent some time this week with my mentor. He said a number of things that mirrored the words you last wrote in your entry, and well, I sort of assumed that you were him – that I knew your identity. Turns out I'm an idiot, and read too much into all the things he said. I was frightened off by the thought that you were him – that he was you – oh, you know what I mean. Not that I don't want to talk to you, but to think I thought you were him... oh Merde, this isn't coming out right. Look, I was terrified that I thought I knew you, and I found out I was wrong. I was initially scared off because I put two and two together and came up with a pile of dragon dung._

Harry paused for a moment at Luc's words – panic suddenly washing over him. Had he been too careless? Did this man see through the words and realise he was talking to Harry Potter? He hesitated before replying.

_**You... you thought you knew my identity?**_ _Don't panic - I was totally off the mark. There is no way in the world you are the same man, even though you spoke very similar words, and have had some similarities in your lives. _

The sense of relief at realising Luc's mistake was palpable. Harry took a deep breath as he tried to relax. His heart was still pounding from the minor panic attack.

_**Well, no. I'm nobody's mentor, for starters.**_ _See, there you go. Naturally, I was initially concerned that I had stumbled on your identity, purely by coincidence, of course. You value your privacy, as does he. I guess that is why I was so concerned. I know how much you value that anonymity, as do I. It isn't easy to be able to talk to someone and know that they aren't judging you on who you are and what they perceive you to be. _ _I had been speculating and worrying since I read your last words. Finally, I decided to think, and went back and reread our earlier conversations, just to be sure. You say you aren't great at potions, yet he is brilliant. Then I remembered that night I saw you in Paris – when you were near Pont Neuf with "He-who-we-won't-name". I realise now I was stupid to jump to some crazy conclusion. You couldn't be my mentor. I suspect the only thing you have in common is that you are both Englishmen. He has a rather distinctive profile. I would have recognised that profile from a mile away, and well, he's probably a good few inches taller than anyone I know. Besides, if he had been in Paris, he would have made time to see me. _ _So now I feel a complete idiot for having a major panic attack of a case of mistaken identity. I wasn't even going to tell you, and now you really must think I am a melodrama queen. So see, I think I do have a case to feel like quite a foolish git._ _**You make me laugh every time you use that phrase about Ollie. I can say his name now, and not get too sad.**_ _That's good to hear. It seems you are moving on. Congratulations._ _**Thanks. Although, I have to say, I'm rather glad I'm not him – your mentor. Or rather, that you don't know him. I mean, me. That you don't know who I am. Bollocks, I can't get this to come out right. I don't think I've ever had trouble like this in this journal.**_ _Well, at least our anonymity has not been compromised, which is what I am most grateful for. I find it so easy to talk to you whilst we don't know who we are. It's like talking to my subconscious._ _**Yes, precisely! That's why I'm glad you don't know who I am. I don't think I would feel very comfortable talking to anyone who knew me – telling them some of the things I've told you.**_ _**I found it really hard writing that note on Friday when I thought I knew who you were. Amazing how knowing a person can make you think and rethink what you actually say, as you don't want to either offend their sensibilities or make them think any less of you. But then this journal drags out every little thing I have to say, even if I don't know it needs telling.**_ _**I think you know more about me than my oldest friends, at least in some areas. They are the best friends I could have hoped for growing up, and I never thought anyone else's friendship would mean as much to me as theirs, until I met you (well, met you in the literary sense, anyway – oh you know what I mean). And there's a perfect example of the journal dragging things out that I don't know need telling.**_ _I feel the same way. At the oddest times, I find myself thinking of things I'd like to tell you, or to ask your opinions on certain topics, just like with my other new friends. I'm sure if we met, we'd get along famously, but for now, well, I just need to get things off my chest and talk to someone who is a lot more rational than my own subconscious. _ _You don't give me conflicting advice, unlike my wicked inner voices (and now I've just admitted to voices inside my head). You are so sure and confident of the advice you give, even if you don't think you are. I truly value that._ _**Really? That's often how I feel about your advice also. And just the fact that you're there, and you seem to understand me. You don't think it's odd that I cherish time to myself, or that I don't want an open relationship, or that I get introspective and dive into these journeys of self discovery. You don't judge me. That's probably what it boils down to. Don't worry about those little voices, they visit me on occasion, and they are most conflicting in their advice. **_ **_You mentioned in your last entry, something about meeting people who have a preconceived notion of you... I deal with that constantly, so it's nice to talk to someone who isn't going to fall back on what they've heard about me or the _me** **_that they _think** **_they know._** _Oh I agree, I'm no stranger to other people's opinions either. I've had quite a while to live with that. You mentioned at one stage that you had some notoriety around town. People sometimes mistake my actions, and make assumptions that reflect decisions my ancestors have made. Decisions I would never make. I don't particularly want to go into detail, but suffice to say that I too have had dalliances with the media in the past. The speculation wasn't pleasant, and I've tried to forget it, but some members of the public can't see past the name. I wonder if anyone else ever had that problem? This is why I find it so easy to talk to you. You don't judge me either, as you haven't got a clue about my personal history, or that of my family. You know only what I feel is important to tell you, just as you have told me enough about your own past to allow me to gauge that you are a man who mirrors my own desires in many ways._

Harry could not believe that someone else could actually feel the same way about the media. He wondered, not for the first time, just exactly who Luc was. If he had had some media attention, then surely he must have some amount of fame. Still, it was nice to know he wasn't the only one who couldn't stand the paparazzi.

_**Exactly! We are living proof that great minds think alike! So, did you mention any of this to your mentor? Did you tell him that you thought you'd been corresponding with him for months under an assumed name?**_ _Ah, how do you know that Luc isn't my real name? Perhaps I tried to throw you off the scent. How do I know your real name isn't Flash? Hmmm? Merlin, no, I didn't tell him. He'd have laughed his face off!_ _The truth be told, having thought of him as a surrogate father for so long, I found it hard trying to match the man I know with the personality I see in this journal. They really don't match up at all, now that I've had time to re-read and think on it. You could understand my horror at the thought of him being you – especially after our recent flirting._ _I still feel like such a classic fool. You know I nearly poisoned myself earlier this week - that's why I was ill. I botched a potion, and it reacted with all the alcohol I'd been drinking. It was nearly a permanent legacy of the worst day of my life._ _**You most certainly are not a fool! A somewhat careless potions maker when brewing under the influence, apparently, but not a fool. What happened? Are you better now, truly?**_ _Well, I'd had a long day with meetings I didn't need or want to have, I had some shocking news about my finances, and I also met some people I'd never thought to cross again. It didn't upset me, just threw me off balance. I'd probably had a few too many firewhiskys before the day was out, and my war wound started to act up. By the time I was home, it was extremely painful. I guess it had been aching all day, and I'd been using the firewhisky to keep it at bay. Alas I forgot that it reacts that badly with painkilling potion. Luckily, Jean-Paul was visiting his Aunt, and he came to my rescue. I was out of it for almost two days, though. Reading back on this, I realise I really should give up on alcohol. It's the major cause of all my grief, isn't it?_ _**Wow. That sounds fairly serious. Are you feeling better now? I mean, obviously, you're up and about, and you've got Jean-Paul at your beck and call to kiss it better, right? And yes, I do think the alcohol should be consumed in only moderate quantities, and no potions brewing for you afterwards.**_ _Well, Jean-Paul said I am lucky to be here, and I don't really remember the fever, but I am tired. Although, that could be from my other exertions. He didn't exactly kiss it all better, but he put his hands to extremely good use..._ _**Oh? You mentioned these hands earlier. Several times in fact, yet you refuse to elaborate...**_ _Apparently the fact I had been 'repressing' my sexual urges wasn't encouraging my recovery. Well, his hands are not only wonderful, but I must have just missed the touch of another man, because he truly knows how to pull all the tension, stress and worry from you just with a simple massage. Although I'm sure there is some innate magic in them, they are far too perfect to be just ordinary hands. Jean-Paul certainly encouraged things, and well, suffice to say the poison is now completely out of my system, after the most sensual and amazing massage I've ever had._ _I am truly indebted to him for helping me through my illness, although I wasn't expecting the invite to Marrakesh – that was a complete surprise! But then again, the whole week has been one long surprise after another. _

A familiar whoosh and thud made Draco look up from his reading. Jean-Paul stood wearily as he exited the Floo. He smiled as he saw the little nest Draco had made amongst the cushions.

"I see you've made yourself at home?" he asked, bending down and taking Draco's lips in a deeply smothering kiss. Draco unconsciously closed the journal as he eagerly returned the kiss. Jean-Paul spied the journal, looking at it quizzically. He wanted to ask his guest about the book, but was very quickly distracted by Draco's eager lips and tongue.

Jean-Paul broke the kiss and smiled at the carnal gaze he was receiving from Draco. "I'm heading into the shower – care to join me?" he had already stripped his caftan over his shoulders, and was halfway to the bathroom before Draco's lust addled brain realised the implicit invitation. He grinned lasciviously. He quickly penned some parting words, not wanting his friend to be left wondering at his very swift departure.

_Speaking of the Devil, Jean-Paul has just returned home... and I've been such a selfish bastard. I haven't asked you a damn thing about your week..._ _**Hey, no, that's all right. You've made me forget my own problems for a while, which is exactly what I needed. You get back to that man of yours, before he heads off again. **_ _I'll make sure I'm not such a selfish git next week. I'll be all ears._ _**Yes, and you'll be giving me DETAILS about your visit. You've told me very little, and now I'm left here wondering... Relax, I'm a big boy. You go off and do whatever it is you do in Marrakesh. Have a wonderful evening, and I'll see you same time next week. **_ _It's a date! See you then! Au Revoir, _ _Luc_ **_Bye!  
Flash._**

Luc must have certainly been in a hurry to get to his lover. Harry couldn't help but grin at the droplet of green ink smeared after his name. He could have sworn he could feel the rustling of the pages in the wake of the Frenchman's hurried exit.

* * *

**March 24-30**

The high point of Harry's self induced week of solitude had been the chat with Luc. He spent the better part of that time locked away in his room at the Bed and Breakfast, comforting himself with a seemingly endless supply of junk food. He couldn't have explained his mood if he'd been asked. He blamed himself for losing control, first at the Leaky Cauldron, then with his big mouth and Remus. He almost lost control of his quill when talking to Luc, but he was so glad the other wizard understood his occasional slip ups with the quill. By the week's end, he had managed to not lose control again, but then again, other events caused him to totally forget his current dilemma.

Harry had kept in contact with Hogwarts, Flooing Dumbledore for an update on the situation with the Neo Death Eaters. He had been assured that there were no new revelations and that as long as he felt okay in taking a few days off, then it wouldn't hurt the operation. He was more concerned by the fact that his brief conversation with Remus felt stilted and uncomfortable. No doubt it was due in part to the presence of the Headmaster, but it still worried at the back of his mind. He really should have cleared the air with Remus.

Just as he was starting to take control of events, he was brought back to reality as a rather unexpected sighting of Oliver threw his new found calm into disarray. Harry had been casually browsing through the quiet streets of Tie Rannick Alley in search of something to keep him distracted. He fancied doing some cooking in the kitchen at the Bed and Breakfast, and the produce at the store looked enticing.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar chuckle. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath before turning and opening them again. He had been right. Oliver was browsing the sidewalk display at a shop just across the street. Harry didn't recognise the man with him, but he felt a pang of longing as he witnessed the looks of familiarity and desire pass between the two men. He'd felt his throat close off with anxiety at the first sight of his former lover. He had hoped, and had even begun to believe, that he could quickly and quietly leave the produce stand without attracting any attention. He put down the tomatoes he'd been planning to use in a light bruschetta for evening tea, and slowly stepped away, moving back toward the main walkway. He had moved past the carts of lettuce and artichokes, around the stands piled high with apples and oranges, and only when he was certain that he had successfully made his escape, did he turn to follow the path back to the quiet Bed and Breakfast where he could hide away from the world.

He had just developed the presence of mind to wonder why Oliver was in the wizarding shops of Inverness, and had begun trying to recall the game schedule for Puddlemere, when yet another reminder of his fame abruptly faced him. As he turned the corner, he bumped into the newsstand, and was presented with his own face staring back at him. It appeared that Witch Weekly had followed up their "Hottest Quidditch Bachelors" issue with another entitled "Britain's Sexiest War Heroes." Harry, of course, was completely unaware of this, and of the fact that they had yet again used him on the cover. He looked at the untainted stack of magazines in mild shock, seeing his own face looking back from the cover, obviously embarrassed by the title of "Sexiest All-Time Hero" flashing beside it in gaudy lettering.

Grateful that he was in such a small town, and not Diagon Alley, he turned quickly on his heel to get away from the crowd that was rushing the newsstand, but made his getaway a moment too late. "Harry Potter! Oh Merlin, it's really you! I can't believe I'm standing in front of Harry Potter! Will you autograph my magazine please, Mr Potter?" A young girl raced towards him anxiously waving her magazine as she squealed in excitement. Harry cringed inwardly, not wanting to cause a scene, but wishing that the gushing girl would go away and leave him alone.

As much as he wanted to say something rude and Apparate away, he stopped as he spied another girl standing near the newsstand. The slightly timid young girl seemed to shy away even further as she saw Harry looking directly at her. He offered a quiet smile in her direction, as he carelessly signed the boisterous girl's magazine with the proffered quill. He was ignoring the nonsense she was babbling – he had heard it all before and had no interest in hearing it all over again.

"So you're going to Hogwarts next year?" he replied mechanically.

"Oh yes! I got my letter a while ago. My parents were so proud. I hope I'm in Slytherin like my Daddy!" she drawled proudly. Harry didn't think the Sorting Hat would argue with her on that wish. She had a face that brought back memories of Pansy Parkinson, that pug faced Slytherin girl from his school year. He had not given Pansy a single thought since leaving school.

"What about your friend over there – the shy one. Is she going to Hogwarts as well?" he indicated at the quiet lass still half hiding behind the newsstand. She turned to look at the girl and a mean sneer crossed her face. Harry had guessed the shy young brunette girl to be about the same age, despite her tiny, waif like frame. The boisterous girl rolled her eyes, but seemed to get a thrill out of having a conversation with Harry Potter. "Oh, she's just nobody. She's probably scared of you. She's scared of everyone." Harry saw immediately what the younger girl was scared of. He had seen it all before – experienced it all before.

Harry walked over to the younger girl. He knelt down before her, and her eyes widened in awe as she saw the most famous wizard alive coming to talk to her. "What's your name?" Harry asked as he pulled out his wand. He momentarily forgot about Oliver as he focused on this innocent young girl. He'd often thought of how odd it must be for a Hogwarts professor to see children of this age enter the school and then watch them leave as young adults seven years later. This girl reminded him so much of himself – the dark hair, the wide bright eyes. Not to mention the bullying friends.

"Magnolia... um, Maggie. Maggie Gadbury, sir," she stumbled over her name and became even more timid in the face of actual conversation.

"Well hello, Maggie. Did you want my autograph as well?" he asked as he glared sideways at the boisterous girl. She had already run back down the street in excitement, ignoring Harry's desire to talk to Maggie. "I don't think your friend would be too fussed to share her autograph with you." He doubted the other girl would even know the meaning of the word share – not if she was anything like his cousin, Dudley.

"Um, no. She's not really my friend... She's my foster parent's daughter. Besides, I don't have any money to buy the magazine." Maggie sounded a little frightened of the other girl, and looked rather forlorn as she eyed the magazine with longing. Harry immediately recognised the signs of someone who had been picked on. He gave his widest smile. This young girl seemed more like him with every passing moment.

He quickly grabbed one of the offending magazines from the newsstand, and murmured an _annotare_ charm, which would allow him to write with his wand.

Harry knew she was beyond awestruck at meeting the wizarding hero. Harry had seen this behaviour before. He was used to dealing with his _fans_ and had seen various personalities in all his meetings, yet for some reason, he felt drawn to Maggie. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but seeing her being treated in a manner similar to that of his own childhood, well, he knew he could at least make someone's day.

"So tell me, Maggie, will you be going to Hogwarts next term?" The girl nodded quietly, her eyes wide, obviously unsure of her ability to speak at the moment.

"There's no need to be nervous, Maggie. I don't bite!" That drew a smile that lit up her whole face. "You'll love it there," Harry continued. "My years at Hogwarts were some of the best times of my life." He touched his wand to the magazine and watched the purple ink flow as he wrote. _Maggie, all the best in your wizarding studies. It was lovely meeting you. Harry Potter._

Maggie finally found her voice. "I don't know. I'm scared. Corrine keeps telling me all these horror stories she has heard about Hogwarts. I don't know if I would fit in there. She has so many friends who will be going there as well, and none of them like me," she offered dejectedly. "I'm lucky that I'm even going – my name has been down there since I was little, but my foster parents wouldn't be able to afford to send me there as well as Corrine."

Harry waved the magazine casually, allowing the ink to dry as he regarded the young girl again. He could tell she was nervous, and he sensed the underlying fear of her foster sister. He felt an unexplainable kinship with her and wanted to offer some words of wisdom that would follow her. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything to say, certainly not anything that would have any sort of impact on her.

"I don't think you should worry about whether or not you will be going. If you're name is down to go to Hogwarts, then you will be going. And don't you let Corrine and her friends bother you either, Maggie. Bullies don't get very far in life. She's not worth your time. Don't worry, you'll make your own friends when you get to Hogwarts, and if you want, you don't need to speak to her at all." Harry's voice of experience seemed to put Maggie at ease. If anything, the professors would make sure that any bullying would be quickly nipped in the bud.

Maggie looked at him in mild awe once again as he seemed to provide her with the answer to all of life's problems. But he was Harry Potter, of course, and that was his job. She seemed so tiny – so much smaller than many girls her age, but had a spiritual and magical presence that belied her physical size. Harry could sense the potential within the girl, and he was grateful that he had the opportunity to make her feel good – if only for a short while.

She held the magazine close to her chest, obviously cherishing it already. "Thank you Mr Potter. I'll keep this forever!" Her brilliant smile was infectious, and Harry couldn't help but feel warmed by her innocence and awe.

"You're quite welcome, Maggie," Harry smiled again, before he was distracted by a shining pale scar just visible below the short sleeve of her shirt. There was something about it that drew his attention, something he felt he should know about it. He recognised it as a source of taunting for her bullying foster sister, and for once, he put his fame to good use.

"You know, there are people out there who would help you, Maggie, if you just ask. There is no shame in asking for help. Hogwarts is a wonderful school, but you'll find some children there can be quite cruel for no apparent reason. Don't let them get to you. You're better than that. You are a very special person. No matter what anyone ever says to you, just know that and always be true to what's in your heart. Always remember who you feel connected to, as well. Those are the people you can count on, turn to when you're upset, and rely on when you need help; those are the people that matter. I have a pretty good intuition, and I can tell you are a very special girl. I mean that. The Headmaster or any of the professors would be only too glad to help you."

He wasn't expecting the unshed tears that welled up in her dark blue eyes, nor was he expecting another brilliant smile and a sudden embrace by her tiny little arms. "Thank you Mr Potter. You made me feel really good just now." She sniffled and blinked her eyes quickly before turning to run down the street. Harry watched her go, feeling good, but somehow affected, as if this had been some significant event in his life. As she reached the corner, she turned again to look back at him, smiling and waving before running off.

He had completely forgotten his reason for leaving the produce stand until he turned to go and saw Oliver Wood staring directly at him with a wry smirk on his face. "Oh bollocks!" Without another moment's hesitation, Harry Disapparated directly to the cosy little room he was temporarily calling home.

It took a few minutes for him to calm down, and realise that he hadn't picked up any food at the market. Berating himself for his cowardly exit from Tie Rannick Alley, he spoke with Mrs O'Donnell and informed her that he would be taking advantage of her dinner offer, but would prefer to take it in his room. He was in no mood to deal with the other guests this evening. _Why do I let him get to me like that? What is wrong with me that I can't just go do my shopping without having to deal with the crap in my life?_

As he later ate the scrumptious bacon sarnie, and the steaming hot vegetable soup, Harry had continued the self depreciating attitude that eventually took over the remainder of the week. It even made him forget about the encounter with the enchanting young girl, Maggie. She didn't forget, though, and somewhere across town, a small girl was remembering the most wonderful moment of her life.

* * *

If Draco's first couple of days in Marrakesh had him indulging in a feast of hedonistic desires, then he was not to be disappointed over the next week. At least, he thought he wouldn't be disappointed. He barely had time to think about being disappointed when it came to the explosive sex he was having. But against all the odds, he found that something was still lacking. He couldn't quite place it at first, but by the time he had been in Marrakesh for a week, he had begun to see the pattern that his days were taking, and apart from their sexual liaisons, he found that he had little in common with the talented medi-wizard.

Their nights had been filled with the most intense and indulgent of lovemaking, as Draco discovered the true depths of Jean-Paul's knowledge of the carnal arts. He found himself a mere amateur when it came to long, slow, passionate lovemaking. Jean-Paul was determined that Draco would learn to prolong his pleasure and let it go to a deeper, more spiritual level. Draco couldn't help but think that Jean-Paul seemed a little more preoccupied after he had returned from that first day back at work, but he shook it off as nonsense. Of course Jean-Paul had other things in his life to worry about. Whatever they were, they certainly hadn't affected their lovemaking in any way. He could have only imagined the slightly saddened look he had accidentally caught on the medi-wizard's face. Nevertheless, Jean-Paul was a fine teacher, and Draco absorbed the lessons with aplomb.

Draco was certainly keen for those lessons to continue. Although he was finding it hard to maintain his composure when around Jean-Paul, he was slowly learning to keep his orgasm under reign, and he did indeed find the pleasure in the prolonging of it. With each and every encounter, Draco found that his orgasm would make him pass out from the sheer intensity - each time a vision tempting him with ideas of just how much more intense it could be. However, by the end of the week, these visions were frustrating him, and he wondered when their lovemaking would end in the promised explosion of feelings and emotions that had him on edge at each encounter. Each vision he was granted made him feel he was creeping closer to this ultimate goal, but somehow, he never quite reached that elusive utopia.

This constantly impending goal was one reason why Draco looked forward to his time with Jean-Paul. It certainly made up for the disappointing fact that Jean-Paul spent upward of twelve hours a day at work, with little apology or conversation when they were together. Draco felt selfish as he realised that even though he was on holiday, Jean-Paul had to go to work. He just hadn't expected the man to be gone twelve or more hours of the day, and without even as much as a quick Floo check to see how his guest was doing. After Flooing back at the end of each day, Draco was willing to accept the deep and fiery kisses as apology enough for his long absences, but he made no verbal apologies, beyond that of his first day.

To all intents and purposes, this left Draco to his own devices for the major part of each day. It took him a few days to unwillingly get over his selfish thoughts, and not feel guilty that Jean-Paul spent so much of his day at work. He made best use of his free time wandering the bazaar stalls that littered the square. When he tired of the constant stream of delightful merchandise, he took the opportunity to wander, unhindered by his injured knee. The humidity and heat of the day didn't really bother him, as a number of discreet cooling charms and sun-blocking potions prevented him from being affected by the desert for too long.

Whatever Jean-Paul had done to reduce the pain in Draco's knee, it was still working, but he knew that the fix was only temporary, and the North African heat was thankfully prolonging the effects of the healing. It was nice not to wake up to the constant ache from the cool Paris night. One thing he wasn't looking forward to was the cold damp of the dungeons at Hogwarts. He made a mental note to keep on top of the cold there, as he didn't have plans to be hobbling around the castle in Scotland any more than he had to.

This excessive amount of time alone allowed Draco to dwell on his thoughts. This would normally be dangerous, but with his immediate future already planned, his mind turned to more pressing issues. Like his father's estate. He found it was counter productive to reflect too long on how he had been stupid enough to be embezzled. In hindsight, he could see how they had managed to successfully steal from him. He was a fool to have let it happen in the first place, but now he needed to turn his energies to finding the worthless bastards and showing them just what happens when you piss off a Malfoy. The knowledge that a sect of Neo Death Eaters was on the rise also literally ate away at his fears.

It hadn't really come as a surprise, if he were being honest with himself. After all, dozens of those Death Eaters that he and Severus identified had managed to go underground after the final battle. It was so easy for them to hide, licking their wounds after their Dark Marks disappeared. To be honest, he was surprised it had taken this long for them to regroup. It was unsettling to think they were back, although he doubted their true effectiveness. What worried him was the extent of money that was gone from the estate, and what they could do with such funds. If he were being brutally honest with himself, he was glad for the fact the Bank and the Ministry had identified it before it was too late. Too late for his inheritance, that was. He shuddered at the thought he could have lost everything. As it were, he was already thinking of ways of investing what was left. If he was careful, he could have the fortune back in shape by the time he was forty. That seemed a long time off, but he would just have to be careful.

_No problem there. With three years at Hogwarts to look forward to, a small income, and the chateau, I could probably do it. I've managed to live off that stipend. If I can live off that, I can surely live off a paltry apprentice wage. _The sums were running around in his head madly. The only obstacle was the possibility that the Ministry could seize the remaining assets, and he could say goodbye to the remainder of his fortune. He vowed to never let that happen. It galled him to think that Weasley, of all people in the wizarding world, was temporarily in charge of the estate, but at least that prat couldn't touch it either.

Draco found small comfort in the certainty of his immediate future. His trip to Marrakesh had helped him to put his thoughts in order, for which he was grateful. Of course, the sex with Jean-Paul was just an added benefit! However, as the week drew to a close, and Jean-Paul continued to spend more and more time at work, he felt a small note of dissatisfaction creep into his thoughts. Why was the man away so long?

He was proud to be Jean-Paul's lover, and wanted the opportunity to show off with the man, preferably in public. He had already visited every merchant in the bazaar, but he had yet to step outside the flat with his lover. Something just wasn't right, and he turned his thoughts to that concern.

Draco returned yet again to one of his favourite merchants at his herb and spice stall. The rich scents of cumin and cinnamon were intoxicating, and Draco was struck with a great idea. He had been carefully buying items to replenish his own potions stores, but had not yet bought any spices for cooking. As he left the stall, he couldn't help but smile with the plan that was forming in his head.

The bazaar stallholders were determined to sell Draco everything from flying carpets, to his own goat. Knowing he neither needed nor wanted such items, he quickly dragged himself away from that end of the bazaar. Even so, he did not leave there unscathed. He managed to get the goat man off his back by purchasing a large chunk of fresh goat's cheese.

Draco wanted to show Jean-Paul his appreciation for the invitation, and felt he could best do that by cooking a romantic dinner for his lover. Perhaps it would allow them an opportunity to talk first, before they got to the other activities.

That's what was bothering Draco – their distinct lack of real conversation. He found it rather odd that they had not managed conversations outside of their lovemaking. How could he learn if he wanted a long term relationship with this man if he didn't know his likes and dislikes? Draco couldn't help but wonder if the man truly was just a sex machine with all that seemingly boundless energy.

With a firm plan in mind, Draco found the sense of unease disappearing. He snapped out of his musing when he realised he was lost. He didn't remember walking down this street before, as the stalls and merchandise seemed new to his eyes. This was definitely a wizarding street, as he spied one merchant brewing something in a cauldron over a magical flame, in full view of everyone. After a few questions, he discovered that this was the wizarding hub of Marrakesh – the equivalent of the _Quart du Sorcier_ in Paris, or Diagon Alley in London.

He marvelled at the quality of the goods on offer – the beautiful cloth and clothing in particular had taken his fancy. He stopped at one stall displaying a variety of ensorcelled silks. The myriad of colours brought back long forgotten memories of his mother. Narcissa had spent hours pouring over the wares of visiting silk merchants when Draco was a boy. His mother had had a keen eye for fine fabric, and Draco remembered her joy at finding some eastern fabrics that shimmered without the aid of magic.

He stopped to place a hand on the fine bolts of the fabric, at a sudden loss for words. He knew his mother would have loved the fine bolt of deep burgundy, with the finest hints of gold shining through. He swallowed back the regret, realising just then how much he missed his mother. Fortunately, the young girl in charge left him to his musings, and did not pester him to make a purchase. It took him a few minutes to realise he was running his hands through a display of fine silk scarves, the fabric the same as that in the bolt of cloth. Impulsively, he bought one of the scarves. He had no idea what he was going to do with it, just that it was beautiful, and it reminded him of a different time, a time he could never go back to. But just for a moment, he could remember. It never crossed his mind that the scarf was red and gold - the loathsome colours of the Gryffindor lion.

He quickly snapped himself out of his maudlin thoughts as he moved further down the street. One wizard was quietly sitting back as he let his goods speak for themselves. Always one for fine craftsmanship, Draco immediately noticed the fine quality of the leatherwork before him. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact the merchant was modelling a pair of the dragonhide trousers that he found so beautiful. Within moments, his notion to save money was thrown away as he also found himself the owner of the finest dragonhide trousers he had ever laid eyes upon. These were made from the soft hide from the dragon's underbelly. The soft, suede-like feel to the fabric made them truly the most comfortable trousers he had ever worn, even more comfortable than his Muggle jeans. The attending wizard performed a discreet fitting charm to ensure they fit Draco perfectly.

It was a beaming Draco that returned to the flat after his day of shopping, fully satisfied from his retail therapy. He promised himself that he would return to that street again, even though he found it hard to get away from the potions maker. You could take Draco away from his work, but it seemed that no matter where in the world he was, he truly was a Potions master at heart.

Draco should have realised his plan to cook a surprise romantic dinner was not his most ingenious idea. He was so caught up in the moment, and his enjoyment in the preparation of the foods (not to mention the anticipation of the remainder of the evening), he failed to remember the fact Jean-Paul rarely came home at the same time. It was a small point, but Draco was confident the tantalising tastes and smells coming from the under utilised kitchen would tempt him home.

Draco pulled out the bottle of red wine. Some things should not be left to magic, and he popped the cork, allowing it to breathe, although the sumptuous food was waiting under a warming charm. The room was imbued with the scent of lemons, paprika and cumin, all blended together with the lamb in mouth watering anticipation.

Dozens of candles had been strategically levitated and now hovered mid air around the room in an apparent haphazard manner. Draco was also meticulous in his housekeeping, scattering the cushions around the room in an equally disorganised manner. Only when he felt everything was perfect, did he sit back and await the arrival of Jean-Paul.

* * *

Sunday morning arrived with a beatific pink and orange sunrise. Spring birds were fluttering about, and the smell of magnolias and crocus blooms was hanging heavily in the air. Stepping onto the private balcony from his room, Harry realised he hadn't been outside since his sighting of Oliver at the shops. He mentally chided himself for taking the hermit's way, and decided that he would need to get back to Hogwarts soon. He was supposed to be rebuilding the lessons of control taught to him by the Order, not running away from it all like a spineless wonder. He knew the Order could offer him much more help if he were actually back at the school. _I'm such a git for letting my hormones run wild and upsetting Remus._ _I should head back in the morning_, he thought. _For now, though, I'll just see what I can do on my own._ He dressed quickly and went out to a quiet place in the garden while the sun was still low on the horizon.

Breathing deeply, Harry began the nearly forgotten forms of his old meditations. The crisp air of the spring morning filled his lungs as he slowly regained his focus and control. It felt good to be returning to his T'ai Chi forms, and he wondered why he had ever given up such a wonderful form of meditation. He felt more grounded than he had in a long while. Things might be a little out of control in some areas of his life, but at least he was regaining control over himself. He was just beginning to feel confident about his meditation, and began to compare his emotions with those of the past few weeks. In doing so, he allowed his worries to re-enter his thoughts. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite as calm and tranquil as he had first thought, and he overbalanced, losing his rhythm and thus his focus on the exercise. _Guess it isn't as easy as I remember,_ he thought reluctantly. He jumped around a moment in a jittery effort to clear his mind of worry, before abruptly stopping. Looking down, he realised that he was wearing shoes, a fact which likely played a part in his lack of grounding. He toed off the worn trainers, pulled off his socks and firmly planted his bare feet on the ground, relishing the feel of the dew-damp grass and the surge of the earth's energy as he directed his focus toward the new sensation. Closing his eyes, he drew a slow, deep breath, deliberately controlling the speed, keeping his subsequent breaths even and steady. He drew on the energy of the earth below him, the air around him and the magic within him, seeking that sense of stability he needed.

Finally beginning to feel centred again, Harry soon focused on his chi, and started the forms again, letting the tension abate from his shoulders and back. With each step of his feet and each fluid movement of his hands, he moved to a deeper meditative state. Through his closed eyelids, he could see the shadows as his hands moved in front of the rising sun, weaving the familiar intricate patterns in the air. When he finished, he allowed himself a long, languid stretch and sat on the cool grass, his eyes closed. He felt ready to deal with his deepest concerns. No doubt the clarity and calmness of his exercise might help him find solutions. _Okay, so I don't want to spend another day at my job, not now that I truly know what they think of me. What career choices do I have? Dark Lord Slayer? Wonder if Buffy could use my services? What other skills do I have? _Harry would lose focus whenever he thought about his future direction. He was already working on one of his other concerns – his power outbursts. It would be slow going, but he could not allow himself to get angry or upset. He hoped that soon he could overcome his loss of control, and once again be in command of his magic.

_But first we need to capture those Neo Death Eaters. Will they expect **me** to be the one to do it? Merlin, I hope not. I'm tired of all that – so tired, and so bloody horny, I could shag the next bloke who comes along, whoever he is. _He pushed aside this train of thought, lest it pull him away from the centred stated he'd worked so hard for, but knew that he would eventually have to relieve his other tensions, just how, and whom with, were two questions he had yet to decide.

* * *

A rousing kiss to the lips woke Draco, who momentarily felt disoriented. The mild headache told him he had once again slept in an awkward position. Raising his head, he realised that he had fallen asleep on the cushions in the lounge room. He didn't remember drinking the wine, but he was now hugging the empty bottle close, and the fuzz of a hangover was indeed hovering on the edges of his consciousness. All his thought processes were focussed on the soft, warm tongue invading his mouth in a deeply apologetic kiss.

Only then did he realise the time. He had been frantic with worry for Jean-Paul when he had not returned. After a couple of drinks, his worry had turned to concern, then anger.

"You waited up for me?" Jean-Paul asked with a slight hint of apology in his voice. Draco could see the first signs of dawn as he looked out the window. Was he only returning home now?

Draco wanted to be angry with him for ruining his surprise, but he was too befuddled, and was too preoccupied with the talented lips performing their own apology.

"I wanted... to thank you... but... you never... came home." Caught between sleep, and too much wine, and the breathtaking lips that were now making their way to that spot behind his ear, Draco barely managed to speak.

Jean-Paul pulled away, a look of regret on his face. "I'm sorry, but work is frantic. I'm such a git, I should have let you know. I just lose all track of time, and I can't come home, not when I'm needed there. You get some sleep. I need a shower. I'll meet you in bed."

Draco was about to protest, but Jean-Paul turned, a wry grin on his face. "I guess I have to make it up to you somehow," the raised eyebrow told Draco all he needed to know. Still a little groggy from the wine, his head hit the pillow, and he was asleep before Jean-Paul came out of the shower.

When he finally awoke, their lovemaking was extreme; Draco's heightened senses shook with pure pleasure as the magic pulsed through his body after his climax. Again his senses were brought to new heights, his sense of smell so keen as the magic pulsed through every inch of his skin.

Jean-Paul was apologetic, and made sure that Draco knew that. He had forgiven Jean-Paul for his distractions – he could not deny the man his work. Again he awaited the overwhelming and intense pleasure his visions offered, but yet again their coupling fell just short of the extreme intensity promised. He was certainly not left wanting, yet that all encompassing sense of overwhelming satisfaction was just missing.

It didn't surprise him that he was alone when he awoke mid morning, but he didn't feel so bad about it. He didn't attempt to cook dinner again, but was surprised to find that Jean-Paul stepped out and came home with a sumptuous feast, one that ended in more apologies.

Draco's days swung from polar extremes. From the complete intimacy of Jean-Paul's touch, he went to the many hours of solitude and loneliness during the daylight hours. He felt it balanced out somewhat, but was grateful for the contact with Flash when it was time for their chat.

_So as promised, no talk about me tonight. How did your meeting go the other week? You were looking at a new job._

It felt good to _talk_ to someone about normal things, and he realised just how much he looked forward to their regular chats. It was the highlight of his day – his weekend, actually.

_**Ever heard the phrase "to hell in a hand basket"?**_ _Ah, I see. It seems like we share more things in common than I first thought – including bad weeks. Do you want to elaborate, if I may ask?_ _**Well, in short, I was so excited and eager about my ideas and plans for the departments, and went through the ranks just as I was supposed to. Finally, I met with the Powers that Be – they're the only people who could approve my job change request. Unfortunately, the **gentleman **I met with has issues – he thinks I need to be kept in my place. He seems to get off on holding some sort of control over me. I honestly believe he wants to feel that he has power over me because of that aforementioned notoriety. He reminds me of a man who used to hate me because he hated my father. Only this colleague is a git, first class, and the other man eventually got over it when he saw I wasn't my father. I think this bloke was feeling a little inferior and needed to flex his 'wand' muscles. Guess he felt it made him more of a man to do so. **_ _Ah, someone else who has preconceived ideas about you? I know the type – particularly those that try to judge you because of your father. Sorry to hear that you have someone like that as one of your bosses. They are usually the ones with the least talent, and he's probably jealous of the fact you have a better job than he does. There's a cretin at the university like that. Horrid man, and I am glad I no longer have to deal with him. So I take it he didn't even listen to your ideas? _ _**No. Unfortunately he's the top of the line. **_ _That's not good. What do you plan to do now? Can you talk to anyone else? _ _**The only thing to do now is stay where I am, and no doubt be a target for anything he wants to throw my way. Either that, or find a completely new job, as it appears I no longer have the option of moving up in this department. I haven't decided exactly what to do now, but I know I'm not staying there any longer than I have to. I had this ghastly dream that I was trapped in that place twenty years from now and there weren't even any windows and doors.**_ _That's horrible – both the reality and your nightmare. I was having a few nightmares before I came to Marrakesh, but luckily, I can't remember much about them. Have you actively started to look for another job yet? I really should have checked the astrology charts for the past couple of weeks. No doubt they would have told Leos and Virgos they were going to have a horrid week. Not that I hold much with divination, although astrology seems to have some accuracy. It seems now that changes are afoot for the both of us._ _**Well, I'm in desperate need of a few changes. Just a few days ago I was stopped in the street because of my unwanted notoriety, and it wasn't actually an unpleasant encounter, until I looked up as the young girl walked away, and saw that Ollie was standing just across the street, watching me. I'm such a coward that I Disapparated immediately and I've been beating myself up for it all weekend. Still, talking to you helps. It's nice to know that you won't be falling back on what you've heard of me or what you think you know based on rumours.**_ _Don't think yourself a coward. Sometimes removing ourselves from a situation is the best course of action._ _**I suppose. It's just that I've removed myself from everything since then. I've only just realised this morning that I've been holed up in here for days now, avoiding the real world and the people that populate it.**_ _That can't be good, Flash. It's one thing to want to be in a place and have your quiet time, but something totally different when you remove yourself totally. I take it you aren't doing this by choice? You seem quite down about that. It seems a rather radical and desperate way to avoid the press. I should know. I've been there and done that to. I ran away from it all, but I didn't hole myself up over it. I never once regretted it. You are really still avoiding my question about Ollie. You say you Disapparated for feeling cowardly. Did he say something to you? _ _**No. Actually I feel cowardly for Disapparating. He didn't have the time to say anything. I saw him first, and was trying to quietly leave the shops before he noticed me, but this little girl stopped me. She distracted me, actually. In retrospect, there was something about her... I can't put my finger on it, but anyway, by the time she walked away I had forgotten Ollie was there. It wasn't until then that I looked up and saw him staring at me. I left before he could approach me or speak.**_ _**And then, when I got back here, I realised just how cowardly I had been, and I've been sitting here ever since, thinking of how much I don't want to be around people. I feel stupid. And then I feel stupider for feeling stupid. It's become a cycle now.**_ _Well you can stop feeling stupid right now. Okay? I know I would love to be able to say things to people on cue, but you sometimes need time to take stock of it all. And that doesn't mean time to beat yourself over the head about it. Why should you feel bad for going? It wasn't like you were planning on meeting him. What would you have said to him anyway? Would it have made you feel better if you had talked to him?_ _**I don't know. At least I wouldn't feel like I ran away from it. At first I wasn't thinking about it, I guess I've just been wallowing in self pity since then. Now, though, I'm disappointed in myself because I ran away... Merlin's Bunny Slippers, with what I've done with the war and all, I shouldn't be afraid of a confrontation with an old lover.**_ _You really shouldn't be afraid of anyone, or anything. You should be out there showing Ollie that you have moved on, that you don't need him or his approval. In fact, you should just go out there and forget about everyone's approval. I bet those who think they know you all suspect you to behave a particular way. Perhaps it's time to show them you aren't afraid - of anyone. Turn the tables on them and surprise everyone. I had a few dalliances with the media in the past, and I gave up caring about what they thought a long time ago. Still, people will always think the best, or worst of you, no matter what the tabloids say. So I say stop wallowing, and don't be afraid to be yourself. Isn't that what you wanted when you left Ollie? To find yourself? To be yourself?_ _And you know, it just occurred to me, that advice is brilliant, I might even take it upon myself to follow it... See, that's why I like talking to you so much. You don't judge me, and I don't judge you, yet we both desire the same things in life._ _**Yes, of course, you're right. I do want to find myself, and be myself, and be happy with myself. Your advice is always brilliant and it's quite refreshing to not be judged. Of course, one other thing that's been bothering me about that sighting was how much I wanted to bugger him into the street! My hormones have been raging lately, and I swear I don't know what to do with myself. If I wank any more, my arm will cramp up. Sorry, you didn't need to know that, but I've been having more than a few sexual thoughts and fantasies lately.**_ _I would be worried about you if you didn't fancy wanking yourself silly. It's one thing to choose to be alone. It's something totally different if you choose not to find relaxation in the one thing we all know we do best. I did remind you that there are spells to assist with that, didn't I? There's no need to let your arm fall off. Goodness knows, it needs to relax too. I would find it strange if you weren't suffering the usual excess fantasies now that you are alone. We always want more, but once we lose what we have, it puts lots of other things into perspective. _ _**Yes, you're right again. So tell me, just how did you get to be so brilliant?**_ _No wonder you're so keen to find out what Jean-Paul and I have been up to. How did I get to be so brilliant? Well, I keep up my correspondence, and I have some good friends. And mentors... I still can't believe how stupid I was to even think he was you! I mean, I have always thought of him as a fatherly figure. _ _**Oh, I'm sure it was just an odd coincidence. You said some of our statements were similar? I'm certainly not old enough to be a father figure, especially to you! And I suppose, if you have a history of dealing with people who judge you based on your relative 'fame' then it would be easy to equate an oblivious stranger with a long time friend, because neither of us would be adhering to those preconceived notions of you.**_ _I hate to admit I had a bad feeling about my meetings last week, and I was right. It seems I have some latent divinatory talent, although it rarely seems to give me any good news. As a result of that meeting, I'll also be making changes once I return home. _ _**Have you already decided on what changes you are going to make? I know you were worried about finishing your school work. You haven't really mentioned much about your week, other than the fact your meetings didn't go according to plan, and you had a little too much firewhisky, and you unwisely started to work under the influence.**_ _Well, as luck would have it, my meeting last Monday had a very unexpected outcome. I was all ready to pack up and quit my studies because of it. But now, it seems my mentor has come to my rescue. In the absence of my father, he took it upon himself to pay out my debts. It looks like I'll be working for him when I get back from Marrakesh. I owe him that much, no matter how much I was ashamed and embarrassed that he would do that for me. Still, it has been a rather shocking blow to my pride. I shouldn't complain. I don't want to be accused of being ungrateful. I'm not, really. I just have to learn that life isn't always going to present me with roses. Sometimes I have to negotiate the thorns along the way. He's going to let me continue with my research, so I have nothing to complain about – nothing at all._ _**It's good to see that someone is taking care of you when you least expect it, even if it isn't a parent. You are lucky to have someone like your mentor to watch over you. **_ _**You know, as you were writing, I decided to check with the I Ching – the only form of divination that seems to be accurate for me. I just threw the coins, and it came up with the 8th hexagram - Alliance. Alliance says "Mutual support. Discard old ideas and find new ways to regroup your affairs. Change must come now".**_ _That's uncanny. You sure you don't have any divinatory talent? I guess that means you should be seeking an alliance with someone – someone who will allow you to prove your skills and overcome any of those nasty preconceptions._ _**Well my divination professor never seemed to think I had talent, but then, I tended to sleep in that class. I can't think of anyone else who could presently use my skills, although I'll keep my eyes open for any interesting openings. I don't expect much – there isn't a lot of diversity in my field. No one needs me now that the war is over. I've served my main purpose, at least, that's the way the big boss puts it. I guess with the distinct lack of active Death Eaters around, my job has become quite redundant, but you would think after a couple of years there, they would know that I am capable of more and encourage me to do more, rather than pigeonhole me as some washed up war relic. **_ _**Sorry, I just get so angry when I think about it, and about them. Perhaps this hexagram was meant for you, since I don't see any major changes coming up, nor do I know anything about forming an alliance with anyone.**_ _This work for my mentor means we have formed an alliance – of sorts – even if I do have to move from home to work with him._ _What do you mean 'No one needs you?' How do you know? Have you asked? Isn't there anything else you'd like to do? Anything else up your sleeve that you would like to try? Surely there are others who could use your expertise._ _**Hmmm, I can't really think of anything else I'd like to try. I mean, I've really enjoyed the photography since I picked up that hobby, but I can't see myself making a living at it. I'm not the type that could go around taking pictures of folks for money. Photographers can be rather intrusive. Damn paparazzi. **_ _**I've never thought about what I would do after the war, so I don't know what other options there might be available to me. So you are going to have to leave Paris to work for your mentor?**_ _Alas, yes, I'll have to leave Paris behind for a while. But it's not forever. I'll be back here – er, there, before you know it. I'm honestly not looking forward to the colder climate up north._ _I didn't mean to necessarily look at your hobbies when you try a new job. You surely have plenty of wonderful skills and abilities. You told me you enjoy your job, only your bosses can't really see it. Is it possible to offer your services to someone else?_ _I know exactly what you mean about the war. I don't think any of us really thought about what we would do afterwards. I didn't think I'd end up in Paris, but well, I guess I was just glad to be alive._ _**To tell you the truth, I never much thought I would have an 'afterwards.' I've thought of offering my 'services' somewhere else (can't help the naughty thoughts that come along with that phrase – that's a career change I'd not thought of making. I certainly have skills in **that **area****), but I think finding something like that is likely to take time. There are only so many places... well, you get the idea. I'll be checking into it, though. If I find something, and especially if I'm hired for it, you'll be the third to know - after myself, and the person who hires me. **_ _I'm flattered that you'd consider telling me first. And yes, as soon as I wrote that about your services, I realised just how seedy it sounded. I guess my mind has been on other things the past week, and I'm finding it hard to think of much without adding the sexual innuendo._ _**Well, since that's what's on your mind, and you've been teasingly hinting at details to come, why don't you fill me in now? You were such a tease last week…**_ _Ooh, you wicked, wicked man. I might not tell you, but then you'd probably call me a tease, and I'm certainly not that. _ _**Not a tease? I beg to differ. I've been sitting here waiting for you to tell me since last week! **_ _Well let's just say that I had every intention of taking things slowly with Jean-Paul. Seems that certain parts of my anatomy had other ideas, and when they became interested in proceedings, well, they were certainly filled in. But... I don't know. It really wasn't what I expected... _ _**Oh? Trouble in paradise? Already? **_ _No, not trouble. I just... well, it's hard to put my finger on it, but he's been going to work every day, and leaving me alone. He's away more than he's here, and I've spent more time alone than with him. Perhaps I'm just being selfish._ _**No, I don't think you are. If I had invited someone to visit me, I'd certainly make sure I was looking after them as much as possible.**_ _Oh, he's treating me wonderfully, I can't complain. He did apologise (profusely). I think I'm just a little lonely, and after not seeing him for a large part of the day - I think I miss him. I think perhaps I'm smitten. It's unhealthy to want to be with someone so much – isn't it?_ _**No, it's not unhealthy. Why don't you talk to him? Why not go to work with him for the day, see what he does. Alleviate your fears.**_

Draco sat back and realised what a brilliant idea that was. The man was dedicated to his work, surely he would be receptive if Draco came and watched, or even worked beside him.

_That's a great idea. See, I knew I kept you around for some reason. What about you, how are your prospects looking at present? _ _**Well, like I said, I'm in a state of constant desire. I've been teetering on the edge of a cliff and all that lies below that cliff is pure lust. Did I mention the friend I almost propositioned?**_ _No..._ _**Well, suffice to say that I've been having these strange moods, that even an empty suit of armour looks good enough to shag right about now, and well, let's just say that I might have said more than I should have to a very old family friend. A very sexy friend. But he is someone who, until recently, I never thought about in that way.**_ _Really? And what did he say to that?_ _**Well, he had asked if he could help me out - said I seemed distracted or upset. I had to explain to him that I've been sexually frustrated for a while and asked if he was offering to help with that. We had a nice laugh about it and left it at that, but I tell you... I would have done it in a heartbeat, done him in a heartbeat, if not for extenuating circumstances. He's been avoiding me ever since, and the last time we spoke it was very uncomfortable. But I have to say, the way I'm feeling right now, I'm sorely tempted to Floo over there to ask him exactly how he feels, because I really need to let off some steam. I've known him for so long, yet I feel an overwhelming desire to shag him senseless. I don't know why I've suddenly had this urge overcome me, but I'm going to have to take action soon. And it's not helping me any that you aren't telling me any of those juicy details you promised. I'm so frustrated... about that, and about the fact I'm back to work soon. As it is, I don't think I've looked less forward to something ever before. Not even the war. You were right, I am going to have to look for some new direction in my career, and I think the sooner, the better.**_ _Sorry about the lack of details, I guess I'm still trying to come to terms with how overwhelmingly amazing I feel. I can barely put it into words, but I think from that you can guess how I feel? Sorry to hear about work, but at least you know what you want to do, and you're prepared to go after something new. _ _Okay, I guess I shouldn't tease you any longer. I'll give you all the details. _ _**About time!**_ _Have you ever had a sensual massage, one that has just made you fully aroused without even being touched? Jean-Paul's massage was supposed to help release my tension and help the poison out of my system after my illness, but he kneaded and bled all the tension away to a point where sensuality overtook it, and before I knew it, I just burst from the sheer feel of his hands on my skin – and he never touched any of my intimate parts. Either he has an amazingly magical touch, or my whole body is just one huge erogenous zone... which it never has been before. I have discovered I certainly have a thing for hands._ _**Hands huh? I can't say I have had such a decadent pleasure as Jean-Paul, but I recall Charlie's hands in soft leather Quidditch gloves did something very similar, although there was other stimulus in that encounter.**_ _It was truly incredible. I never thought I'd feel anything like that in my life. Of course, now that I've managed to experience more than just his wonderful hands, I can proudly say that even though I've not seen much of Marrakesh yet, I've managed to closely study the various carved furnishings, and in particular, the ancient Berber carpets and wall hangings. They are quite... stunning. I'm sitting gingerly on the edge of my seat in anticipation of more to come. But you didn't need that much detail did you?_ _**No, do go on, you've painted a rather vivid picture for me. You're becoming an expert at close scrutiny of the carpets. Tell me, what's the temperature like there? **_ _Well, it's steamy and hot. Very hot. Being with Jean-Paul seems right. I confess to throwing all my good intentioned resolutions about sex out the window, but then again Jean-Paul believes that holding such feelings in isn't good for you. It really wasn't the best thing for me to do – keeping it all in like that. Perhaps you shouldn't hold it in either. If I were you, I'd grab the next bloke that takes your fancy and shag him rotten into the first solid surface you can find... or perhaps you'd prefer it if he shagged you senseless into the bedclothes? _ _Sorry, I really shouldn't be asking such personal questions about you, but despite all this, I really don't know everything about you. It's not like I know you personally. Although I admit that I sometimes find myself wondering about you and your tastes at the oddest times. For example, you once mentioned that you like the feel of silk as it passes across your skin. Would that be a finely woven silk shirt as it rubs across your chest, or a coarse Thai silk that can be quite arousing against your nipples on a warm day. Perhaps you would rather enjoy the feel of the silk as it is bound tightly against your wrists, or as it is passed ever so lightly over that soft skin of your intimate body parts? Now I really shouldn't have written any of that, but I have been frightfully curious, and in my current mood, well, this quill has a mind of its own._ _**No apologies are necessary, Luc. After all, I've been hinting that I wanted to hear all the details of your encounter with Jean-Paul, so your questions are not inappropriate. I think you might be right about grabbing the next man that takes my fancy. With the moods I've had lately, I would vote first for shagging him into a nice solid wall or something, and then take it to the bed (if we could make it that far) and let him shag me senseless. **_ _**As for the silk - yes, the silk shirts against my skin feel wonderful, and I've really enjoyed the couple of garments I bought myself on my recent holiday. The idea of silk wrapped tightly around my wrists, holding me down, making me just a little bit helpless and vulnerable to whomever is there... well, suffice to say that the mere thought results in a slight... enlargement... of those 'intimate body parts' over which to brush more silk.**_ _**I don't know why I've been riding such a tide of lustful thoughts lately (perhaps it's because I've been alone), but it seems I'm noticing the sex appeal of people I never would have thought about before. Okay, that's not entirely true. I'd thought about them before, just not this intently. **_ _You, know, it's quite uncanny that we both seem to be seeking the same things in life. I want acceptance for who I am, not for who I was born to. I want to find a love that will last a lifetime with someone who completes me. Sometimes I know that there is another part to me out there - someone who will complement me in the parts of me that are lacking - a bit like Yin and Yang. Now there I go spouting all that new aged stuff that Jean-Paul has been going on about. _ _**I don't know that I would say things are looking up. I'm feeling a desperate need for a good, hard shag, but still feel a little like I'm not supposed to, like it would be wrong of me for some reason. I know exactly what you mean about the Yin and Yang. You know, the Celts have a theory about soul groups – ever heard of it?**_ _No, I can't say I have._ _**Well, I think they call it "Anam Cara" and it is basically the idea that we all have a group of people, or souls, that we travel with throughout our lives. This group might consist of family, friends, mates, and children, even enemies. Those who affect us, touch us, and shape us, those who love us, teach us, and help us. And of these people, any one soul might be your mother one time and your son in the next life and your closest friend another. I'm beginning to think that perhaps if I find more of the members of my soul group, I'll find that perfect love - that person who will complement me and make everything fit just right.**_ _You know, that is quite profound. I've not heard of anything like that before. Although I have to laugh at the idea that even our enemies could be a member of our soul group. You know, you always seem to cheer me up. I can't believe I ever thought you were my mentor. I am so glad we decided to have these regular chats. I look forward to them every week. You help me put things into perspective, and to focus on what is really important. I honestly don't know if I have a soul group. Thanks to you, I've managed to make some friends, including yourself. I guess one day I'll know, won't I? You've got me wondering now if Jean-Paul is a part of that soul group._ _**You know, I was just wondering if you were a part of mine. **_

Harry paused at that, hoping against hope that he hadn't actually written it. But after closing his eyes a moment, and whispering a silent prayer, he realised he had indeed shared that very private thought with Luc.

Draco read the statement twice, verifying that Flash had really said such an intimate thing. He was shocked. There was no other word for it. Despite all their conversations and the obvious connection they had, he couldn't believe the other wizard would include him in such a deeply personal and significant category. Upon giving it a moment's more thought, he realised that he was flattered by the high regard Flash obviously held him in. Draco had never had the opportunity to make a connection like that, and would have considered Emmaline and possibly Severus to be the closest people in his life. However, he hadn't imagined that anyone would place quite that sort of value on his friendship.

Harry felt his cheeks colour with embarrassment and wished there were some way he could take the words back. It didn't particularly make him feel any better to realise that Luc hadn't responded yet.

_Oh? Well... I'm truly flattered. _

Draco thought about it a moment longer, and realised that he had subconsciously placed Flash in a similar light, acknowledging a connection between them and placing an unprecedented significance on their friendship.

_You know, I find it so easy to talk to you, we must be... why else would I feel so drawn to you? I don't even know you - apart from a few intimate details. Hell, I've told you things I'd not tell anyone, not even my lovers, and I can't believe I've done that. Not that I want to change it either. _ _**I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I was just... well, you know how these things work. I swear sometimes it almost feels like something else is controlling the quill. I mean, yes, I feel drawn to you as well, and, it's so easy to talk to you - when I'm not making an idiot of myself like now - and, well, I don't know why you'd be flattered. I'm surprised you're not running into hiding now.**_ _Well, I did feel like running when I thought I knew you. I think the magic in this journal not only draws out things you are hiding, but it prevents you from lying - even to yourself – which I'll confess makes me feel like a bit of a bumbling fool at times. Have you managed to find out any more about these journals? I must admit that every time I think about investigating them, I get distracted or sidetracked... I wonder if the magic inside them makes me do that?_ **_That's an interesting thought. I've considered the same thing, but never acted on it. You are by no means either bumbling or a fool, though. You are intuitive and you seem to know what you're talking about. I've thought about the magic in these journals, how I feel compelled to say things I don't think I should say. Things I wouldn't actually verbalise because of my insecurities, or my expectations. I think that's the part where they prevent me from lying. Now that you mention it, though, I can think of times, like just now, when I've said things I didn't realise I was thinking until after I saw it written down. Things that I wouldn't normally acknowledge, because if I don't_** **_acknowledge them, they don't become 'real'. That's probably where it keeps me from lying to myself._** _You know that when I first read your words, I normally would have just ignored them, or thrown the journal away. This book literally leapt out of a shelf at me, and I can't remember why I felt the need to respond. I'm just glad I did. You've helped me through some rough patches in the past few months, and made me think before I act, something I have needed to do on many occasions in my personal life. This is all coming back to something I mentioned earlier (probably because it has been on my brain all week) I find it so easy to talk to you. We have to be part of the same soul group, come to think of it. So do we shag now, or shag later? _ _Sorry, one track mind again. The mind was thinking of Jean-Paul. He's at work - again, and I guess after being so intimate with him these past days, my body is thinking along very narrow lines. I really need to get laid, again. Sorry for taking it out on you. I know you wanted details, but I'm sure that's too much, especially since you aren't getting any. One of these days I'm going to say something that will really offend you, and you'll run and hide..._ _**You know, I don't think you could offend me. I mean, I've never even hinted to anyone else about my recently discovered interests in voyeurism, bondage and the like. The comments I've made to you - if they didn't scare you off they should have clued you in to the limits I'm comfortable with. Perhaps we're both so used to the closer boundaries we have in our face to face relationships that we don't realise we've both extended those boundaries with each other? **_ **_Shagging - now or later? Well, I must admit I'd be tempted to say now and ask for your Floo address_** **_if I weren't afraid it would ruin a great friendship. Of course, considering that you're a guest of Jean-Paul's, it might be better to give you my Floo address, unless we were going to ask him to come along for the ride..._** _**I completely understand the need to get laid. I think part of my problem has been these dreams I've been having. They're very strange and there are parts I don't remember, but I'm always left... wanting.**_ _Oh, you did mention a little about your dreams. So they have an erotic component as well? As I said before, I wish I could remember mine. Then again, I woke up terrified from my last one, so perhaps I'm better off not knowing. I've never been one to remember dreams. I'm glad I won't offend. Just let me know if you feel uncomfortable, and I'll step back. I must confess to never having had anyone to talk to about some of my deepest desires. You should consider yourself lucky that you are privy to them. As for bondage and voyeurism, well, I can say that you have certainly given me some suggestions for when Jean-Paul gets home. You know, I'm almost tempted to invite you here and ask Jean-Paul if he's up for a threesome. Could get interesting. Then again, I don't know if I can share. I'm not good at that sort of thing. As for your Floo address, it's too cold in England; I think I'm preferring this north African heat._ _**You don't think we could create enough heat of our own?**_ _I have no doubt there would be plenty of friction... or we could use a warming charm if things got a little frosty. As I say, there are spells for most things. But tell me, I found myself wondering this the other day. I consider you the Muggle expert (alas, the only wizard I know who has any accurate information about them), so tell me..._ _**Yes, Muggles have sex in the same manner as wizards. Insert tab a into slot b. Repeatedly...**_ _Ha ha ha. I'm quite aware of that fact, despite not having partaken of any of those pleasures with Muggles. I just found that I was suddenly insatiably curious about certain Muggle things (all thanks to you – of course). Tell me, what works better, Muggle lubricants, or wizard made potions? Or would you prefer the spells? I only ask as I'm feeling a little adventurous in that manner, and Jean-Paul has plenty of contact with Muggles. _ _**Hmmm, I haven't had much opportunity to use the Muggle lubricants, but on the few occasions, they did the job. Spells are all right, but seem somewhat impersonal to me. I don't mind them for a good hard fuck when there's nothing else around, but when I'm taking my time and trying to be intimate with someone, I usually prefer the potions. That is, if you've got some that were made properly by someone who knew what they were doing. You would probably have an upper hand in that, being able to mix them yourself. Lubricating potions offer a more personal feel to sex, you know - the hands on approach and all... and when compared to Muggle lubricants, they're just nicer - a little more viscous.**_ _But have you ever had sex with a Muggle? Another personal question, I'm just curious now, now that my one track mind is hurtling down the rails at breakneck speed. I've never really discussed these things with another man. I mean, it's hard to discuss such topics with a lover when he has his mouth on places that prevent you from thinking coherently for hours at a time._ _**Yes, I've had sex with a Muggle, but only on a couple of occasions, and yes, I agree. I don't think I ever truly discussed things, even with Ollie. Guess you could chalk up another first for our discussions. But back to the Muggle sex thing, that was when I had my experiences with general Muggle lube. Not the best stuff, but Muggles tend to look at you funny if you point a wooden stick at your genitalia or their bum and start muttering under your breath.**_ _That image you just gave me is too priceless for words. Yes, I do know how to make a lubricant or two, and yes, I have been known to make them. There's a couple I know of that are quite hard to make, but when done properly, and simmered long enough, they give you the greatest pleasure. A bit like Tantric Sex, to be honest._ _**Tantric Sex? I've heard of that before, but don't know what it entails. You know, talking to you, I am beginning to think my sex life has been rather vanilla flavoured and dull.**_ _I'm sure it's not that dull, Flash. My own introduction to male sex was not what you would call 'orthodox', and I certainly have been exposed to many extremes. There are times I just wish for a simple shag where we both get off as quickly and as often as possible. None of this elaborate stuff. Although, if Jean-Paul is to be believed, this Tantric Sex is the most erotic form of lovemaking there is. _ _I'm still checking his credentials on that score; after all, he is trying to teach me the finer points of the whole business (hence the reason why I still haven't seen much of Marrakesh). I don't think I'm very good at it. It supposedly heightens your pleasure as you learn to prolong your orgasm, channelling it so that it becomes an even better, full body orgasm on the conscious and unconscious levels. It's all about the lovemaking, and prolonging it as you revere your partner. _ _It's the prolonging part I'm having trouble with. It all sounds grand, and I can feel that there is potential for the most wonderful emotional and physical release but when I reach a certain point, well, I just have to let it all out. Maybe with enough practice with Jean-Paul, I could prolong it for days, as he's suggested. It's all about learning control. _

Harry snorted as he read Luc's poignant words. _Well I certainly need to learn control. Tantric sex, hmmm, sure sounds more interesting than some of the other exercises I need to do to keep my power from leaking. Now all I have to do is find someone who'll be willing to help me learn. What a pity Luc is so far away. _He was intrigued by the concept of learning control along with sex. _Hey, if it works, who am I to argue? I could sure use some relief in both ways right now._

_**Learning control, eh? Does Jean-Paul have any specific techniques for teaching the control aspect of it?**_ _Well, I must confess that Jean-Paul has only begun to show me what is involved, but he has suggested perhaps that meditation might help. He's a firm believer in all that new age stuff, and if you were to look around this flat, you would find that not surprising, as his taste in furnishings is rather... bohemian. It's been a long time since I've partaken of sexual control games, but unlike my ancient history, this is all about internal restraint and prolonging the pleasure and heightening the anticipation of orgasm. Still, it would be much easier to achieve that with some form of external restraints..._

Harry raised an eyebrow at the thought of sexual restraints. His mind had certainly been on one track all evening, and Luc was only adding more fuel to the fire of his own incessantly Gryffindorish curiosity. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get too nosy. And he was, the words slipping out of the end of his quill before he realised.

_**Restraints? What, you mean like accessories? Like what? - sorry, my turn at being nosy now - you don't have to answer that if you don't want to.**_ _Surely you've tried accessorising before? _

_Or perhaps I'm the only perverted one here,_ Draco thought. _Or perhaps I'm just itching for Jean-Paul to come home. Well, rest assured now, this is definitely not Severus I'm talking to. _

**_Not really, I'm afraid. As I said, I've only just recently discovered that I do quite like the thought of being tied up, and the idea of watching someone else... well, yes, I'll admit that I am unashamedly a voyeur. Now if only someone will let me watch._** **_You say you have experience with all types of accessories?_** _Yes, but I didn't necessarily find them all appealing. Some were quite ruthless, and too close to torture for my liking. I suggest you stick with your silk scarves for a while. If you're looking for something to restrain yourself from peaking early, – a firmly spelled silk scarf could do the trick for you... I haven't noticed any accessories around Jean-Paul's flat. Perhaps I could encourage him to use a scarf... or a tie... Now I really wish he would be home soon. You'll know if I suddenly vanish that I've jumped him the moment he's out of the Floo._

And it wouldn't be a moment too soon. All this talk of sex and the sometimes necessary accoutrements had Draco writhing in anticipation of Jean-Paul's return. He would literally leap up to greet the man the minute he stepped foot back in the flat.

_**I'll keep your advice in mind while I'm sitting here all alone. You know, I'm seriously thinking about that old friend again - wondering if I could make that same proposition without the friendly laughter this time. I need a shag - seriously! **_ _**As for accessories, I have to admit that my one night with Charlie was probably the most adventurous sex I've ever had, and my Gods and satyrs, was it fantastic! Up to that point, I think either a blindfold or a shower were the most kinks I'd ever been exposed to.**_ _Well, I have to confess to having been exposed to them at an early age. Some of my early 'experiments' with other blokes involved all sorts of kinky gear. Don't get me wrong, not all accessories were awful – some of those items I found quite... stimulating. The ones that were close to torture rubbed a little to close to my war experiences, and a lifetime isn't long enough to forget some of those memories. I honestly haven't used many accessories for a while. _ _**No, I certainly don't think I would want sex that was close to torture... of course, NO sex is presently creating its own exquisite torture. You know, all this talk has made me realise one thing. I'm going to have to go and talk to my friend; if I don't talk to him now, I might lose my nerve. I should seize the moment, and I don't intend to leave without an answer from him! Who knows, I might not need all those deliciously juicy details after all, but hold onto them, just in case...**_ _Good luck, Flash! I'll be thinking of you. Hopefully you'll be the one to have the juicy details for me!_ _**Thanks, Luc. Same time next week?**_ _Sure thing._

Draco heard the now familiar whoosh of the Floo as Jean-Paul returned. Still comfortable in his cushions, he held his journal close to his chest, a stupid grin on his face as he thought about their rather risqué chat, and how he might like to extend that to a practical demonstration with Jean-Paul.

"You seem amused," Jean-Paul came over to kiss Draco, who responded rather eagerly after his recent thoughts and discussion with Flash. Jean-Paul stepped back suddenly, his eyes on the journal.

"Writing in that book again?" he asked.

"It's my journal. Actually, it's a _Journal Intime Partagé_" Jean-Paul froze at that, a slight look of horror on his face. At least, Draco thought that's what it was. "It's magical, of course," he continued. He wasn't sure if Jean-Paul knew what it was.

"I know what it is, Draco. I... I just didn't realise that's what it was the last time I saw you with it..." he seemed to distance himself a little, scratching his head and fidgeting. Draco thought little of it, putting out his hand to ask for Jean-Paul's assistance in standing. He didn't think it could hurt to tell Jean-Paul about Flash, after all, what did he have to hide? They were friends.

Draco brought Jean-Paul's lips in for a kiss as he explained. "Hmmm. Well, it's quite uncanny that the bloke writing in the other journal is so like me. We have a lot in common. I listen to him, and I think he gets way too much of an earful from me. Flash is probably one of my best friends. I guess you could say he convinced me to actually accept your invitation." He didn't know why he was talking up his friendship with Flash.

"He wanted you to do this?" Jean-Paul looked totally confused. He even sounded a little put out by the thought Draco had a journal. Perhaps they were rarer than Draco had thought. _Surely he's not jealous of Flash_, but his reactions seemed like he was.

"You're jealous. Don't worry, it's not like I've ever met him. We just talk in the journal. He's in England, anyway," Draco said offhandedly. It seemed Jean-Paul knew about these journals. He would have to ask him about them, but he had other things on his mind at present.

"You've never met him? But I thought..." Draco quickly distracted him with another deep kiss, his hands draping around his lover's neck as he pulled himself up against the other man. His desire was obvious to Jean-Paul, who pulled back suddenly, breaking their embrace.

"Damn, I've left my wand at work. I'll have to get it." He avoided Draco's gaze as he quickly made his way to the fireplace. "I'll just head back and get it." He headed straight for the Floo, without so much as saying goodbye to Draco.

Draco seemed a little puzzled at the brusque brush off. Somehow, the discovery of the journal had really affected Jean-Paul. He frowned, and was determined to ask when he returned.

But it was a long time before Jean-Paul came home. Draco began to worry after he hadn't returned within the hour, but a quick Floo call to his work told him that the Sheik had taken a turn, and Jean-Paul was busy in healing.

It felt strange to be sleeping alone, but Draco found sleep elusive for many reasons. Why did Jean-Paul react that way? The faint light of dawn crept through the windows as Draco eventually found sleep, convincing himself he was overreacting, despite the distinct thought that something wasn't right.

By the time Jean-Paul did return, the day was half over, and he looked exhausted. Draco left him to sleep on his own. It was weeks later that he realised he never had the opportunity to find out more about his journal.

It wasn't until months later that he found out exactly why Jean-Paul had such a strong reaction to seeing Draco with the journal. If only someone had told him, the following months could have been quite different as they led up to their eventual outcome.

* * *

Harry was startled by the activation of the Floo in his room mere moments after closing the journal. He padded over to the door in his bare feet realising how cool the room was, and found Remus looking back at him from the flames of the fireplace. Judging by the expression on the older man's face, and the clear view Harry had of Remus' private quarters, this was not a business call. Harry took that as a good sign.

"Remus! Hello, come on through!" Harry was pleased to see that his embarrassingly stupid flirting hadn't caused a permanent rift between them. This was the first time Remus had approached him voluntarily in nearly two weeks. He stepped back, allowing room for the werewolf to come through the Floo, and suddenly found himself nervous when faced with the immediate opportunity to reapproach his previous suggestion. He bit the end of his tongue to stop any unwanted words coming out before he was ready. As he had just told Luc, the notion of being thoroughly buggered by his old friend was a very tempting one. He smiled and relaxed a bit as Remus came in and flopped casually in one of the overstuffed armchairs. _He wouldn't have done that if he were still uncomfortable_. Harry quickly spelled the teapot hot and poured steaming cups for the both of them, then sat in the matching chair and settled down to have a comfortable conversation. He felt rather good about this, after all, hadn't he just that morning done some much needed meditation, reacquainting himself with the T'ai Chi that had helped him years before? And hadn't he just had a lovely chat with Luc, dealing with some of his own fears and insecurities in regards to Oliver and that quick exit from the shops? All things considered, this had shaped up to be a good day and, if his luck held out, it would follow to be a good evening as well.

"How have you been, Harry? Has your time here been helpful?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, I think so. I plan to head back to Hogwarts tomorrow, though. I know that until we have more details about these Neo Death Eaters, I need to be easily accessible, especially since Rufus Scrimegour was planning to talk to those in my office and make sure that I'm not kept in the dark any longer. It helps to know what's going on, but it also helps to have an outside perspective on my reactions."

"Oh?" Remus leaned forward slightly, adding a touch more sugar to his tea, and Harry couldn't help watching his elegant hands and fingers as he stirred. For that matter, Harry couldn't help but notice every sinew of Remus' body as the man moved and adjusted in the chair. He cleared his throat and brought his attention back to their conversation.

"Yes, the fact that you've all seen the changes, and the reminder of how my reactions and energy outbursts and magic levels were connected to Voldemort's threats… that really helped me to recognise the priorities. And I've begun my T'ai Chi exercises again. I should probably have someone monitor my next session to make sure I haven't forgotten anything important. I'm quite out of practice, but they help," Harry stretched his arms over his head, thinking about the renewed energy in his muscles after his morning katas. He felt his shirt shift over his stomach and simultaneously heard Remus' sharp intake of breath before the man spoke again.

"That's good to know. Dumbledore will be pleased that you're planning to come back soon. He's been worried about you." Remus watched as Harry swayed gently from side to side, steadily revealing more and more of his taut and tanned abdomen. He knew that he'd done a rather poor job of covering up the interest in his voice just then, and was entirely unsure how Harry would react to it. After all, Harry himself had said that he wasn't serious about that proposition.

"Only Dumbledore?" At the teasing tone, Remus snapped his eyes quickly from the still-showing strip of bare skin at Harry's waist up to the mischievous and lustful gaze in his green eyes. There was no doubt, Remus knew precisely what the young man was thinking. "Won't you be at all pleased to have me back at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Harry. We've all been worried about you, and I'd be happy to monitor your next T'ai Chi session. I seem to recall we worked well together in the past. You said the meditations have been helping?" Remus knew he was talking in circles, but he couldn't seem to focus on anything right now, beyond the scent of arousal and his own reaction to Harry's lithe young body.

"Yes, some. I feel much calmer. Of course, they're not getting rid of _all_ of my…" he glanced up at Remus' face, debating his sanity for just a moment. _What the hell, might as well go for it,_ "urges," he finished pointedly.

Remus caught the suggestive tone and the seductive expression on the young man's face, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of pheromones. He stood and paced for a moment before settling on the far side of the room. Had it been any closer to the full moon, he had no doubt he would have taken Harry then and there, his feral instincts were so on edge. As it was, he waited. He wanted to know that Harry was consciously making these decisions. He wanted reassurance that he wasn't taking advantage of the younger man.

Harry watched the display of reaction and emotion play over Remus' handsome face, and stood as well. He approached cautiously, as if he were afraid he would frighten Remus away. "You offered to help, if you could. I was wondering if I asked again – whether you might... reconsider. Please?" Even Harry was partially unaware of his actions as he slowly moved closer to Remus, dropping his voice seductively and catching those honey-coloured eyes in his own gaze.

Remus, for his part, was highly intrigued, allowing his most animal instincts to take over for the moment. He leaned forward just slightly, "Harry, are you seriously asking this?"

"I think so," he sounded more sure than he felt. Something deep inside was suggesting that this wasn't what he wanted, but his libido was chalking that up to the suggestion that it was taboo because of his father's friendship with Remus. His body wanted this - no doubts about it. "Yes, I really think so."

"Would… Harry, you know I can sense… smell… do you know what you're saying? This is… would you really…?" Remus was so caught up in the air of sensual current that he couldn't think clearly.

"I've thought about it, about you…" Harry replied in a sultry murmur.

"And?"

"The idea is… interesting. I sometimes feel ambivalent about it, but right now, it just feels…" Harry was suddenly unable to put his feelings into words.

Remus turned, seeking a momentary escape, a method of gathering his thoughts, but only found them more scrambled when his eyes came to rest on a very familiar journal on the desk. His eyes widened. "Harry, is this… Sirius' journal?" He was fighting to keep from getting choked up about this, knowing the answer before he asked. There was no way he could ever forget those journals. They had kept him sane when he and Sirius were forced to be apart, and most importantly, had helped him to realise how important Sirius really was to him. Remus' emotions were clouded, uncertain, and he felt pulled between his new desires and his old love.

"You recognise it, then?" Harry asked eagerly, suitably distracted for the moment. "I've been meaning to ask you about it, but I keep forgetting. It's rather odd really. There's a link to another journal somewhere, and the man who has that one knows as much about the magic that links them as I do. Did Sirius ever mention a link like that, you know, when he was using that journal?"

Remus felt his head reeling. Harry had found the journal, or it had found him, and his other half. Harry's own words led him to believe that the younger man didn't fully understand the purpose of a pair of partnered journals, but he certainly couldn't explain it to him, not now. "You're writing to someone?" His voice sounded hollow, as if he were talking from inside a cave.

"Mmmm, you don't think Sirius would mind that I'm using it, do you? We've become good friends. I was just talking about you, in fact," Harry closed the distance between them and placed a hand on Remus' shoulder. Remus turned swiftly, still processing this new information and still being strongly affected by the energy and scent Harry was putting out through his arousal. "I was telling him how badly I wanted to do this," Harry continued.

Harry almost felt as if some outside force was affecting him, something that had been building within him for the past couple of weeks, and was increasing his desire for sex, building it to the level of a need. He was just a little unsure of his true desires in regards to Remus, unable to shake that feeling from deep inside, but the arousal was so strong. If he hadn't known better, he would have wondered if he'd been slipped an aphrodisiac potion. Finally, his desires overtook his senses and he took a chance, moving his hand up to caress Remus' cheek, fingers gently tracing the scars that marked him. The first gentle touches sent shivers through them both, and Remus felt a wave of desire that should have been forbidden. The moment their lips touched, the needs and desires within them both escalated exponentially. Remus was mildly surprised by the desperate moan that came, unbidden, from his throat. He'd never even entertained thoughts of Harry's tongue, having always held strong and fast to the fact that this was his best friend's son, his lover's godson. Now, however, as that tongue flickered over his lips, brushed the roof of his mouth and smoothly swept against his own tongue, he had no choice but to recognise it for its wonderful talents.

Harry's body nearly sang at the joy of finally being in a passionate embrace with someone. He still couldn't explain the excessive sexual drive he'd been dealing with of late, but he knew that even this kiss would help to diminish it somewhat. The contact encouraged his already increasing arousal and reminded him that he was still alive while also allowing him, on some level, to ease the tension that had been building for days. He tightened his arms around Remus' waist, pulling them into full body contact with each other, and ground his hips against the growing erection he found there. The friction brought throaty moans from both the men, but seemed to trigger something in Remus' mind.

_Not right, not for Harry._ He acknowledged this thought, knowing it was true in light of the journal and its revelations, and abruptly pulled out of the embrace, an apology forming on his lips before he could even recognise the slightly bruised feeling of them. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't…"

"No." Harry stopped him, not wanting to hear the dismissal that was obviously coming. He was in no mood to wonder how the man could have kissed him like that if he didn't have any desire for him, or how the man could have that much desire for him and still feel he shouldn't have done. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have."

"Harry, don't feel badly about this. I understand it, really. I've entertained thoughts of you as well. Recently, that is. Your comments last week took me by surprise, and I saw you in a different light. You've grown into quite a fetching man. But it's just not right." Remus raised one hand, holding up two fingers in a silencing motion. "Before you argue, it's not because of the age, or your father, or even Sirius, though Merlin knows Sirius would be shocked as hell, and there wasn't much that could shock him. It's just, something tells me it's not right. I just know that we're not meant to be more than friends. There's someone else out there for you, Harry, and when you find him, you'll understand what I'm saying."

Harry nodded, too filled with disappointed frustration and lust to trust his voice at that moment. He took a deep breath, allowed himself one quick and fairly chaste kiss, and stepped back to his armchair.

Remus sighed loudly, partially cursing the twist of fate that had let him realise Harry was using the _Journal Intime Partagé_. If not for that realisation, he would now be _in flagrante_ with Harry rather than preparing to return to Hogwarts alone. "I'd better be going now. So... I'll see you back at Hogwarts?" He paused, watching Harry as the young man sought to centre himself again. "It'll be all right Harry, you'll see." And with those parting words, Remus Flooed back to the school and set a path straight to the shower so he could take out his frustrations after that little meeting.

* * *

**April 1 - Tuesday**

The Burrow had been turned into a hive of festive activity as the twins' birthday party was in full swing. The guests of honour had arrived late after a successful day at the store. April first was always a big day for the pranksters, and not just because it was their birthday. Molly had rallied the troops and had arranged everything for this, the twins' 25th birthday party.

Harry had been hesitant about going to the party, only because he was unsure of how he would cope amongst so many people. It was Ron who reminded him that they were all family, and Molly would have been upset if Harry couldn't make it. Harry had to concede that Ron was right. He knew Mrs Weasley well enough to know that she would have taken it as a personal affront. Of course, standing there now sipping on his glass of wine, he found himself not caring as much about that as he fervently wished that he was anywhere but the Burrow. The party had been very good. The food was, as usual, fantastic, and the party went off with a bang. Unfortunately, it was Molly and Arthur who were in for the biggest surprises and this left Harry feeling a little uncomfortable.

"D'you really think it was wise of the twins to drop both bombshells on your parents tonight, Ron?" Harry asked.

"Dunno. Still, I'm glad for once I'm not at the end of her wrath. I dunno why Fred and Lavender never said anything before now about the baby," both men looked over at their former classmate as she was forced to sit and listen to her future mother-in-law. Molly wouldn't hear of them marrying after the baby was born, and they were both currently getting an earful from the family matriarch.

"Yeah, and I think George and Lee picked a bad night to come out," Harry smirked at the knowledge that he knew about their relationship even before Ron. The pair seemed happy together, and that only added to Harry's overall sexual frustration. He couldn't help but feel just a little jealous of their happiness. Of course, having Charlie at the opposite end of the room, looking sexier than ever, didn't help his little problem at all.

"Who'da thought Bill would have taken the news so badly? I mean, he never seemed that upset when Charlie came out, but now that he's got two brothers who are gay, he's suddenly come over as all homophobic," Ron seemed puzzled.

"I wouldn't worry, Ron." Harry had seen behaviour like Bill's before. It was a common male reaction to learning that other close men were homosexual. "He'll come around eventually."

"Speaking of _coming_ around," Charlie interrupted their little conversation. Harry couldn't miss the obvious double entendre in Charlie's words.

"Charlie," Harry nodded, not having had much of an opportunity to talk to the man that night. Ron had charged himself with the task of keeping Harry away from Charlie. He had some crazy notion that Harry might just want to jump his older brother in front of the entire family. The problem was that Ron was right. Harry was so horny, and so mesmerised by how gorgeous Charlie looked, that he would have let Charlie take him right there on the living room floor.

"So Harry," Charlie continued. "I hear you've been to Hogwarts." Just then, George and Lee interrupted.

"Isn't it great, Harry? Charlie's thinking of coming home to stay!" George grinned.

Harry was surprised at the news. "Oh?" He felt silly, but was so stunned there was nothing else he could say.

Charlie returned the smile. "So, tell me Harry," Charlie put his arm around Harry conspiratorially. "Did you get a chance to see Severus whilst you were there? How is he doing these days? Still as single and gorgeous as ever?" Harry realised at once where Charlie was going with this conversation, and couldn't help the inner disappointment at the realisation that he wasn't the one drawing Charlie's interest. Still, he was surprised enough by that question that he simply stood in stunned silence.

"All right, you two – break it up." Ron separated them, and Harry immediately began to miss Charlie's warm touch no matter how innocent it truly was. Regardless, innocent touches wouldn't have been enough; Harry still needed and wanted a true physical release. Remus had rejected his advances, and Charlie – well, he was just Charlie.

"Ron!" Hermione called from across the room. She was deep in conversation with Ginny.

Ron stared at Harry and his brother. "No funny business you two. I've got my eye on you, you know. I don't think Mum would cope with any more excitement tonight."

Charlie laughed, "Ron's got his eye on us eh? Wonder if he'd like to watch," he drawled with a broad grin. Harry laughed, but knew that he would only ever be a friend to Charlie. For the first time, he noticed the fresh burn on Charlie's arm. For a fully healed burn, it still looked rather severe. Charlie noticed Harry's interest. "Yeah, I had a run in with the Norwegian Ridgeback. I'm lucky to still have all my hair, but my eyebrows took a couple of days to grow back," he laughed.

"So that's why you're thinking of coming back to England?" Harry asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Perhaps. I've got a couple of offers in the wings. Besides, it's much easier to pursue a man when you are at least on the same continent."

Harry wrinkled his nose, "I don't know what you see in that bloody greasy git. The man isn't even sexy, Charlie. I think you're the one who might need glasses..." It was surprising that after all this time, Charlie still held a torch for the object of his teen infatuation. _Yeah, I can really talk about that? Can't I?_ "But seriously, why now?"

"Well, I decided that I've had enough time on my own. I've always loved my work, but it's just not as fulfilling as it used to be. I think it's about time I find whatever I'm missing in my career, and start thinking about the other things that really matter, like family, and love. You know, I was worried about you, Harry, and you got me to thinking about my own life" Harry was momentarily uncomfortable with that answer, but couldn't quite determine why. He finally realised that it was because it was such a clear statement on what he wanted in his own life. Little did he know his introspective mood was being observed from the other side of the room.

"So how is Harry doing, Ron?" Hermione asked as she monitored Harry's conversation with Charlie and caught the melancholy expression on his face. They had both been worried for their old friend. He had been slowly drifting away from them, but they still cared for him and loved him like a brother.

"I don't know, Hermione. I honestly don't. He's not telling me anything, yet he doesn't seem like he's bottling it all up. I just want to keep him away from Charlie. Knowing what they got up to --"

"I don't think you have anything to worry about there, Ron. I found out something about his journal today." Hermione sounded excited at the news.

"Oh? It's not bad is it, Love?" Ron pulled his fiancée aside, not wanting everyone to hear what she had to tell him.

Hermione shook her head, "No, it's not bad – at least, I don't think so. I think that somehow, this Luc character is destined to be his soulmate. I think that journal is a _Journal Intime Partagé._" Ron didn't bother to ask what it was, as Hermione launched straight into the explanation. "When two soulmates are connected, they can use the journals to keep in contact. They are quite rare, and they are usually found in the oldest of pureblood families."

"Yeah, Harry mentioned it had belonged to Sirius," Ron replied lazily.

"But don't you see, Ron? This fellow Harry has been talking to – he must be Harry's soulmate," she said emphatically.

Ron looked surprised. "Are you _sure_?"

"Well, not until I get a good look at the book. It could be one of a half dozen different types of magic journals, but I've talked to Ginny, and she seems to agree with me—"

"Don't you girls dare interfere," Ron interjected. "It's Harry's life, and if he wants to write in books to crazy Frenchmen, then that's his choice."

"And Charlie isn't?" Hermione retorted.

"That's totally different, and you know it," he retorted hopelessly. He knew Hermione had him on that point and could do nothing more than present his weak argument and hope she would leave it at that. "Do you think he'll get into trouble from this, 'Mione?" Ron asked in all seriousness.

Hermione shook her head. "He's Harry. He excels at getting into trouble. All we can do is find out who this Luc is, and warn him. Warn him that if he doesn't treat our Harry properly, we'll hex his balls off."

"Hermione!" Ron sounded completely shocked. She just smiled and winked over at Ginny. His sister was being a bad influence on his fiancée.

In true Weasley style, the party soon turned up a notch once Arthur and Molly went to bed. The music became just a little louder, but nobody was dancing. Harry was studiously avoiding anything more than the occasional glass of wine, even though the birthday boys were conspiring together over a cold cauldron filled with something that nobody wanted to drink. Nobody trusted the pair at the best of times, and smelling the sickly sweet blue drink they were making, most everyone chose to wisely stay away from it. Only Lee was happy and willing to oblige. George seemed thrilled at that prospect.

Harry had not managed to catch up with Ginny, and she had to leave early to get to a meeting the next day. Ron had successfully managed to prise Harry from Charlie's side, and had his friend sandwiched between him and Hermione on the couch.

"So tell me, Harry. You've been talking to this new friend, Luc?" Hermione asked curiously. Ron gave her a glare.

Harry nodded, "Of course I have. We chat regularly."

"So, what's he like. Is he cute?" she continued to dig at the topic, fishing for information.

"I don't know, Hermione. I haven't met him face to face, but from his words he's extremely articulate, and he and I share a number of things in common. Like a string of failed relationships, for one," he said dejectedly.

"Oh? And what does he do for a living?" Hermione asked. A part of Ron wanted to drag her away from the conversation and throttle her for being so nosy, but he didn't, only because he too was curious about Harry's new pen pal, though he wouldn't have admitted that for the world.

"Oh well, he's a Potions master over in Paris, and he has a cat, and before you ask me any more questions Hermione, I don't know what he looks like, or even his true name, but I feel as if we are somehow connected through our words. It's strange really, but I am grateful that someone else implicitly understands the whirlwind of my life." Hermione didn't press him for any more information, but had enough clues to start her search, even if Ron didn't approve of her methods.

The night wore on and Harry felt good to be able to spend such a long time conversing with his oldest friends, all without a single moment of his power leaking out of control. Perhaps his exercises were beginning to help in that regard. He was both surprised and thrilled when Ron asked Harry to be their best man at the wedding, and the widest grin adorned his face at the thought.

"I'm honoured, Ron, Hermione. Of course I'll be there for you both."

"Just make sure he turns up, Harry, and that you don't let him drink anything the twins have prepared when it comes to his stag night." Hermione sounded worried.

"I won't. But don't worry, if he does, then I'm sure he'll have plenty of time on your honeymoon to recover. It's that sort of place – so relaxing!"

"Oh, so you know where Ron's taking me?" she said excitedly.

"I should hope so – he suggested it to me," Ron replied.

A burden seemed to fall from Hermione's shoulders. "It's true, Hermione. You'll love the place. I guarantee it. But don't think you're going to worm the location out of me, young lady. As my first duty as best man, I'll be keeping Ron's secret from you!" he grinned, pleased to have another distraction in his life. He was so honoured to have been asked.

"Do you really think she'll enjoy it, Harry?" Ron asked later, after Hermione had gone over to talk to Lavender.

"Ron, of course she will enjoy it. She's got you, and to be honest, she really shouldn't care where you take her for your honeymoon, as long as she has you. But if you are worried, then you'll find the best of everything romantic right there at your fingertips – the wineries, the scenery, the plush surroundings – hell, I've even convinced myself it's a bloody romantic place. If I ever find myself a partner, I swear we'll be visiting there on our own romantic get together."

"So where'd you find out about this place, Harry?"

"Oh, Luc actually suggested the region of France, and gave me the name of the agent. I think he lived there, or visits there often." Ron filed away that little of information to help Hermione on her quest to discover Luc's identity.

"So what about you, Ron? How's work been? Or can't you say? I swear that those Goblins have helped curb your tongue, Ron. You aren't nearly so fully of juicy gossip as you once were," Harry realised it had been months since he truly asked his friend about work.

"Oh, you know, I can't say anything Harry. Although..." Ron grinned.

"What? You seem to know something dreadfully interesting. Can't you at least hint?" Harry wanted to know.

"No... I can't... but... I did run into someone the other day. Someone I never expected to see. It was actually on the day we had lunch," Ron desperately bit his tongue. He wasn't supposed to talk about bank business.

How could Harry forget that day? "Yeah, I ran into a couple of unexpected people that day as well. You're not talking about Malfoy, are you, by any chance?" Ron's eyes widened and he nodded.

"Yes. I had a meeting with the git at the bank," he finally said.

"Oh? And I suppose you can't tell me a single thing about it?"

"No," Ron said sadly, "although I was as disappointed as you that he never dropped dead somewhere after the war."

Harry again thought about his run in with Malfoy at the Leaky Cauldron. Despite Malfoy's words, Harry could only remember just how stunning he looked. But then again, that's all Harry seemed to be doing at present when he looked at any man. His constant horniness was starting to wear thin. He didn't want to think of Malfoy, or anyone for that matter. His eyes had studiously avoided Charlie, as he was sure that he would not be able to maintain his self control for much longer.

Harry watched the various couples around the room and felt glad that all his friends seemed to be getting on with their lives, even if he seemed to be fighting another battle. Eventually the party ended, and he headed back to his lonely flat. Every day at work was an uphill battle, for now that he knew he didn't want to work there, everything seemed much more boring. His biggest challenge was keeping his power under control, and that took all his resolve. _I don't know how much longer I can do this, _he thought, _but I guess it is good exercise in keeping my power under control. I am definitely going to start looking elsewhere for work – but where do I begin?_

He made his way to bed, and began the long slow process of meditations that would help him to achieve some sleep. He just wondered if he would have another of those dreams. Maybe just once, he might actually remember some of the dream, and recall just why he would wake up more aroused than when he fell asleep.

* * *

**April 1 – 6**

The pattern of days had suddenly changed in Marrakesh, along with the cooling breezes from the east. Draco was frustrated. Frustrated and very confused. A distinct chill had erupted in Jean-Paul's flat, and he was trying to fathom just what had changed so quickly. If he thought that Jean-Paul had been spending an inordinate amount of time at work, he soon learnt he was sadly mistaken. It had now reached the point that Draco was usually in bed by the time Jean-Paul returned and the sun was barely rising before the man left for work again. Draco also noticed that the medi-wizard seemed reluctant at first to continue their impassioned lovemaking, and couldn't help wondering if perhaps that it was some sort of test to show just how much he had learned from his lover.

Still, his host was gone by morning, and the pattern of lonely days fuelled the frustrations and confusion at the snub. _Has he tired of me? Has he lost interest? Why doesn't he just tell me?_ More than once, Draco had to admit that perhaps he wasn't good enough for Jean-Paul, and his self esteem took another huge plummet. The problem was that with so many hours in the day, he spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking, which, for Draco, was never a good thing.

It occurred to him that after two weeks in the North African city, he had seen very little of the sights (beyond the markets). He had hoped that Jean-Paul would take him out and about, but he was beginning to doubt if he should even stay. After all, even their lovemaking was beginning to become routine, and Draco was constantly instigating their kisses and proving himself. _Like an overeager puppy. Pathetic, really._

Even when he accompanied Jean-Paul to work, the day had not lived up to his expectations. It was a very sad reflection to think that he had spent more time in the markets during the trip than he had with his lover. _Should I even think of him as that?_

It felt like Jean-Paul was avoiding him, or worse, ignoring him. He couldn't place what went wrong, but knew that there was something fundamental that was causing this rift. He began to think more and more about what he would do when he left Marrakesh, and it was at that point that he realised he was ready to go home. He had arrived with a faint glimmer of hope that perhaps he would find what he was looking for with Jean-Paul. He had found something, but those post coital visions kept hinting at something that was just not happening. He began to question if it was even Jean-Paul in those visions, but quickly put that thought aside.

He took what he knew was going to be a final walk around the markets. As he mindlessly followed his feet through the cobbled and dusty alleys of the city, he admitted to himself that he could not be with Jean-Paul – not forever. Whatever had come between them was huge, and they had failed to communicate that, but Draco knew that even communication wouldn't solve their problems. He was finally able to see that they were not compatible in a long-term sense.

Jean-Paul was a talented healer, and Draco could not begrudge that talent. The man gave one hundred percent of his energy to the task at hand, that being his work most of the time. It was safe to say that Jean-Paul was married to his work. He had seen, and experienced the man's healing hands and energies, and knew that he was committed to his work, spending up to 14 hours a day there, so could Draco compete with that? Could he really be happy with that? _I honestly think I could love him, but can he say the same about me, and do I really want to live here and not be his equal?_ Draco couldn't fight the sense of loss at this realisation, but he knew that he would never truly be happy as Jean-Paul's partner and potions maker. He wanted his own life. _Can I have my own life with someone like him?_

The creeping feeling of unease settled in the pit of Draco's stomach as he realised the answer. _No._ He wouldn't find what he wanted in Marrakesh. No matter how much he and Jean-Paul had in common physically, there was something that just didn't click, and whatever it was, it wasn't going to be found in Marrakesh. A sudden yearning for Paris overtook him in a wave of homesickness. He thought about staying, and waiting until Jean-Paul returned from work, but he didn't think he could face another night of waiting, especially knowing that the medi-wizard might not even come home.

It only took a moment to decide that he needed to be anywhere else but Marrakesh. He needed to distance himself from Jean-Paul and regain his identity.

With a flick of his wand, all the wondrous goods he bought quickly folded and packed themselves into the now expanded bag he had brought with him. Draco wondered again if he was doing the right thing, but a sudden sense of responsibility rode through him, and he knew that if he were still there after the sunset, then he likely wouldn't be able to leave at all.

He penned a short note, not wanting to Jean-Paul to worry:

_Dimanche, Avril 6_ _My dearest Jean-Paul,_ _I feel rather rude in leaving so suddenly, but in all consciousness, I can't stay. I really should be saying these things to you in person, but there is something that has come between us, and I don't know quite how to get rid of it. Perhaps distance will help it to dissipate. I've tried to say something all week, actually, but once I get to feel your lips, or your touch, all sensible thoughts just leave my head._ _I am sorry that we could not have spent more time together – outside of the bedroom. I did have a blast every moment we were together, but I found that I was looking for more than you were offering, or could give me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I did anything to upset you. I don't want to lose your friendship – not after all you have given me, but I had to come home, as I need to set my affairs in order before I return to Scotland._ _Love,  
Draco._

He wanted to say so much more, but couldn't. He didn't know if Jean-Paul deserved any more explanation. _He can Floo me if he wants to. Perhaps then it will work out._

He wasn't running away, not really. This wasn't a problem, just another setback. Perhaps it had been a mistake to think he should continue his search for the seemingly elusive love of his life. Perhaps he was never destined to find him. It was a harsh reality that once again, he had still not found what he was looking for.

* * *

The sun was just setting in Paris as he stumbled out of the fireplace in his studio. He shivered at the sudden drop in temperature, but realised he needed to be back in his regular robes. The silence of his studio was punctuated by an indignant hoot and a sharp flurry of feathers. Melchett opened one eye at the noises disturbing his sleep, only to see his owner had returned. In his usual disdain, the owl blinked, then closed his eyes and went straight back to sleep. No doubt Emmaline had spoiled him rotten with fresh and juicy treats.

He felt suddenly bereft as he looked around his studio. In another two weeks he would be in Scotland, and this would no longer be his home. He had fallen in love with the studio from the moment he first saw it, and only now did he realise just how much he had come to think of the place as home. Despite all his bravado and firm resolutions, he suddenly felt very destitute. Had he ruined the one good thing that had happened to him that year?

As he showered away the last vestiges of the desert heat, he felt strange. It took him a while to realise that he wasn't feeling the same loneliness that usually attacked him after he ended a relationship. _Perhaps it's because you really didn't have a relationship_, he thought with a little remorse.

Lost in his maudlin thoughts, he tested his resolve several times as he told himself he wasn't going to head back through the Floo to Marrakesh. He busied himself with the task of unpacking his bag. He didn't regret his decision to go to Marrakesh. He regretted the fact that he hadn't found what he wanted whilst there. He paid little attention to the time, meticulously unwrapping and putting his new purchases away. He took great pleasure in the unwrapping of each parcel, and swiftly sent each item to its rightful place with a flick of his wand. Reaching the bottom of his bag, he felt the familiar warmth of the journal, and smiled.

I have to tell someone, and Flash needs to know. It's only right that I tell him. It was so refreshing to know that he could pour all his confused thoughts out to his friend, who he hoped would understand how he felt and why he came home.

The quill fell comfortably into the indentation in his fingers, and it was scratching away at the page before he realised it.

_Dimanche, Avril 6_ _Merlin and Morgana, what have I done? I'm a complete idiot. I just thought you should know I'm not in Marrakesh any more; I came home. I'm in two minds. Part of me wants to go back and just let him seduce all my concerns away. The other voice in my head is applauding my appalling sense of bad timing._ _**Hey Luc, what in the name of Merlin have you done now?**_ _Oh, you're there. Oh, I just realised the time – and it's Sunday. Merlin, I don't even know what day of the week it is._ _**No, it's okay. You seem a little shaken. Please tell me everything is all right.**_ _I don't know, Flash. I honestly don't. But where to begin? It's all up in the air right now, and I had to come home for some… breathing space. Yes, that's it._ _**Okay, better start from the beginning. Two weeks ago, you were dazzled by his brilliance. A week ago, you were a little worried about how much time he was at work, and now you need breathing space? **_ _Yes, that's exactly right. And I'm not being melodramatic. I guess so much time alone this week has left me feeling quite down, and I've had this overwhelming sense that I didn't belong there – with Jean-Paul. He never said a word about it – actually, we barely talked about anything that truly mattered (beyond bedroom talk). I guess my problem is really that I had way too much time to think about it, and how confused I was by his invitation. It feels like he invited me out of pity. Pity because I was a bit of a wreck when he picked me up from the poisoning, and then when I accepted, it was too late for him to take it back. No wait, that's not true. He never said that. I just feel like it was a pity invitation._ _**But did it feel like a pity fuck? Sounds to me that it wasn't. Usually that's just one occurrence. It seems you've been enjoying his pleasures practically around the clock. Did I mention just how much of a lucky bastard you are?**_ _No, it wasn't a pity fuck at all, but… oh I don't know, I've been thinking about this all bloody week. My brain hurts, and I just want a good stiff drink. Or a cigarette. Haven't had one of those in years, but I could sure use one now. All I know now is that I was looking to him to help me through a rough phase. I thought he was the answer. I know now that I was wrong._ _**Was he helpful at all? **_ _Oh he helped in the most physical of senses. I never realised just how much healing my physical body needed. The massages, the Reiki, the alignment and cleansing of my chakras. I've never felt better, actually. He is the most amazing healer I've ever seen, and I will miss that. He wanted to help in that way. I just found myself wanting more. Is it selfish to want more?_ _**No, it's not selfish to want more. Not if you are being true to yourself.**_ _Yes, I think I was being true. I guess for a while there I was hoping he was the one for me. When I sat back and took a good hard look at what we had, there was definitely something missing. I don't think it was anything physical, as such, that was overwhelmingly superb. He left me insensate more times than I care to remember. I guess I was miffed by the fact he spent more time at work than with me. I saw how much he loves his work, he is truly dedicated and fully devoted to his healing. I don't think I could compete with his grand passion. Apart from that first weekend, I haven't spent a full day in his presence; he was always at work._ _**I hate to sound like a wet blanket, but are you sure he was working all that time he was away. I'm sorry, but after Ollie, I can't help but think the worst when I hear that. He wasn't with someone else, was he?**_ _No, he wasn't. I took your advice, and he was only too happy to show me around his work. I spent one whole day with him, which felt nice, but he was so focused on his work, I may as well have not been there. He gives one hundred percent to it. I even tried to fit into his work life, and was eagerly accepted. I suggested that I help brew some potions for him (he cannot cook, nor could he even make a wart removal salve – he is hopeless around a cauldron). I was only too glad to help, but to be totally honest, I was bored off my broom. The cauldrons were thoroughly rusted, and the available ingredients substandard. I wouldn't give the resultant potions to my cat, but he seemed to think they were fabulous. Either I'm extremely picky with my brewing, or he was just being nice._ _**Well the important thing, Luc, is that you tried to help. You tried to fit in with his life, and you realised that perhaps it wasn't for you. At least you did that before it was too late. Could you imagine trying to get out of that relationship once you had committed yourself?**_ _You are right, Flash, as usual. I did enjoy some of the quiet time I had, but it felt like he was ashamed to be seen with me, or something. I wanted to talk to him about it, but every time I got the chance, his tongue was put to so much better use, and well… let's say the brain lost track of all questions it wanted to ask. By the next time I'd remember, he would be gone again._ _**The question you need to ask yourself is can you see yourself in a relationship with this man in five years? In ten years? I know I'll be asking myself the same question when I find myself ready to commit to a relationship.**_ _I tried very hard to fit into his life, Flash. You know, I can't see myself with him in five years. I tried to fit in at the expense of my own life. He loves Marrakesh, and though it's a nice place to holiday, I couldn't live there forever. The sun would play havoc with my poor European complexion. No, honestly, I couldn't. His style is refreshingly bohemian, but it's not 'me'. I couldn't truly be myself. _ _**Well I think then that you have done the right thing by heading home. You were honest with yourself. I can only imagine it would be so easy to be lured by his charms (I'm lured, and I've never met the man!). You don't need to justify the fact that he isn't 'the one'. **_ _I really don't want to admit that. I'm not consciously ready to admit it, at least. I'm in half a mind to Floo back and straight into his arms, but I can't… Gods I miss him._ _**What did he say about your decision to leave? Did he understand?**_ _He… err… doesn't know I've gone. I left whilst he was at work. If I waited until he came home, I would have lost my resolve._ _**You left without saying anything?**_ _I left a note. I've got the Floo open, and I'm expecting a call at any moment. I guess if he doesn't call, then I'll know that it wasn't meant to be and that he's glad to see the back of me. But I sure will miss the sex. _ _**I am so sorry, Luc. After such a long anticipation, you were so good, and you deliberated so long before you were with him, I feel terrible that it hasn't worked out. Perhaps he was just too good to be true. He seems like such a wonderful man.**_ _Oh, and he is wonderful. I just can't honestly commit to a relationship with him. He needs someone who has the same vision; the same focus as he does, whoever that lucky bastard is. Hell, I don't even know if he wants a long term relationship. I don't even know if he just goes from man to man and just shares the love around. We never talked. Not about that._ _**Sharing the love? You wouldn't fancy passing on his Floo address, would you? Only kidding… So has this been a learning experience?**_ _Absolutely. When I do find 'the one', you'll be the third to know. I'm beginning to realise just what I want in a relationship as well._ _**Oh? **_ _Yes. I know I just want to be myself. No shields, no hiding who I am. If he can't accept me, warts and all, then I'm not interested. I'm only kidding about the warts, actually. Perhaps then I'll find the missing piece that didn't click with I made love with Jean-Paul._ _**Sure you are only kidding about the warts. But you said the sex with Jean-Paul was amazing. What do you mean that it didn't click?**_ _Oh, believe me, it was amazing. Perhaps I'm just being my usual over critical and fussy Virgo self. I felt there could have been… more. Each time we made love, I was left with these… visions. That's the only way to describe them. They showed me that there could have been so much more… Each time I hoped I'd reach that anticipation, but alas, it never came._ _**Visions? You never mentioned those.**_ _I was fairly certain that it was Jean-Paul in these visions. I think perhaps I was mistaken, and just put his face to them. I wanted it to be him, but, well, I can't think like that – it's counterproductive. You told me once that you had to be truly happy and complete in yourself before you let yourself fall in love. Well, I don't think I'm quite there yet. I think the whole point of this liaison was to show me that I'm still not quite there yet. Despite everything, I was frustrated that I was left wanting…_ _**Well then, I think perhaps you might just find success, now that you've identified your goal.**_ _Thanks Flash. Thanks for listening. Nobody else would understand this. Merlin I'm glad you decided to write in this journal… _ _**Me too, Luc.**_ _And now I'm being a selfish git again. I've totally hogged all the limelight, and left you out in the cold. I haven't asked how your week went. Did you ever decide to approach that old friend again?_ _**Actually, yes. He dropped by just after our last chat, and we had an…interesting… chat. Oh, gods can that man kiss! But that's as far as it went. **_ _Oh, but is there a plan in the near future for more?_ _**No, no such luck. He stopped me rather quickly, telling me all about how there's someone out there just for me and when I find him, I'll be glad we stayed just friends. It was damned frustrating at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I guess that he was right. It could have been awkward. He has been a family friend since before I was born. **_ _How do you really feel about that?_ _**Well, I'm still as horny as hell. Of course, to top it all off, I saw Charlie at a party a couple of days later.**_ _Oh, and what happened?_ _**Nothing, it was a family party, so his brother kept us on opposite sides of the room all night. I think he was afraid I would jump Charlie at the first given opportunity. He seemed to take the news well when I told him, but I'm sure he would have preferred I never slept with his brother. Besides, their mother was there, and there is no way she's ever going to find out… she'd tar and feather Charlie's hide and promptly hex me into oblivion.**_ _I never knew you told your friend. His mother sounds like a hag._ _**Yeah, but he was okay, and no, his mother is just very protective. I told my friends about you too. I hope you don't mind. They were worried I was bottling things up about Ollie, but I told them I had been venting to you.**_ _Why would I mind? I'm just an anonymous nobody. _ _**Well, no, you're not. You're one of my closest friends. I have told you more than them in recent months. Now if only I could get a shag out of someone, things would be fine. Charlie looked mighty fine, but alas, that wasn't meant to be either.**_ _We really are a pair, aren't we? You know, if we don't find Mr Right by the end of the year, we should just meet up for a mutual shag. At least we'll know where we stand then._ _**I think I'll go nuts if I have to wait that long to find someone, but you are absolutely right. Okay, I'm up for it. Let's say Yule. If we're both single, we'll meet up.**_ _Perfect. Okay, now you've cheered me up. Glad to hear it._ _**Glad to be of service. Perhaps I should consider that one of my new career choices.**_ _Why not? I'll vouch for you. So you are seriously looking around?_ _**Well, I took some time off to get sorted, and now that I'm back in the daily grind, I realise that yes, a change is definitely in the wind. Haven't approached anyone just yet, but I'm keeping my eyes and ears open. **_ _Good to hear, Flash. Thanks again. I had better get some sleep. Jean-Paul hasn't Flooed yet. I don't think he's going to now._ _**You aren't going to sit by the Floo all night, are you?**_ _No, I guess not. I just thought…_ _**Well, it's like you said earlier, if he doesn't call, then you know exactly where you stand.**_ _Yes._ _**Take care this week, Luc. I do think about you, and I hope you can quickly move on from this… disappointment.**_ _I will. I promise. Good night Flash._ _**Good night Luc.**_

* * *

Draco had not yet told Emmaline of his return, and he was curious as to Petite Amie s whereabouts. Stepping up to Emmaline's door, his hand paused before knocking. He could hear voices, familiar voices. Jean-Paul was either in his Aunt's studio, or talking through the Floo. He stepped back, but could not fail to hear the words.

"... Why didn't you say anything? You are such a meddlesome woman sometimes, Emmaline!" the tone of Jean-Paul's voice brooked no amusement.

"Perhaps you need to look at the bigger picture, môn chéri..."

"Don't you dare be so condescending with me. How embarrassed do you think I am?" Jean-Paul sounded livid. Draco didn't want to hear any more and quietly walked back into his studio. Emmaline and Petite Amie could wait a little longer.

"He heard you, you know," Emmaline looked at the closed door before returning to her nephew's angry face in the Floo.

"Well he deserves to know the truth..."

"... He's not ready, Jean-Paul. He needs to see for himself. Let him." Jean-Paul huffed one more time, sending a few errant sparks from the hearth and onto the rug.

"So what do I do now?" he asked, completely unsure of what to do.

"Well, you do what you feel is right, of course." Emmaline smirked that knowing smile, before watching her nephew's head disappear and the flames return to their usual orange glow.

* * *

"Draco!" He had suspected it wouldn't be long before he heard that voice in his own Floo, and saw that face bobbing in the green flames. He turned, his heart immediately going out to the look of concern on Jean-Paul's face.

"Hi," he said bashfully. This was more awkward than his first date.

"You left…" Draco could only nod as he wondered just where Jean-Paul was Flooing from. No doubt he was using one of his work Floos.

Draco nodded. "I had to. I'm sorry Jean-Paul." He tried not to fall into those eyes, or the memory of those lips, and all the places they explored. If he closed his eyes, the memory was fresh enough he could still remember their touch. "I… I couldn't stay."

Jean-Paul nodded. "I'm sorry Draco," he honestly sounded repentant.

"I have been wondering... why did you invite me? I mean, it felt like you shunned me after a while. Did you get bored with your new toy?" He instantly regretted the bitterness that crept into the question, and wished he could take it back.

Jean-Paul seemed to sense this. "No, that's a fair question, Draco. I invited you to Marrakesh because I sensed your need. From the minute I first met you I could sense your ability to give – but you were not spiritually healthy; your disillusionment was radiating in waves through your aura. I won't deny that I knew I could help you; I guess I truly found you challenging. I still do, actually. You are beautiful, and I knew that with the right care you could open up and I could heal your wounded heart. You deserve so much love, but I don't think I am the one to give it to you."

"You backed off..."

"You needed to find that out for yourself. I am just a healer. I gave you all I could. I just don't think it was enough." Jean-Paul seemed wistful, but took Draco by surprise with his next question. "So," he asked with a glimmer of hope, "Did you find what you were looking for in Morocco?"

Draco was surprised by the question. "How…"

"It's all right, Draco. I do understand. You are seeking something - someone. I had hoped you might learn something from my invitation. I'm guessing you didn't find it."

Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry," He whispered. "For what it's worth, I do owe you so much. You've taught me so much. You've been a sexual muse, and I know that what we shared will stay with me forever, even if there was just something... missing." He spoke sincerely as he realised it was true.

That wry smile crossed Jean-Paul's face. "For what it's worth, I enjoyed every minute, Draco. It was a pleasure. I think perhaps I enjoyed myself a little too much as well." That elicited a laugh from Draco, along with a raised eyebrow.

"I… I'm sorry I left so abruptly, but you were working, and I knew if I didn't go then, I'd have trouble leaving."

Jean-Paul held up his hand. "No, its okay, you don't need to explain. I can't give you every hour of the day, Draco, but I tried to give you what I could. It obviously wasn't enough. Please don't think badly of me."

"I don't. I just wish…"

"Don't wish, Draco. I would hate to lose your friendship."

"Me too. I love your Aunt like a mother, and I don't want any bad blood." Draco realised that he would have to explain this to Emmaline.

"You're right. She'll be most disappointed."

"So, are we okay with this?" Draco asked awkwardly. He knew they weren't, but he felt so bad. Jean-Paul seemed to be taking it so well, and he felt a little guilty that perhaps they should have talked before he walked away.

"I think so." Jean-Paul blew a kiss through the Floo. Draco was still standing there long after the flames returned to their normal golden orange glow.

* * *

**April 7-13**

_He was being pulled by a magnet. That was the only explanation, a very large magnet that was somehow attracting his body instead of metal. Or was it his soul? He couldn't quite be sure, but he knew that he was helpless to do anything but follow the path of the pull. He couldn't help thinking there was something on the other end of that path, something that would make everything right again, but he had no idea what it was. Snitches began flying past him, heading in the opposite direction. He frantically reached for them – partially out of habit – and upon catching one, realised that it was merely a rock. The second one was a very large beetle. The third was clump of mud that promptly oozed through his fingers. He didn't know if he should be disturbed by the snitch that turned into dragon dung before his very eyes. Finally, a real Golden Snitch fluttered out of nowhere, hovered in his face for a moment, and zoomed off into the distance. It was heading in the same direction as that unexplainable pull. He had to follow it._

The confusing dream faded into memory as Harry was roused from sleep by the chime of his alarm. It had been so long since he'd used an alarm to wake up that he was momentarily disoriented, then finally remembered he was returning to work today. He knew he had spent a great deal of time away from work, and he really needed to go back, but he couldn't help feeling some level of trepidation. What if he lost his temper again? What if something went wrong? He'd been making excellent progress with his meditations during that last week at Hogwarts, and his libido had even begun to settle down just a bit, but he was still nervous about this.

As he went about his morning routine of showering, dressing and shaving, he thought about his dream. He was pleased that he actually remembered it, but was still confused by the continuation of that theme in his subconscious. It was only after he had dressed in his most comfortable trousers and a light jumper, and was busily shaving the stubble he'd been neglecting for most of the week, that he directed his thoughts to breakfast. He was just contemplating whether to cook something or just have a cup of tea, when suddenly he realised what his dreams were trying to tell him. Something in Trelawney's class must have stuck with him all those years ago, because he found himself with a very clear understanding that those dreams were symbolic of his life, and he was obviously chasing something that wasn't what it seemed. The true Golden Snitch would be the thing he should have, the thing that was right for him. Harry nicked his chin as his hands started shaking with the weight of this revelation. As he rinsed the blade and dabbed at the blood on his face, cursing himself for being stubborn enough to shave the Muggle way, he wondered what those Snitches symbolised. What was that elusive thing he was chasing and how could he find the real one?

* * *

"What are we doing?"

Harry smiled as he responded, "We're going on a field trip!"

"Where?"

"You'll see when we get there."

"What are we going to do there?"

"Lessons."

He sent a quick, silencing look over the small group of trainees. Claire had brought in this new group upon Harry's return, and it had only taken him a few days to realise that they were trouble. They couldn't stay focused, they didn't think on their feet, and they hated each other. He couldn't remember ever seeing a group of six people who had a harder time getting along. These kids didn't know each other and didn't care to, for one reason or another. When he spoke with them individually, he learned that, for the most part, even they didn't know why they were refusing to work with the others. He had gone home Wednesday night and put a great deal of thought into this, trying to find a solution that would work for everyone and accomplish his goal. Finally, just as he was dozing off, it came to him.

Harry held out the rusted spoon Claire had used to create their portkey. Checking to make sure that each student had the bag he had conjured for them, he waited patiently while they all reached out to the spoon. Only once he was certain everyone was ready did he mutter the activation charm.

The newly budding trees offered areas of shade, and the field was thick with wildflowers. Harry allowed a couple moments for himself and the students to settle into the landing, and look around at their new surroundings.

"Okay, I know you said we were going on a field trip, but I didn't think you meant you were taking us to an actual field, dude!" Harry had to smile at Gareth's statement. The boy had spent his teen years at The Salem Witch's Institute in the United States and had picked up a number of Americanisms in his speech.

"Yes, well, we will be spending the night in this 'actual field' so I suggest you all start unpacking those bags of yours, while I put up the tents." Harry thanked Merlin for wizarding tents, pulling the tiny packages out of his own bag in preparation. He set them gingerly on the ground, a good distance apart and facing one another so they could put a fire pit in the middle. With a quick wave of his wand, the two tents were fully assembled, and a peek inside assured him that the 'bigger inside than they are outside' aspects were in proper working order. He led the two girls into the smaller of the tents, and followed the boys into the larger tent, immediately claiming the only bedroom that didn't have two beds. He certainly wasn't interested in sharing a bedroom with any of his trainees.

By late that afternoon most of the new trainees seemed to have a decent handle on the basics of grounding and centring. Harry debated about showing them the first and most basic of the T'ai Chi katas, but decided they weren't quite ready for it. Instead, as the sun began to set, Harry began to discuss auras.

"Now some of you may have seen auras before, though you may not have realised that's what you were seeing. It's been my experience that most wizard schools don't put much emphasis on the teaching of our internal energies, and how they affect our magic. That's something I had to learn later on. We're not going to try to see auras today; instead, I want you to feel them. Start with yourself. Close your eyes and direct your focus onto the very centre of your being, your soul, whatever you visualise that makes you who you are." He paused, waiting for the calm to emanate from each of them that would signify that they had indeed found their centres. "Now, place your hands in front of you, open, palms facing one another. Then slowly move your hands closer together. You'll feel a point of resistance, like there's something between your hands. That's the edge of your aura." Harry watched as each of his students followed those simple directions and found the metaphysical edges of their own auras. The expressions of surprise and wonder that graced each of their faces told Harry precisely when they had recognised the feeling he was describing.

Briony and Donal opened their eyes at nearly the same moment and looked at their hands. Harry watched as Briony experimented, moving her hands closer together and further apart, as if testing the strength of her aura. Donal seemed to be examining the space between his hands, looking closely at the very spot where Harry, with his trained eye, could see the gentle yellow and orange swirl. As Donal focused more and more, grounding and altering his energy, tendrils of green began to seep into the swirl. Harry was impressed. It had taken him weeks to learn that under the tutelage of Snape. _Of course, if it had been someone I trusted more, and felt more comfortable around, I might not have had such trouble with it._ He compared it to the difference of learning Occlumency from Snape and learning it from Dumbledore. His personality just clashed so strongly with Snape's that it made learning anything difficult where that man was involved.

"Okay, next, I want you to get in pairs. Briony and Gareth over here; Elspeth and Donal there; and Henri and Declan on this side," he motioned for them to form a half circle of pairs around him and waited while they got into place. The cool spring breeze distracted him for a moment as he felt his hair gently brush the back of his neck. It seemed to trigger a memory of sorts, but was nothing he could immediately put his finger on. "Now, face each other and gather that focus again. Raise your hands so your palms are facing your partners, and slowly move forward until you feel that resistance again. It'll feel a little different this time because you're touching someone else's energy. Don't panic, just go with it. When both you and your partner are comfortable with it, gently begin moving your hands inside your partner's energy field." He noticed a couple of nervous glances at that statement, but they were all concentrating fairly well and he had faith that they could handle this.

"If you and your partner are doing this at the same time, you'll be mixing your auras, colouring each other's energy temporarily. This is all temporary. You won't be forming any lasting bonds or making any permanent changes to each other's auras." There were a few uneasy chuckles at that, as if they had been worried about just that notion. "Once you've gotten a good feel for the energy, smooth it over and bring your palms back to the starting position. You'll know when you've stopped mingling your energy, and you're welcome to add anything you feel necessary as closure to the experience." He had first done this exercise with Remus during his seventh year, and remembered the immediate sense of closeness he felt with the older man as a result. It was as if he'd been alone all his life, and he felt no one understood or even truly saw him, and then suddenly, someone almost literally touched his soul. They had fallen into a deep hug as soon as they finished the exercise, but Harry didn't want to push things with this group, considering their previous apathy toward one another. It was a powerful exercise, though. So powerful, in fact, that he'd only practiced it a handful of times over the years, as his intuition led him to reveal that part of himself to a very select few.

He watched with thinly veiled pleasure as his students followed that unspoken lead and embraced their partners as they finished his instructions. He knew that they would work much better together after this, and felt that the rest of the training would go better. He only regretted that he would have to return the following week to a mound of paperwork. According to Claire, this would be his last 'tutorial' session for at least two or three months, a thought that made Harry none too happy.

* * *

**April 13 - Sunday**

In spite of his early return from Marrakesh, Draco was busier than he thought. With only two weeks before he was expected at Hogwarts, he needed to finalise his business in Paris, and he very quickly lost himself in all the details of shifting his life to another continent.

Packing his studio was one of the hardest things he had to do. He kept putting off the task, but was soon packing and shrinking boxes of books, parchments, and clothing. Every spare moment, he took the opportunity to revisit favourite places one last time.

The pain charm on his knee had long worn off, and the regular pain had returned, curtailing his desire to walk the length and breadth of the bustling city. Although Paris wasn't his true home, he tried to convince himself he would not be homesick when the time came to leave. The first time Draco left home was when he was eleven, and Hogwarts became his new home. The hardest part of that move was the separation from his mother. She tried to ease his homesickness with regular 'care packages' of goodies from their elves, and little treats from his own room. He could still taste the wonderful cinnamon fairy cakes he enjoyed as a child. The Malfoy elves indulged his sweet tooth at every given opportunity.

He had grown fond of Hogwarts during his time there, but was glad to get away from it by the time his NEWTs were over. That had more to do with the war and his own duplicitous loyalties than anything else. By the time the war was over, he was just grateful to put his feet up wherever he could, without the scowls of his 'adoring' public. As he sat enjoying a rather intricate and very delicate fruit flan from the patisserie, he realised the he had spent more than half his life away from his ancestral home – the Manor. He would rather stay in Paris than have to return there, yet he was silently glad that under the new restrictions on his father's estate that the Manor was inaccessible. He couldn't imagine living there again. The most recent memories were too painful.

Emmaline had not been upset that Draco and her nephew had not 'hit it off'. In fact, she seemed quite pleased that Draco realised that Jean-Paul was not the love of his life. He quickly got back into the habit of helping her out in the store. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty that he would be leaving her alone, and mentioned that fact to her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. Why on earth would you think I am alone? I have the store, and I spend a lot of time with my customers…" she sounded rather affronted at the accusation.

"But you can't run this store on your own…" he offered in his defence. "Not to mention the fact you'll need to let my studio…"

"Your studio?" she grinned.

"You know what I mean," he answered smartly. "I just don't want to see you overdo it."

"Draco Malfoy," he suddenly found her wand pointed at him threateningly, "if you so much as dare say that I'm too old for this, I'll hex you back to Scotland, without your most prized possessions…" she glanced down at his robes, and he gulped visibly. _She would do it too,_ he thought. "Just never you mind what I'm going to do when you go. You never know. We might all have a party," she offered teasingly.

"You would too, you old hag."

"Manners, Draco. I have plans, and they don't concern you dear. Now, why don't you make yourself useful, and levitate that box down from over there…" Draco smiled. Yes, he was definitely going to miss Emmaline.

* * *

"You know I'm pea green with envy, Draco." Arianna spoke up from her coffee as they enjoyed what had become a daily session at the coffee shop with his friend. Draco raised an eyebrow at the assertion.

"Oh?" he had no idea what bee she had in her bonnet now, but he was curious.

"You are the talk of the whole department. All the lecturers are raving at how we should all wish to be half as talented as you, and then we might actually get an offer of apprenticeship. You are so lucky! I would do anything to get away from here."

"Why? Paris is best city in the world." He couldn't understand her concern.

"Yes, well for starters, you never struggled through your classes. Secondly, your father isn't the Minister for Magic," she said dejectedly.

"No, he never was, but that wasn't to say he didn't have designs on the position. What's Daddy done now?" Draco could sympathise with her when it came to their fathers. Hers was not a tyrannical lunatic bent on eradicating non pure wizarding blood, but sometimes, when he listened to Arianna's stories, he sensed shades of Lucius Malfoy. That was obviously the pureblood upbringing coming to the fore. With so few pure aristocratic families still in existence, many of the more eclectic habits and accoutrements had gone by the wayside. Gabriel le Roux, Arianna's father, was definitely old school, and he frowned upon his only daughter's desire to study.

"Well, he mentioned my twenty-first birthday party – oh, you horrid pig – you're not going to be here for it! I can't believe you'll be in some horrid dungeon in smelly old Hoggy Hogwarts." Arianna took pleasure in teasing him about the fact he had gone to Hogwarts, and not Beauxbatons.

"Like I had any choice in schools, Ari. It was Hogwarts, or Durmstrang. You sound like you are going to miss me, Ari!" he teased. "So what date is the party?"

"Of course I will miss you, you git. I have every urge to write to you completely in French, just so you don't forget that we all want you back here! Oh, I'm having it on Saturday the 19th."

"Oh, great! I can still make it! That's if you are inviting me. I don't have to be at Hogwarts until after the Easter holiday. I wouldn't miss this party for all the galleons in Gringotts!" He hadn't been to a proper pureblood coming of age since the start of the war. The fact he _wanted_ to be there didn't even enter into it. This was going to be fun!

"Do they celebrate Easter at Hogwarts," Arianna asked curiously. "At Beauxbatons we only celebrated the proper sabbats."

"Oh, I don't think it's too bad, I guess it's something we have to give the Muggles. I guess Hogwarts has had so many Muggleborn Headmasters, they had to cater to the families of all the Muggleborn students." Draco remembered his father's rant about how they were contaminating the wizarding world with their religious beliefs. He could still hear the man's rant as clearly as the day he first heard it as a child. He shuddered, glad Lucius was no longer around. "Besides," he continued, "we get twice the holidays that way. You know," he drawled, "It's the only reason why I worked as a spy during the war. I didn't want him killing all the Muggles and taking away all my extra holidays. It was so unfair!"

"Oh Draco, you are incorrigible, you know," Arianna laughed furiously. "Now that you're coming to my party, you will have no excuse not to buy me a big gift!"

"No, the best gifts come in _small_ packages, darling," he retorted.

"I know… Oh I'm going to miss the fact you manage to make me forget my horrid father, and his draconian ideals." She stamped her foot. "Can't we just owl Severus Snape and tell him that you were kidnapped and that we can't find you? That way you will have to stay here in Paris forever, and then you can't go."

"I'm sure Severus would see right through your plan. Trust me, if you think crossing your father would be bad, then I guarantee that Severus would be twice as bad."

"Oh, bugger then." They finished their coffee in silence. Yes, he would miss his friends as well. _But it's not forever, Draco. You'll come back. If only to ensure you **can** come back and find someone to fall in love with. That's if you still haven't found what you're looking for._

* * *

By the time Sunday rolled around – his last Sunday in Paris – he felt he was ready to leave. He'd had several Floo conversations with Severus, and was fully prepared for his new role. His research was all packed and ready to go, along with his other belongings. He was expected at the castle no later than the twenty-first. He decided he would spend a few days in London before then. Severus needed a few errands run, and he also needed to ensure that Gringotts and Weasley knew of his new status and contact information. It wouldn't do for the goblins to think he had gone missing as well.

The following weekend was the Muggle celebration of Easter, and in deference to this, the students at Hogwarts would be on holidays. A train would be heading back to the school on the Easter Monday, and he decided it would be nice to ride the Express one more time. _At least one trip without Potter's holier than thou attitude beaming from every fibre of the train._ _I might actually get through one trip without being hexed._

Draco desperately blocked out of his mind that horrid trip home from school he spent covered in tentacles. The only consolation was that in the absence of Lucius (conveniently in Azkaban), his mother worked doubly hard with him to pick up on his duelling skills, and it still smarted that he never had the opportunity to reciprocate the favour against perfect Potter.

_Still, if he's prone to leaks of power like I saw the other week, I don't think I would want to cross him on the duelling floor._ _Damn he looked good in those robes. Fuck! I did not just think of Potter in that way!_

The more he thought about returning to Hogwarts, the more Draco's thoughts turned to memories he would have rather forgotten about his school days. He found a frown crossing his face more often than not, as on several occasions he remembered his recent encounter with Potter.

It had come as a rather shocking revelation for him to realise that he would not be getting any decent coffee upon his return to Scotland. It had been the desperate coffee addict side of him that had begged and cajoled Emmaline into promising to send him regular 'care packages' of beans. It might seem a little excessive to arrive at Hogwarts with his own coffee machine; besides, he honestly couldn't afford one even if he wanted to. So he became resigned to the fact that he would have to coerce the school's house elves into making his coffee just the way he liked it. He never had trouble convincing them when he was at school, but then again, they knew how Lucius had treated the Malfoy elves. Especially since that Dobby opened his big mouth to every elf that cared to listen. If memory served, he was still at Hogwarts, _unless he's gone off into personal service of Potter. Damn! _

He was really looking forward to his chat with Flash. He had kept himself so busy that week, it had taken his mind completely off Jean-Paul, but he needed to connect to his friend. Every now and then he found himself thinking 'I must tell Flash', and he had plenty to tell him about Ari. Brewing a coffee, he was just about to sit down to write, when a hurried knock at the door interrupted his routine.

A flustered looking Arianna stood on the doorstep. She had seemingly dressed in a hurry, her curls flying in all directions. He suspected a glamour charm had been quickly applied to touch up her makeup, but he couldn't be sure. He hugged her earnestly.

"People are going to start wondering – what will they say about the Minister's daughter visiting the less salubrious part of town? And at this hour of the night!" He was pleased to see the grin returned. Whatever had troubled her was quickly forgotten.

"Oh, Draco. I'm not interrupting you? Am I? You weren't expecting anyone, were you? Merde, I'm a bloody idiot," Arianna suddenly seemed to realise that she should not have arrived unannounced. Looking around Draco's shoulder, she tried to peer into the studio. Draco stood back with a flourish and let her in. She seemed a little disappointed.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, pouring the coffee without asking. Arianna accepted the cup gratefully.

"Well," she sat down on the couch, settling in for a long story, "You are the only other person I could think of who might be able to help a damsel in distress," she smiled sweetly.

Draco raised a smile. "A damsel in distress? You know I prefer a lusty young squire."

"Oh, but where is your sense of chivalry, and adventure? I thought you might want to live a little – and be my escort to my coming of age ball," Arianna spoke the last sentence very quickly, hoping it might sound better.

"Your birthday party? You want me to be your escort?" he asked in shock.

Arianna nodded. "Well, it's either you, or one of those morons father is desperately trying to marry me off to. I feel like a prize cow sometimes. All they need is the right combination of magic beans, and I'll be sold to the most foppish git. I can't stand for that." Her anger was somewhat rising, but he could sense she was ready for some sort of outburst.

"Surely it isn't that bad?" he offered.

"Are you nuts? Of course it is, oh, but it wouldn't be so bad for you? Would it?"

"What are you talking about?" he had no idea what she was thinking.

Her anger was slowly rising, "That… man. _Father!_ Merde, I can't believe his audacity. I still don't know whether or not I'm angry, or sad."

"Okay, we've previously established your father's best and worst attributes. What's Atilla done now?"

Arianna took a few deep breaths before calmly explaining. "Well, he calmly tells me who is escorting me to my ball, and I flatly refused. He then threatened to pull me out of university. I hate him! I swear, one of us isn't going to live to see my twenty-first birthday."

Coming of age balls were a huge event for a pureblood witch. The rituals went back centuries, and many arranged marriages came from those escorts. Draco was beginning to see why Arianna wanted to invite him.

"So you're looking for your own 'beard' for this event?" Arianna nodded. "Preferably someone who can make those other pillocks looks even worse?" Draco puffed out his chest, relishing in the idea of helping Arianna in a moment of need.

"Of course, I thought of you immediately, Draco. Your charm, your wit, the fact that father will goggle at the thought of a Malfoy on my arm..." she nudged him with her elbow and winked.

"He's, er... not going to think..."

"Let the old codger think what he likes. As far as I'm concerned, I want to have my _friends_ at my party, and I then have an excuse to spend plenty of time with you," she almost had a pleading whine in her voice, but held back slightly.

"Of course. I'd be delighted. I was going to ask Severus to let me Floo back so I could surprise you, but now I have the perfect reason to come back!" He was grinning from ear to ear. It had been ages since he had been to a decent party, and knowing her father, it would be a party worthy of their common heritage. He was suddenly excited. So excited, he nearly missed the familiar rustle of the journal pages. Flash was writing. Damn. He hadn't realised just how late it was.

Arianna turned, and her eyes widened. She could see the purple ink that magically appeared on the pages. She stood up, getting a closer look at the journal. "Draco! You never told me you had a _Journal Intime Partagé_!" Draco was surprised to hear the proper name for the book.

"You've seen these before?" he asked curiously. Only then did he realise that Jean-Paul had a rather curious reaction to the book also.

He really wanted and needed to talk to his friend, but felt rude doing so in front of his guest.

"Of course I know about these journals, you git." She wanted to take a closer look, but Draco sat before the book, ready to pen a quick note to Flash, postponing their chat.

"No, just let me tell Flash that you're here. He'll understand, then you can tell me all you know about these journals." He quickly sat and scanned the purple writing.

_**Evening Luc! I hope you've had a better week?**_

Draco smiled at the thoughtfulness of his friend as he grabbed his quill and began to pen a quick apology.

_Hey Flash,_ _Can we postpone tonight? Ari just turned up on my doorstep, and I hate to be rude and kick her out. I'm really sorry._ _**Hey, no problem, Luc. I hope everything is all right. Same time next week? **_ _Perfect, talk to you then!_ _Adieu, Luc._

He quickly closed the journal, and joined her back on the couch.

"Flash, huh?" Ari seemed to be a little brighter at this news about Draco.

"You just keep your gossiping mitts out of there," he admonished, but her grin was somewhat brighter.

"I never knew you had one of those. That the primary Malfoy journal?" Draco didn't know what she meant. He briefly explained how he 'found' it in the bookstore, and how he felt compelled to reply to Flash.

"You mean you've never met Flash?" she seemed stunned.

"No. He's in England anyway."

"England, and you're returning to Scotland." She waggled her eyebrows at him.

"You're delusional, girlie. Besides, we're just pen pals. A couple of lost and forlorn gay young men who need a mutual shoulder to cry on about our disastrous love lives. That's all." The coffee was long gone in his cup, and he asked if she would like another.

"I see. Whatever you want to call it," she grinned as she turned away. She seemed surprised that Draco didn't know the full extent of the journal's magic. She didn't feel like enlightening him, not after hearing how he described his relationship to the other wizard. _Let him discover it for himself, _she thought.

"Look, it does appear I _was_ interrupting something. I'll let you get on with it, but thank you," she reached up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek and give him a hug. "You're a wonderful friend, Draco Malfoy."

"I'll remember that when I'm face to face with your father, and he asks me the awkward questions about my intentions towards his daughter," he mocked.

"I'm sure you'll improvise," she retorted as she left.

* * *

_Things have been in such turmoil for so long, and now I realise that my problems are not nearly half as bad as other people's. I'm escorting Ari to a party; purely so that her father doesn't set her up and marry her off to some pureblood git who has more money than sense. It feels good to help a friend, and I just wanted to let you know that it is good to have friends. Especially when lovers are scarce on the horizon. _ _I guess I'll just channel all my excess love into my friends and let them enjoy themselves. Anyway, I know I'm not saying much, but I felt I just had to share it._ _Merde! I can't believe I missed an opportunity to find out more about our journals! I suspect that once I go and sit down, I'll forget again. There is definitely some dark magic in here – some secret that we're either not supposed to know, or work out for ourselves. _ _What do you think?_ _Enjoy your week, and by this time next week, I'll be in a new place, ready to start the next act in the ongoing screenplay that is my life. I only wish Tolkien had written it._ _Take care_ _Adieu,  
Luc_

* * *

In a subtle irony, Draco was fully aware of the fact that when he left for Marrakesh, he felt he was taking control of his life. Only now, after realising that going to Marrakesh had not yielded the results he had hoped, did he realise that he had been in control the entire time, even if he never found what he was looking for.

* * *

-TBC-

**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 26-October-2004  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005

**Chapter Length:** 40,901 words.

**Author Notes:**

**Azhure's A/N:** Another mammoth chapter, and we are so glad to finally get it out. Between RL and everything, well, let's just say we're looking forward to the upcoming chapters. You can all guess why, can't you?

As for our last chapter, we had tonnes of wonderful reviews. Thank you all for your encouraging support.

**Wintermoon's A/N:** Many many thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to everyone who read, and to everyone who REC'd us elsewhere! We've had fun with this chapter, even though it's had to be squeezed in amongst all the yucky necessities of life such as school and work and moving. We would like to announce that this chapter introduces a new addition to the preparation team. **SeparatriX **has been following PSL for quite some time and asked if we would be interested in an extra pair of eyes to roam the work before sending it out to the masses. Considering the perfectionist natures of both your authors, we decided that it would be lovely to have a fresh layer of editing available and have been pleased with the results thus far! Now, in a serious effort to wrap up loose ends, we are both planning to devote a little time (muse willing) to updating our other WIPs, but rest assured that we will be getting to chapter 13 in the very near future and will have it available for your reading pleasure as soon as possible!

So huge thanks to:

_**Shiseidox, Crimson Colored Cloaked Figure, Menecarkawan, Emily22, Silvia-Silver, driven to insanity, futago akuma-tenshi01, Angel-Wings6, Marlee, CelestialDrgn, Immortal Tears of, Moonybody, katsparrow69, Memeal, thedarkside45, Roslyn Drycof, Honour Nature, Awe, Kasia, Lelimo, M'Ladym elfwiththebrows, futago akuma-tenshi02, Obscurus Imber, CuriousDreamWeaver, Emerald Icicle**_

**_Ackyllin_** _- We're very honoured you stuck around after chapter one, Ackyllin! Hope this chapter was as good for you as the last 11! _

_**AnnieT** - Sorry about the really long wait for this chapter, but hope it's worth it!_

_**Autore** - Will Harry meet Jean-Paul? Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. We'll see. We'll see. And that's all I'm saying on that!_

_**ddz008** - I hope you don't get into too much trouble with your Mom for reading this! Glad you loved the story, even if you can't quite put your finger on why you like it. That's a sign of a good story (at least it is to me!) so thank you for your wonderful words! And welcome to our fic! Glad you're enjoying it!_

_**Dragenphly **- Apologies if you have no more fingernails left. Here's the next nailbiting chapter. We left enough time between them just so yours could grow back in time!_

_**Hitomi-des** - Well now we've resolved the Snape isn't Flash issue. But that's not to say that Severus won't ever find out... maybe. Perhaps._

_**It'sJustMe** - (from WM) Wow, only story you're following on I'm feeling a bit honoured. :) Okay, so I hope you're feeling better now about the Jean-Paul thing? He sorta jumped into Azhure's head and from what I (Wintermoon) could tell, he just wouldn't go away. As you can see, though, he appears to be gone. Oh, and about the ranting and the lazing around… wonderful advice, and I'll be doing a bit of both before I head back to school! (from Az) - Wow - the longest review ever! Thank you! You know, I was worried that Jean-Paul was a little bit Gary-Stu, but as you can hopefully see, he's not perfect, nor is he the one for Draco. He's a workaholic who is excellent at what he does, however, he knows about these journals, and is hurt that he never knew Draco had one. I struggled with writing him this chapter, as I wanted to get rid of him, but leave an avenue there just in case we need him to return. Oops, did I say that? And thanks for your suggestions for time out! I do have a rant now and then, even if it is only to Wintermoon! As for getting out and about, I was in Sydney this weekend staying with Fayee and her darling husband. Pottered around the markets and send photos of Lemon meringue pie to Wintermoon over my phone (halfway across the world). I am certified! _

_**Jen Red Robe** - Hmmm, Jen, you are very good for asking some very pertinent questions about Draco's knee... and that's all I have to say about that... :) and, Is Harry going to teach at Hogwarts? What gives you that idea? He went back for advice and help, yes… but teaching? Hmmmmmm…._

_**Kaaera **- glad you like it. If you do find some spare dollars to send Azhure to the United States from Australia, then please email us with the funds. ;) (WM adds - yes, there will be no argument here!) So as mentioned before, Azhure lives in Australia, Wintermoon lives in the USA. Now that we've cleared that up, climb down the wall and enjoy the fact that you got another 40 page chapter despite the fact there was no visit involved._

_**Lalaluu **- surely we wouldn't use forgotten dreams as a plot device. Never! Of course not! ;)_

_**Lilya** - thanks for leaving a review Lilya! Glad you could join us!_

_**louise4** - Glad you love our Charlie. I hope you don't hate us for this chapter, but as you can see, it looks like Harry and Remus will never happen. Oops, did I say that? Never say never. Never rule out any pairing. But yes, it does look like the way is now clear for Harry and Draco to get together, doesn't it:) Well, as you can see it doesn't always take a visit to get 40 pages out of us. However, that idea of someone immigrating isn't a bad one… Wintermoon eyes Azhure pointedly and sighs in frustration at US immigration regulations_

_**Michael Serpent** - Glad we could keep up to your very high expectations, Michael! Always a pleasure to hear from you!_

_**MJLuvsPolar** - Unfortunately, Ms Wintermoon and Ms Azhure have been censured from speaking to any case workers from S.P.A.A.M. Suffice to say that the Muse is currently enjoying her new working conditions._

_**Rowenna** - (from Az) Yes, believe it or not, we did meet through ff . net and now we've found the other halves of our brains, which is very nice! (from WM) Yes, you assume correctly, we met through began beta-reading for each other on Blast from the Past and Saturn Returns while simultaneously working out the beginnings of ideas for PSL. It's so nice to figure out where the other part of your brain has gone to! (special note - I've left these two responses as they were individually typed to emphasis the freakiness of said brain-sharing.)_

_**saFire flame** - is Harry going to be staying at Hogwarts too? Hmmmm. That's a very good question. _

_**Sailor Grape **- Thank you sooooo much for the lovely review! We're so glad that we could help you to forget about your RL troubles for a little while (or a couple of days even!). Glad you and everyone else enjoyed their little meeting and their near misses. We had a lot of fun writing those scenes. Now, I know you might not have liked the Jean-Paul action in this chapter, but, as you can see, I think he might just be out of the picture. Unless, of course, Autore gets her way and we have him meet up with Harry. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm._

**_SeparatriX_** _- Thank you for your in depth review. We are glad you wanted to read it more than once. We intend to keep up the good work, and there are a lot of new things in this chapter and beyond that should keep you coming back for more. Thanks again! As for the dreams, we are neither evil, nor wenches, we simply report to you what happens to the boys. We don't control them, you know! We're honoured that you appreciate our work enough to want your name added to it! Thanks for the beta!_

_**Singukusa** - Hmmm, on the journal - got it in one! On being a new reader of PSL - WELCOME! On the extreme praise and gushing - no apologies needed, it is much appreciated and quite inspiring! On the pond - right again, Azhure lives in OZ, and Wintermoon in the south of the USA. A goodly 15 hour time difference. Thank Merlin for yahoo messenger and very cheap phone text messaging! _

_**Tangledhair** - Hey tangled! Yeah, Harry is in a bit of a fix at work. Nobody should be in a deadend job for that long. Things are looking up for him, we promise! Wow - don't ignore the community! They need you hon! I'm sooooooo glad you liked it!_


	13. One Step Closer

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
****Chapter 13: _One Step Closer..._ **

_One step closer to knowing,  
__One step closer to knowing.  
_**U2**

**Notes:**  
Text in _**Bold, Italics:**_ Diary entries from Flash, newspaper articles.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams, Letters, or Diary entries from Luc.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

* * *

**April 15 - Tuesday **

Harry's week had started off in such a promising way. The field trip with the trainees had gone extremely well, and Monday's classes had gone as planned. He was hoping that he could convince Claire to move him into a permanent training position, despite the negative reaction that idea had received back in head office. The trainees really seemed to like him, and responded well to his tutelage. He couldn't see why the higher-ups would deny him this opportunity.

A meeting with Gordon Bridgewater during lunch on Monday showed Harry just how out of touch the Aurors seemed to be with the current situation. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the reaction Gordon had when he expressed his concerns regarding the Neo Death Eaters. "Oh, not to worry, young man, that's being taken care of and will all be water under the bridge before you know it! Hahaha! Water! Under the Bridge!" He pointed to himself in his amusement, "Bridgewater! Hmmm!" Harry had merely stared in amazement. He couldn't believe anyone who ran a department of the Ministry of Magic could truly be so imbecilic. When he voiced his concern to Claire, she merely patted him on the shoulder, like a little boy, and suggested he keep doing his very best, and Gordon would eventually come around.

Harry went home with a distinct sense of déjà vu. Were these folks even more stupid than Fudge? After a couple of glasses of good wine and a quiet dinner of pasta and salad, Harry finally realised that nearly everyone in the Ministry – with the possible exception of Arthur – worked to their own agenda, and only took action if it affected their own personal goals. _Am I any different for wanting to teach everyone?_ He thought about that for a while. _No, I guess that I'm not. I'm doing it for the good of everyone else, not myself. Will they really care if I do quit? Will anyone really miss me? _

Harry mulled through those thoughts until he dozed off on the couch. He tossed and turned all night, more so than usual. The sun was barely breaking over the horizon when he sat up with a start, sweat pouring from him. His scar throbbed for the first time in many, many years. Harry ran his hands through his hair as he shook the fog of pain from his mind. He was left with no doubt what his restless sleep indicated.

"Ah, fuck!" he crawled off the couch and struggled to the bathroom. Harry had been connected to Voldemort through his scar. Until he managed to successfully tackle Occlumency, his sleep had been troubled by dark magic. The sheer lack of dark magic since the end of the war had led Harry to forget to clear his mind before going to bed. Whatever the case, a severe amount of dark magic had been cast nearby some time during the night. It was the only possible explanation. The Neo Death Eaters had done something – something big, and Harry knew it.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Harry showered, and downed a quick headache potion with a cup of chamomile tea. Surely they wouldn't dismiss his help now, would they? He doubted Gordon would be so flippant if the Neo Death Eaters were causing mass havoc. He Apparated to work with a new sense of determination. Perhaps _now_ they would make use of his skills and training.

The scene at the office was reminiscent of the buzz of activity during the height of the war. He looked over at the boards, curious as to who was assigned to the case. He wasn't surprised to find almost everyone was assigned to the new case. However, his temper flared as he saw two very surprising things on the board. He took a deep breath. It was time to have a rather frank discussion with Gordon.

Harry strode purposefully towards Gordon's office as he tried to keep his temper in check. He didn't hear Claire calling for him, but he flinched when she grabbed him in the hallway, a look of frazzled relief on her face.

"Oh Harry!" Claire was clearly flustered, "I'm so glad you're here!"

"What the fuck is going on out there, Claire?" Harry yelled. He didn't care if anyone heard him.

"I think we should discuss this in my office, Harry," she offered firmly.

"Fine!" he fumed as he followed her into her office. He slammed the door, not caring that the haphazard stacks of paper on her desk flew in all directions. Harry could feel his temper starting to lose a little bit of control.

"Harry, settle down, please," Claire pleaded.

"I won't! I don't understand, Claire... why have half the bloody trainees been sent to the scene, and I'm sitting in there with a red mark next to my name? What idiot said that I'm unfit for active duty?" Harry couldn't believe the red cross twinkling beside his name on the board. Every Auror dreaded the 'unfit for duty' mark, as it usually marked the death knell of any Auror's career. Harry had been dreading something like that happening, but seeing that they were sending half trained students instead just made him even more furious. "Do you have any idea just how bad it's going to be when they get there? Do they realise what those Neo Death Eaters did last night? I'd be surprised if half of them are even ready to face the scene."

Clare looked at Harry with rigid worry, "How... how do you know? Your clearance was revoked—"

"Did you conveniently forget about this, Claire?" Harry pointed out his scar, which was much clearer than it had been in years. "You forget about my built in barometer when Dark Magic is concerned. I wasn't just connected to Voldemort, you know," Claire winced at the name, but Harry continued "You all know that I can sense when extreme amounts of Dark Magic are being used. Do you honestly think I can just sit back when others sift through for remains of last night's activities? I can tell you _exactly_ how many Cruciatus curses were wielded..." Harry stopped when he noticed the filing cabinet drawers opened spontaneously and the files exploded in an explosion of parchment and gold sparks.

"Oh shit," he cried. He hadn't noticed just how out of control he was. Claire just blinked and looked at him sadly.

"Harry, just calm down, please," she offered, but Harry could see that she was backing away. Harry mentally chastised himself for being so foolish. He had not practiced his control for a couple of days, and now he was spontaneously blowing up files and letting his temper get the better of him.

"It's... oh Merlin, Claire. I just can't stop thinking about how foolish everyone is. Yesterday Gordon was carrying on as if the Neo Death Eaters were a bunch of toilet exploding pranksters. Now he's telling me that I'm not to get involved..."

"He thinks you are too close to the case, Harry. That's all. Please don't take it personally. Although, I know he would be glad if you could prepare a report with what you know. That's about all you can do now." Claire spoke soothingly, but Harry could see the small touch of fear in her eyes. She knew just how dangerous an out of control Harry Potter could be.

"Sorry about your files, Claire. I'll sort them out," he took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Harry, I don't know what's been going on with you. You've been taking so much time off, and all this out of control magic. I can fully understand why Gordon would say you're unfit for emergencies. Besides, we really need you here, Harry." Claire let out a small smile.

"You need me?" Harry repeated the words in mild disbelief. Only a few days earlier he'd been wondering if he was truly appreciated. As he calmed down, he could see some sense in why he would be deemed unfit for the case. He still didn't agree with the decision to send raw trainees to the scene of what he could only imagine was extreme carnage.

"Yes, Harry, we do need you!" Harry's hopes soared. Perhaps they really did appreciate his input. It wouldn't be too late for him to make an impact on the future Aurors.

"Why only yesterday Wiglesworth was crying out for help with his classes, Harry. I told him that you would be perfect to go and help him." Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. Wiglesworth was the Ministry's top trainer. Harry had admired his work, both when he was a student and since he had been working with the man as well. He tried hard to use as many of the man's ideas in his own classes. Perhaps things were looking up if Wiglesworth needed him. _They must have finally realised that I'm more than competent. Maybe I'll be getting my own classes,_ he thought, hopeful for the future.

Claire must have mistaken his hesitation. He almost didn't hear what she said as he was so caught up in his own thoughts.

"—So he seemed relieved to know that you'll be there to supervise the larger class. He was thrilled that he could spend extra time with each student whilst you mark their tests and do all his filing – you know – all the stuff that would take his attention away from his students."

Harry couldn't help a wry smile as he felt his blood pressure being to rise. Of course. How could he be foolish enough to think these people would have suddenly come to appreciate what he had to offer. For just a moment Harry was reminded of his childhood with the Dursleys. Did they only see him as some sort of glorified house elf? Was all his training and experience only good for doing paperwork?

Harry's mulling and dithering finally began to coalesce into a firm decision. For days he'd been toying with the thought of resigning. They obviously couldn't see beyond his name, or the fact that he didn't complain when it came to paperwork. He had no future in the Ministry, and they certainly couldn't see his worth. He certainly didn't need the money, or the stress. For the first time in ages he felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. Luc had been right, he was worth so much more than these idiots would ever realise. He didn't deserve to feel trapped and useless, he'd had enough of that for one lifetime. It was time for Harry Potter to be his own man.

"I'm sorry Claire, but I don't think I'll be able to assist Mr Wiglesworth." Harry stood, a feeling of certainty was in his words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long while, Harry was absolutely certain about what he was about to do.

Claire looked up in surprise, "Don't be silly, Harry. Of course this takes precedence over your normal work. It's such an honour that Arthur Wiglesworth even considered you to do this for him – it's a great honour to our branch here in Somerset." she didn't really understand what he was trying to say.

"No Claire, I don't think you understand. I'm through. I'm done with the lot of you."

"What are you saying, Harry?" Claire looked up from her paperwork in obvious confusion. She hadn't really been listening to him for the past few minutes.

Harry conjured a parchment and placed it right in front of her. "I'm saying that I'm resigning. Effective immediately. Seeing as I'm currently unfit for duty, I can't see how you could refuse."

Claire was thoroughly stunned. She shook her head, unsure she was hearing correctly.

"Don't worry, I'll clear my desk and be out of your hair before Gordon gets back." Claire was still in shock as Harry turned and walked down the hall. Nobody noticed as Harry packed a small box of his personal belongings and Apparated away.

* * *

Of course, that decision seemed rash and foolhardy an hour later as he paced in front of the fireplace back home. Harry had tried several times to calm down, but was not being terribly successful. He had warded his Floo, not really in any mood to debate his decision with Gordon. Someone – Gordon no doubt – had been eagerly trying to call him the whole time. He had even closed all the windows to avoid the owls that were beginning to hoot and holler outside.

His pacing was erratic as he furiously went from deep concern to complete apathy about his job – former job. Hermione had been right all those years ago. He really did have a 'helping people' thing. He couldn't help but worry about the Neo Death Eaters and what they had been up to. Harry was itching to make someone see sense and realise the depth of the danger they posed to society. These were undoubtedly some of the higher ranked fugitives who were assembling in an attempt to reclaim some of their former glory.

Looking around, he saw no reason why he should stay in the flat. He felt stifled. Harry needed to find himself before he could move on. Somerset meant nothing to him. The flat was just a place – full of memories surely – but Harry could see no future there. He was completely uncertain where he would go, or what he would do, but he knew that he needed to cut ties with this town and get on with his life. He recalled his earlier plans to move to London, and smiled.

Harry unblocked the Floo as he attempted to make a few calls of his own. There was no answer on the first couple of calls, but he finally got through when he tried to talk to Albus Dumbledore.

"Harry!" the Headmaster's smile was genuine. "I was wondering when you might call. I understand you've caused a little stir down in Somerset." His words didn't surprise Harry – he assumed the news would get around the grapevine fairly quickly, but he sensed no judgement coming from his old mentor.

"I'm sure you've already heard all the details, sir. I just need to get away from here for a while. I can't put up with the Ministry and their blindness any longer. I honestly don't know how you can stand it, sir. All these years. I hope they don't let it get out of hand again."

"I think that's a wise idea. Don't worry about the Ministry, Harry. I'm sure that Rufus Scrimegour and our new Minister will stop the rot before it gets out of hand."

Harry nodded. "I nearly lost it again today. I had a bad night last night. I, er, haven't done any Occlumency in ages and I think I felt every dark curse. I... it hasn't felt that bad since the war. Ah, Merlin, I feel so bad. I just..." Harry faltered, not wanting to think what would happen next if the Neo Death Eaters got the better of the Aurors.

"Harry, you have to stop taking everything personally. Yes, it's bad, but it really isn't your fight. Do you really want to be back in the thick of things? You told me yourself you were quite happy to never get involved again," even through the Floo Harry could see Dumbledore look at him over the top of his half-moon glasses.

He nodded reluctantly. "I know. But I just can't help wanting to get involved. There are Death Eaters out there and it's not over. At least they want to stir up a pot that's long forgotten. Why can't they leave well enough alone?" Harry sighed with frustration over his own conflicted thoughts.

"I'm not focussed, sir. I really need to get away. I have to regain my focus. I, er, nearly lost complete control again when I was in Claire's office. Even if I don't fight these Neo Death Eaters, I have to learn to control my own reactions to their dark magic."

"That's a wise decision, Harry. Where will you go?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"I... hmmm," a sudden thought struck Harry. He hadn't thought about the man in years, but suddenly the thought of controlling his errant magic made him think of an old tutor, one who taught much of what he now needed. Harry couldn't remember the last time he even thought about Lao Kuai, but he knew that he needed to seek the man's guidance if he were to regain his focus. "Sir, do you know where I might find Lao Kuai?" Harry asked.

The headmaster smiled, "Don't worry, Harry. He's already expecting you. I'd suggest you pack light." Harry only raised an eyebrow. Of course Dumbledore was always one step ahead of Harry, and he learned years ago to never be surprised at the old wizard's foresight.

Harry smiled in return, "So where am I going?"

* * *

Sitting under the blue-tinted light of the full moon, Harry closed his eyes and relaxed into the moment. He hadn't been at all surprised to find Lao Kuai waiting for him after he took the Portkey Dumbledore provided him. It had only taken Harry a few minutes to magically pack his entire flat into a few boxes. The headmaster offered to look after Harry's belongings whilst he decided the next direction in his life. He also promised to keep Remus and Hermione informed of Harry's whereabouts.

He wasn't surprised that Lao Kuai was back home in China. Hainan Island, just outside of Sanya, to be precise. Although he had been surprised to find himself invited to stay in the venerable old wizard's own home on the southern-most tip of the small island off China's southern coast. It was indeed a world away and after just one day, Harry already felt his focus returning. The warm weather was a significant change to England, quite unlike anything Harry had experienced before. The closest he had come had been his recent time in the south of France.

Despite their similar ages, Lao Kuai and Albus Dumbledore were like chalk and cheese. Harry had very quickly reacquainted himself with the firm taskmaster's expectations. Despite nearly a whole day of physically tiring exercises, he sat – lotus position – on the soft sand of the beach as the sun set and the moon rose. Breathing in the cool sea air, Harry began tapping into the earth underneath him and the water crashing in front of him. He smiled as he finally reached that calm centre deep within. How could he have ever doubted his decision? Of course it had been the right thing to do. For the first time in many months, Harry affirmed that he had done the right thing in resigning, albeit with a little external prompting.

As the days went by, Harry began to re-associate himself with the subtleties of Eastern magics and was pleased to recognise the slowly building control that was returning with time. As he planted his bare feet firmly in the sand and assumed Eagle Stance to begin his T'ai Chi exercises, his mind cleared and his worries eased. He knew he had needed this desperately, the soothing sensation, the simple control… it surprised him just how quickly he felt better. He was calmer and focused which gave him a little more confidence.

He had been worried that his troubles might have been medical, and had even considered contacting Hermione about it, but the isolation and regular tutelage of Lao Kuai was doing him a world of good. The peace he felt within was a signal to him that he had finally reached that place of control which meant he was no longer in danger of losing his temper and actually hurting someone. He would just have to continue these practices on his own once he returned to Europe.

After only four days, both Harry and Lao Kuai felt that Harry had made great progress. For the first time in his life, Harry realised that he would need to do these exercises for the remainder of his life. In the words of Lao Kuai, he had been gifted with great magic and it was his responsibility to keep that 'gift' under control. Lao Kuai had related it to riding a tiger, and how important it was to hold on and not let the tiger take control. Harry smiled. He had forgotten just how that control could help with those other urges that had risen at the same time as his uncontrollable magic. Harry still felt as horny as ever, but he managed to resist the urge to wank during every waking moment.

Harry smiled and blushed somewhat at Lao Kuai's lecture about the relationship between his magic and his sexual urges. That had certainly been a revelation. He would have certainly remembered _that_ lecture if Lao Kuai had chosen to tell him about it when he was seventeen. Now all he needed was a willing partner to share his new found knowledge with. He was sure Luc would get a kick out of it when Harry told him. Some of the positions to focus the mind and energy were positively wicked and he looked forward to trying them out.

By Saturday, Harry was feeling so much better that he decided to relax in other ways. The landscape had provided ample opportunity for Harry to take many pictures to add to his collection. The markets had been crowded, and his translation charms a little rusty, but Harry found the stalls fascinating. The stalls were ripe with everything from fresh fish and produce, to herbs and a myriad of other indescribable and seemingly inedible items. Harry had no real idea what he had actually purchased, but he had been pressured into a few of the purchases by the insistent market sellers.

His self imposed isolation had been exactly what he needed now that he had regained control, but after seeing a rather exquisite looking book, he was reminded of Hermione, and knew it was time to contact his friends back home.

Hermione would be proud of him for taking the initiative in regaining his control in such a responsible manner. He knew that she could understand the ghosts of his past that still haunted him, and the hurdles he had overcome in stepping forward like this to capture that control once again. He poured himself a cup of plum wine and took a small sip as he made himself comfortable in front of the fire. A flash of Floo powder and a few words, and there was Hermione's familiar smiling face.

"Harry!" Hermione seemed genuinely relieved to see him. "It's so good to hear from you. Is it true that you quit the Aurors? Are you all right? Where are you? Professor Dumbledore said you were safe and well, but as usual, he gave us no details. What have you been doing? But more importantly, when are you coming back?"

Harry couldn't help the laughter; it was rare to see Hermione in such a state of excitement that she couldn't wait for the answer to a question. "Completely true, I'm fine, in China, yes Dumbledore is completely vague, I've been with Lao Kuai regaining my focus and I don't know yet."

"Oh, he helped you a lot in seventh year, that's good. Has it helped?" She nodded approvingly.

"Immensely. How are you and Ron doing?" He had neglected his friends for so long; it felt good to reconnect, even from half a world away.

"Not bad. Ron's his usual self – running around in his secretive way with his work. I was expecting it to be quiet whilst the students are on holidays, but I've just been busy this afternoon helping Poppy. Madame Hooch had a near fall from her broom, and we've decided that she shouldn't be flying again until after the baby is born. Of course, she's not very happy about that, so it's been a bit of a struggle to keep her calm and force her to listen to us."

"Oh, I forgot that she was pregnant. Is everything all right?" he asked in genuine concern. Harry had fallen off his broom enough times to know the danger. He could only begin to imagine how that might affect an unborn child.

"Oh, they are both fine," Hermione waved casually, "it's just a precaution for the future safety of the child, you know. The trouble is Dumbledore's talking about cancelling the rest of the Quidditch season and she's determined to make sure that doesn't happen."

Harry took another sip of his plum wine as he listened, but nearly spat it out at the horrid notion that Quidditch could be cancelled. That hadn't happened since the Tri-Wizard tournament and he hated to think of an unfinished Quidditch season now. "Wh-why would they do that?"

"Because there's no one to replace Madame Hooch on such short notice. She'll be grounded for the remainder of the school term, and there's no one else here who's even remotely qualified to take over that position."

"I'll do it!" The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think about them, but he knew immediately that he meant them. It seemed that fate was pointing him to a possible new career, even if it only was for a couple of months. The idea of combining teaching with his love of flying and Quidditch was more than appealing. He missed the cunning smile on Hermione's face before she asked him to wait just a moment while she called for the Headmaster.

In what seemed like an inordinately short amount of time, Harry had been officially offered the position of temporary flying instructor and Quidditch coach. Even though it would be Easter Sunday, Harry was only too happy to Floo to Hogwarts the next morning to meet with Dumbledore, his new employer, and begin to get settled before the students returned from their break.

* * *

Draco woke with a start as the wailing of a banshee drove him out of his slumber. He sat up quickly, responding instinctively to the sudden noise. He immediately regretted it as a thrumming pounded in his head and the bright daylight pierced through his bloodshot eyes. He fell back against the pillow and sighed deeply, instinctively grappling for his wand on the bedside table and silencing the piercing noise with a short, sharp jab. It was way too early to be awake, especially for a Sunday.

_Bollocks – I forgot how annoying that wakeup wailer is._ The resulting quiet was more deafening, as the residual wails reverberated through his very delicate head. _Surely I didn't drink **that** much last night – I couldn't have. So much for that resolution, _he snorted.It took quite a while to pull himself up and make his way to the kitchen. There was no doubt he was in need of a Sobrietus Potion if the severity of the hangover was any indication. He could not recall a party he had enjoyed more – not in a very long time. It had certainly been the fine send-off from Paris he had imagined, even if he hadn't been the centre of attention.

_Why did I promise Severus I would be there today? Ugh!_ His head was still pounding from excessive quantities of wine and whatever else managed to pass his lips at the ball. If he had not promised Severus he would be in London to escort the students on the Hogwarts Express, he would have made the Sobrietus, and headed straight back to bed until a more respectable hour. _Honestly, it's Sunday – and it's too bloody early to be awake._ His knee also took the opportunity at that moment to twinge in protest at the memory of the previous night's excessive dancing. He pondered making a mild analgesic potion at the same time.

It took only a moment's confusion at the empty kitchen to realise that he no longer had the facilities to brew anything. All his cauldrons and equipment had been packed, and were well on their way to Hogwarts. For that matter, even if he could transfigure a cauldron, all his ingredients and stores were safely packed and gone as well. "Oh bloody bollocking hells!" he cursed and chastised his lack of forethought in having packed everything. _Why today, of all days_? Of course, now all he craved was something to stop the headache and quell the nausea.

Unfortunately his well determined resolution to abstain from drinking had lasted until about five minutes after he met Arianna's father. It had been an interesting and unforgettable night – one he doubted that Gabriel Le Roux would forget either.

* * *

Arianna had cunningly neglected to mention to her father that it was Draco Malfoy escorting her to the ball, and the French Minister was nigh on apoplectic to find the well heeled, yet infamous wizard accompanying his only daughter. Arianna's timing was impeccable, and their introductions were made just as the media surged forward to talk to the Minister, thus distracting him from the imminent and embarrassing confrontation. Of course, his manner didn't fail to hide his bristling anger at his daughter's impertinence. Draco recognised the man's barely repressed shock behind the false platitudes and smiles he gave to the reporters.

Again, Lucius' reach had stretched farther than Draco had anticipated. Living in Paris, Draco had avoided the aftermath of his father's deeds, but Gabriel Le Roux had a long memory. After Voldemort's initial defeat, Lucius sought to extend his political influence further a field. Draco knew his father had had dealings with the French Minister, and he also knew of the man's intense dislike for his father's overt political machinations. It was no surprise that Arianna's father was having a hard time separating Draco from that power hungry man. _Here we go again,_ he thought as he pulled every ounce of charm out of his considerable repertoire to appease the man.

The Minister had little love for Lucius, and Draco could easily see the man thought he was made from the same mould. Rising to the challenge, Draco went about proving that the only thing they had in common was a name. Draco wooed everyone he met, flawlessly stepping into the role of the head of a long renowned pure-blood family. He treated the pure-blood traditions with the respect they deserved, putting aside some of his distaste during the evening. He escorted Arianna as she was 'presented' to the gathered guests, and to society as a whole. He even put aside his own discomfort to dance with her, albeit not terribly well, and garnering sympathy for his 'war injury' along the way. He played the part of the perfect gentleman with aplomb – wooing everyone from the youngest witches to the eldest matron.

Much to his chagrin, Arianna kept him from letting his eye rove over the assembly of available male guests, but he kept his focus on having a good time with Arianna. Not that it stopped him from occasionally indulging in the passing eye candy. He was honestly having a great time helping his friend and immersing himself in the role of well heeled young pureblood that he was. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed being in such company, but he watched carefully and saw the polite veneer of many of the guests as they spoke with him. He knew it would always be like this – the mistrust and doubt would follow his every move. Even here in the highest echelon of French pure-blood society they would always associate him with his father. _What do I have to do to prove to them that I am not my bloody father?_

He had needed just a small amount of Dutch courage to sustain his pleasant demeanour when he would want nothing better than to tell them all that they were all mistaken. He had to prove it to them, and helping his dear friend dodge the unwanted advances of those foppish young bachelors was what he would do. He was not unused to this sort of behaviour from society, but with the help of a few drinks he managed to forget and play the role he intended that evening. After all, it was only a few people giving him that look of disdain, and he really didn't want to let them spoil his fun. He would have to prove his worth to these fools and idiots. _Better get into practice, after all, I'll be doing this all over again once I get back to England._

Draco quickly lost count of his drinks after so many toasts, and his resolution was long forgotten. Still, it had not been in vain, and he had still managed to show Arianna's father (and any other doubters) that he was certainly not the same man as his father. Gabriel Le Roux had ended the night in a completely different type of shock from that he started with. His original scepticism was replaced with respect for his daughter's young friend.

Seeing that his daughter was in rather capable and competent hands (Draco had assured Mr Le Roux that he would never compromise his daughter's virtue), the old man left the younger partygoers to their own devices. Their plan had been a success! The foppish suitors were long forgotten, and the stylish younger set partied until the wee hours of Sunday morning.

Of course, by the time Draco and Arianna were sipping coffee in the quiet back room of Emmaline's, Arianna was beaming from ear to ear. Emmaline had asked Draco to watch over the store whilst she visited friends for the Easter weekend, so he had the keys.

"I can't thank you enough, Draco! You have been the perfect friend and escort," she seemed a little depressed now that the euphoria of the party was over.

"Shhh, you asked me to help, remember? Are you sure you're going to be all right now? I mean, your father isn't going to be pressuring you in any way, is he?" Draco was concerned for her immediate future – especially now that he was heading to Scotland. She had become a close friend over the past months, and he was honestly going to miss her. He didn't doubt that her father would be back to pressuring her into marriage the minute he was no longer in sight. "You father seemed curious as to my intentions towards you. _That_ was an interesting conversation," he raised his eyebrow as he recalled their awkward chat. "Of course, now he has no concerns that I would sully your virtue," Draco fluttered his eyebrows melodramatically and Arianna burst into a fit of giggles.

"I think you managed to put father in his place, at least for a while. I wouldn't worry, Draco. I think tonight has shown him that I can make some decisions for myself, even if we nearly gave him a heart attack!" she hugged Draco tightly. "Oh, I'm going to miss you. Are you sure you really have to go?" she asked, knowing the futility of her question.

He sighed in regret and nodded. He took Arianna in his arms, giving her a marvellous bear hug, kissing her chastely on the forehead. "I'm really going to miss the opportunity to ogle those marvellous breasts. Why didn't you have any gorgeous brothers with cute arses I could ogle instead?"

Arianna slapped him playfully. "Get out of here you great drama queen!" Her manner quickly changed and she became serious. "You know, I am being serious, Draco. You didn't have to do that for me tonight, but you did it anyway, and you did it so well, even _I _almost believed you! I don't think you realise just how wonderful you are, Draco. You have so much to give. The guy who manages to snaffle you up will be the luckiest guy on the planet, and I for one will slap down the next guy who breaks your heart."

Draco's mood suddenly darkened at the thought of his unsuccessful love life. He didn't want to think about his last failure. Jean-Paul was still too fresh to remember, and he had to hold himself back several times in the last few days to stop himself Flooing back to Marrakesh. "I don't know Ari," he sighed. "Perhaps I'm just meant to be alone. I mean, why do I keep making so many mistakes? How do I know this move back to Scotland isn't another mistake?" Draco hadn't meant to tell Arianna of his uncertainty, but the alcohol was now doing the talking in the maudlin early hours of the morning.

"Don't you dare think that of yourself, Draco." Arianna put her cup down and put her hand over his. She was being sincere. "You will find your Mr Right. I don't doubt that for a minute. You have to believe that. You never know, you might even find him back in the UK. Don't underestimate yourself – and don't you dare hole yourself up and be Mr Antisocial. I know you don't really want to go to Scotland, but don't close yourself off if the opportunity for romance arises."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know, between you and Emmaline wanting to help me, you'd think I could find _someone_. Even though it didn't turn out with her nephew..." he sighed, "I guess that wasn't meant to be." Draco seemed a little sad about that, but in the end he realised he wanted more than what he could get from Jean-Paul. Even if he still ached to be around the man. "But because you asked so nicely, I'll promise that if a nice, hot English boy comes my way, I won't cower into my cauldron and hide away. Although I think the chances of that happening at Hogwarts are pretty slim."

"Hmmm," Arianna seemed thoughtful, but didn't say any more, "We all love you very much Draco, and you'll always have a place in our hearts back here. Please don't become a bitter and twisted old man. We couldn't forgive ourselves if that were the case." Draco nodded reluctantly at her words. He still found it hard at times when people admitted that they did see past his barriers and tap into who he truly was. Flash was like that too.

Draco felt a yawn threatening and tried, but failed, to hide it. "If I don't get a decent sleep, I'll never get to London in time to stand in that bloody ridiculous queue at the Ministry." Once admitting his weariness, his body automatically rebelled and he suddenly felt extremely weary as he could not control a series of deep yawns.

"Well then, you'd better set yourself a wakeup wailer, hadn't you?" Arianna hugged him again, returning his kiss affectionately as they said their goodbyes. He was truly going to miss her, and everything else about his new found life in Paris. He vowed in that moment that he would indeed come back.

* * *

Draco was feeling somewhat more alive after hauling himself out of the shower and gratefully remembering the emergency box of potions in his travel trunk. The headache tonic, followed by a Pepperup Potion wasn't the best hangover solution, but it was all Draco could get his hands on. He couldn't even ask Emmaline to do the charm for him, as she would be out of town for a few days. Draco remembered their rather sad and awkward goodbyes the evening before. He was going to miss Emmaline even more than he would care to admit. She had been a constant figure in his recent life, and he would miss her soothing and motherly presence.

His movements were excruciatingly slow as he avoided anything too sudden. He still didn't know how Muggles could live without magical means of ridding themselves of a hangover, but he was building up more respect for them with each passing moment.

By the time it came for Draco to actually leave his studio - and leave Paris - he found himself reluctant to do so. His travel trunk was the last of his belongings to remain with him. The bed he'd slept in was part of the original furniture and he truly missed his own bed. All his personal belongings had been packed and shipped to Hogwarts. The _Elf Express_ expatriation and removal service had been there on Friday, and Draco had been pleased with the job they did in moving his belongings.

The elves were extremely thorough and very eager to please such a well paying client (Draco was at least pleased that the cost of the move was covered by his apprenticeship contract – he couldn't bear to think of the cost to his own dwindling funds). Unfortunately in their eagerness, they became a little overzealous and had managed to move the bathtub and toilet before he realised what they were doing. Draco quietly took the head elf aside and mentioned that the fixtures of the studio had to remain behind. He had to stifle a laugh as he assured the elf that yes, Hogwarts was well equipped with bathing facilities – facilities he was looking forward to using again. His furniture had been packed and he wondered momentarily at the lack of witty and excitable commentary from the silent mirror on the wall. The studio's original furniture had been brought up from to basement to once again inhabit the nearly empty studio. Draco was not used to Muggle mirrors, but upon looking at his reflection, he knew only too well what his own mirror would be saying about his rather sour disposition.

Looking over the studio in one lasting moment, he stopped as memories of the past three years in the studio came rushing back. He could still vividly recall the first moment he stepped into the quaint studio, soaking up the atmosphere of the light and airy room. He recalled every success, and failure of his research in the cramped kitchen. Looking back over the bed, he could not fail to recall the best, and worst of the memories he shared with each of his lovers, even those he would rather forget. The slight frown at the bitter memory of Ginny Weasley was enough to pull him out of his sentimental mood.

He really couldn't stomach any food, but anticipating a hellishly long wait at the British Ministry, he knew he would have to eat something, for fear of passing out. Goodness knows what they would do with him if that happened. He wouldn't put it past them to shuffle him off to Azkaban – after all – didn't they all suspect him of being a Death Eater? It was going to be hell just being back in the United Kingdom. _Best not think about it just yet._

He was bitterly disappointed he couldn't have one last Emmaline made coffee on his last morning in Paris. In fact he couldn't find any store open, not a single café. He ventured further, and eventually came to a garishly lit store just outside the Wizard quarter, in the Muggle precinct. The coffee was vile, and the ham and cheese croissant was overcooked and flat – not that he could really taste it. The overly bright neon lights were not helping his headache, and he again wondered how Muggles coped with their own hangovers. He didn't doubt they would have some pharmaceuticals that would assist them, but Draco knew the risks involved with Wizards using Muggle drugs. _How many times do I have to vow to never drink again? _

There was still one more errand before he was ready to take the Floo journey to London. Petite Amie had mysteriously disappeared the day the elves had arrived, and she had not been seen since. Draco had searched high and low, as had Emmaline, but the cat was nowhere to be found. Emmaline had suggested perhaps that the cat knew of the imminent move, and had no intention of leaving her home city.

"Promise me that if you find her again, you'll look after her, Emmaline?" Draco asked desperately the night before. He never realised just how much he had become attached to the tabby cat. Despite her haughty airs, and her regular disappearances, Draco had become quite accustomed to having her around. He couldn't bear to entertain the thought that perhaps the cat had been caught in the move, and was now sitting in a transfigured box somewhere at Hogwarts. She would not take too kindly to that at all.

He made one final desperate search for the errant animal, but to no avail. No Emmaline, and no cat. He didn't have Melchett either, having sent the owl off with a letter advising Severus he would be on the train Monday to escort the students back to Hogwarts.

Draco had been surprised by Severus' request a few days earlier. He was concerned by a number of small news stories appearing in the Muggle and Wizarding press. Draco knew the man better than to question his concern. Apparently these stories showed the Neo Death Eaters were starting to show their true colours – even if Severus was the only one to recognise them as the culprits. Severus suspected that a train full of mostly Muggle-born students could present a target too good to pass up, and Draco agreed with his assessment. He was only too happy to provide some form of protection for the students, even if they were oblivious to the possibility of the inherent dangers.

Double checking the studio for any forgotten items, he glanced at the new apprentice robes atop the other items in his trunk. He winced at the idea of having to wear the unrelieved black robes, but knew that it was only the least of his sacrifices in taking this road in his future. His own robes of deep plum with the fawn shirt and plum waistcoat were new, but helped him to feel a little better. He would hang on to the last little freedom from those detested robes as long as possible. He smiled as he could imagine Flash's response to his sentimentality. Somehow he could picture his friend's words when he told of his sadness at leaving his new home.

Pulling his fob watch from his pocket, he saw that it was well past time to get to London. With one final sigh, he closed the latch on his trunk, and cast a few protective charms on it as he levitated it into the fireplace. He would have loved to shrink his luggage, but he would no doubt have to open it for inspection at the International Wizard Lounge once he arrived at the British Ministry. Besides, he was carrying a few ingredients which reacted badly to any form of transfiguration, and these were packed carefully at the bottom of his trunk. There were some things he just wouldn't trust to the magic of the House Elves. He was stoic as he quickly Flooed away, not wanting another long and drawn out moment to regret his departure.

* * *

As he suspected, the queue at the Ministry entrance was longer than when he last came to London. Merlin knew why anyone would willingly come to London – the weather was atrocious. The glum and gloomy rain outside could not have been more in contrast with the bright and sunny morning he just left behind in Paris. He sighed heavily, causing more than just a few stares from the others waiting patiently in the queue. He leaned heavily on his levitating trunk for support as he settled in for the long wait. To pass the time, he brought out the newspaper he bought with his breakfast back in Paris. His headache prevented him from reading it earlier but now he had nothing better to do, so it would keep him from hexing everything in sight in his boredom.

_Le Prophète Quotidien_ was not the European wizarding world's most fastidious source of news, but it was sure easy to read when he was not in the mood for highbrow discussion. A familiar photo on the front page made him curious, and he reluctantly put on his reading glasses.

It was most disconcerting to find his own face plastering the front page of the Paris press, but there he was, happily grinning whilst dancing with Arianna at her birthday ball. Draco had forgotten that there had been reporters at the ball.

_**Miss Le Roux was amiably accompanied by a very special friend, Mr Draco Malfoy; war veteran and heir to the Malfoy Estate. A recent graduate of l'Institut, Mr Malfoy will soon take up residence in Scotland at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as an Apprentice Potions master. **_

He wondered just how they would know about his apprenticeship, and raised an eyebrow at the wording of the article. _Very special friend_? He smirked at the realisation that their ruse had worked. If this didn't dissuade any suitors from courting her, then nothing would. He hoped that Arianna's father would stop hounding her to get married. He knew that helping her had been the right thing to do. _Flash would be so pleased_, he thought. _I helped a friend for no personal gain!_

_Merlin and Morgana, don't these social pages have anything better to report on?_ He had soon forgotten the picture and scanned the rest of the page for anything remotely interesting. Looking up, he could see the queue had barely moved. It was going to be a very long wait.

The line eventually moved, but Draco was still a long way from being at the front of the queue. He barely looked at the rest of the social pages and completely skimmed over the Quidditch section. Draco usually avoided the Quidditch, but it seemed all anyone talked about was the shocking career ending injury to some French national player. Everyone in Paris had been talking about Lucas Fournier, and even Draco knew the talented player's career had been ended by one bludger too many. He could sympathise with the man's injuries, but couldn't muster any further sympathy.

The elderly witch in front of him had finished with her copy of _The Daily Prophet_, and she kindly offered it to him. A snippet of text caught his eye as he flicked through the pages. He turned back quickly, desperately hoping he had misread the quote.

_**Disturbing scenes rocked the quiet Muggle village of Porlock, Somerset, in the early hours of Tuesday morning. In scenes reminiscent of those from the height of the war, an entire street of Muggles was found to have been tortured and murdered, their homes burned to the ground in an obvious copycat Death Eater attack. Muggle authorities have explained away the incident as a gas main explosion. According to them, the main gas line exploded, causing a chain reaction to all the homes connected to the main line.**_

**_Further investigations reveal that the deceased bodies showed injuries consistent with long term magical torture. More than one body showed signs of having been held under the Cruciatus curse for extended periods of time. All extremist groups have denied all knowledge of the atrocities in Porlock._**

**_No official statement has been released by the Auror Division, but reports in the Muggle press show Muggle eyewitnesses reporting dazzling green lights clearly visible prior to the main explosion. _**

**_Ministry sources have denied reports of a cloud in the shape of a skull sighted hovering above homes on the evening in question. In what appears to be a Ministry cover-up, the facts of this report were vehemently denied when this reporter approached the local chief Auror, Gordon Bridgewater._**

**_"Those claims are complete nonsense. Death Eater attacks? Don't be ridiculous. If the Muggles say it was a gas explosion, who are we to disagree? The Dark Mark has not been seen since the defeat of You-Know-Who by this department's own Harry Potter, nearly three years ago. How could this be a Death Eater attack? That group doesn't exist any more. The Muggles who claim to have seen the green lights and the skull were only teenagers, and we all know how prone to exaggeration they are, especially when they think it will give them some attention."_**

**_No official statement has been made by the head of Magical Law Enforcement. The Minister for Magic was also unavailable for comment._**

Draco hovered over the words '_Death Eaters_'. A cold chill crept up the back of his neck. It couldn't really be happening again – could it? _Severus is right, they are becoming bolder in their plans. Damn!_ For a while, the whole notion of the Neo Death Eaters seemed a little unreal, despite the fact they were probably spending up big on the money they swindled from him. Had they been this prominent in the local news? Seeing the evidence for himself brought it closer to home. Damn! Draco really needed to pay more attention to the news from now on. He sobered quickly enough as he realised the importance of his presence on the Hogwarts Express.

His anger simmered over the embezzlement, and as he turned the page, it heightened to all out fury as he was confronted by a half page photograph of Harry Potter. Draco sneered at the candid shot of Potter kneeling before a young fan and signing an autograph. Draco didn't have to wait long for the prat to provide the girl with a winning smile. She was besotted and looked up at her hero in utter adoration. Draco scoffed. _I'm not even in the bloody country proper, and Potter's already annoying me with his existence. Still, it's good to see the git finally conversing with someone his own mental age,_ he thought uncharitably. He had conveniently forgotten the English media's fascination for all things Potter, and frowned accordingly. In his disgust, he tossed the paper aside, missing the rubbish bin by a few inches. The newspaper seemed affronted by this ill treatment, and carefully folded upon itself before lifting up and diving straight into the bin. Draco rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long three years of hell if he was to be confronted with Potter's face in every newspaper.

He tried to find a modicum of quiet as he continued to wait in the queue, but concerns about the Neo Death Eaters continued to plague him. He knew that when he finally caught them, they would be begging for mercy. Nobody fucked over a Malfoy, not ever. He might have been careless enough to let them steal from under his nose, but did these fools forget that Draco had been trained by the best? Even though he was a spy, he had been trained as a Death Eater, and undoubtedly knew more about revenge and torture than many others. Lucius' teachings might actually come to some good use after all.

He was soon lost in a daydream of revenge. The others in the queue were concerned by the evil smirk that adorned his face as he leaned on his cane and feigned sleep.

* * *

Three hours later, a fuming and very wet Draco stormed into the _Wandering Warlock_ in Diagon Alley Seeing the fury on his guest's face, the concierge led Draco to his room immediately. A rush of air followed the savage slamming of the door as Draco entered and sank gratefully into the chair by the fireplace. He threw his cane in anger and it cluttered harmlessly as it came to rest not far from the hearth. _Bloody idiots._

It had been as Draco suspected. The Ministry had taken a keen interest in Draco's arrival in the country, and accordingly treated him with the usual disdain and suspicion he had expected. After declaring his name and surrendering his wand for inspection, the seemingly disgruntled security wizard looked up sharply, immediately recognising Draco. The man then made a terrible farce of trying to get Draco to step aside – claiming that a full inspection of his trunk was standard procedure for all wizards returning to the United Kingdom.

He had been isolated in a magic free room whilst a pair of spotty young security wizards took his trunk. They then proceeded to leave him alone for a whole hour as they no doubt searched every compartment in his trunk. He really wished he had gone through with earlier plans of placing hexes on it – no doubt they were expecting him to do something like that.

The ignorant cretins didn't even think to offer him a cup of tea. Being in a magic free room was distressing enough – but being left without so much as something to drink was just deplorable manners. He didn't care if it tasted like decomposing dish water – they could have at least made the offer. Still, he didn't let that time go to a complete waste as he quelled his anger long enough to sit and rest his eyes quietly. He was glad for the respite, as he was not expecting the interrogation that followed. The pair of spotty youths turned out to be Aurors, and they grinned in their obvious delight at finding a small wrapped package which they threw carelessly on the table.

"Mr Malfoy, are you aware of the contents of this package?"

"Of course, I packed it. It's raw aconite. You should be careful with that," he offered.

"You admit to being in possession of this item?" the spottier security wizard asked incredulously.

"Yes." Draco replied shortly as they gave each other a knowing look.

The more senior of the two wizards spoke. "I'm afraid, Mr Malfoy, that we shall have to confiscate this, and the remainder of your luggage for further inspection."

"What? On what grounds?" Draco couldn't understand what was wrong with his bringing in a package of aconite. He knew he had a lot worse ingredients in his bags, but nothing that was unstable, or illegal. He wasn't stupid enough to do that. Besides, he had managed to offload what few illicit items he had owned before he left.

"You are aware, Mr Malfoy, that aconite is a 'Ministry Controlled Substance'. All purchase and supply of such a dangerous substance must be made with Ministerial approval. I'm afraid that we must take it, and in light of this breach of policy, we are required to confiscate and search the remainder of your belongings for any other illicit substances. This is not a trivial offence." The taller wizard seemed to be nervous as he spoke to the former Death Eater – with very good reason.

Draco was livid. How could the Ministry try to control the supply of something like Aconite? "Since when has it been illegal to bring aconite into the country? What's next – boomslang?" he asked sarcastically.

"Aconite is a potentially deadly substance, Mr Malfoy..."

"I am aware of that," his simmering ire exploded and he stood, knocking his chair back. "I am returning to this god forsaken country to finish my Potions apprenticeship and I need..." the second security wizard interrupted his tirade.

"You'll still have to register your interests with the Ministry, and a controlled supply of aconite will be provided to you if suitable grounds for use can be proven," he replied smartly.

Draco could not believe the Ministry's stupidity. Why would they want to control aconite? It was the major ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion. If he had to go through some stupid paperwork just to get his hands on some every month, it would be a nightmare. This was going to have a serious impact on his research. _Not to mention my bloody Gringotts balance. No doubt they've also set the price, and I bet it's a lot higher than it is back home._

It took another half hour of heated discussion, but the young security wizards would not back down. His luggage was to be searched for any more illicit ingredients, and fines issued for attempted 'smuggling'. The Auror division would also be notified. Draco could not believe their audacity. One mistake was not a case of smuggling. He could sense the young security wizards were pleased at their find, and they took their time as they painstakingly went through every compartment of the trunk.

Draco managed to keep his anger from exploding under a cool demeanour during this humiliating process, but soon realised that this was what life was going to be like now that he was back in the land of the living hell. _Thank you, father, for your everlasting legacy. _

* * *

Of course, by the time he left, he was so infuriated and humiliated that he never noticed the pouring rain as he left the Floo at Diagon Alley. His fury had been on simmer long enough to cause the inevitable explosion of temper upon his arrival at the hotel.

It took quite a while for him to eventually settle down. He _accioed_ the brandy snifter from the sideboard, and poured a glass with a shaking hand. Still suffering the remnants of his hangover headache, he managed to nurse the glass and only take a few sips as he forced himself to calm down.

He always knew the Ministry was full of idiots, but he had no idea they were now controlling the supply of potentially dangerous ingredients. He couldn't understand it, and he was a little annoyed that Severus had neglected to mention it. Things were going to be harder than he first thought. Staring out the window, the gloomy weather did nothing to raise Draco's spirits as he wondered if he really should have come back. _Did I have a choice? Is this the shite I'm going to have to put up with for the next three years? Should I be missing Paris this much all ready? Is everyone going to treat me this way? They probably will if they have memories as long as mine. I guess I'll just follow Severus' lead and keep to my little corner when I get to Hogwarts. Surely if they see I'm minding my own business, they'll leave me be._

He was too tired and was considering the very inviting bed across the room, when a sudden rattling in his trunk drew his attention. Frowning, he opened the trunk cautiously with a flick of his wand. _What could they have possibly left in my trunk that would set it off? _He was surprised to see his journal wriggle its way out of a side pocket, flipping itself open as it lay atop the other items in his trunk. His sour mood lessened somewhat as he gathered quill and ink. A chat with Flash was just what he needed.

* * *

Harry was in two minds about leaving China. Lao Kuai's guidance had been refreshing, but Harry knew that he had to return to his real life sooner rather than later. He'd spent the remainder of Saturday and part of Sunday morning wandering around with his camera, hoping to gather a nice variety of new photos to add to his collection at home. The sun setting over the ocean, the beautiful lanterns glowing around Lao Kuai's meditation gardens, the unique architecture of the area that couldn't be found in England… Harry knew these photos would turn out beautifully and would offer him a tangible reminder of the sense of peace he'd found here. He understood himself well enough now that it was easy to recognise that this sense of peace came not from the environment itself, but from the internalised lessons he had learned here. So long as he carried those lessons with him, he could tap into the control and the calm in his centre and felt certain that it would have a profound affect on his life.

He ate a late lunch with Lao Kuai on Sunday and thanked him in the traditional manner. One lesson that fascinated him the most about the East was the concept of honour and tradition. Everything in the East was steeped in centuries of tradition. He formally bid his teacher goodbye, and knew he would be honouring his teacher by practicing his renewed skills every day.

Harry had forgotten the time difference, and arrived at the Floo in the Three Broomsticks before breakfast on Sunday morning. The International Floo ride had been rather nerve wracking, but Harry felt glad to be home, and glad to have nearly a whole day up his sleeve.

A sense of excitement followed his leisurely walk up to the school. Heavy clouds gathered and it looked like rain was about to set in, but he had plenty of time to walk up to the school. He'd thought to surprise Remus first, but wasn't ready to interrupt him this early in the morning. The regular hustle and bustle of the school was absent on this holiday, but breakfast was obviously happening in the Great Hall. The unmistakeable aroma of bacon, eggs and kippers wafted through the main hall.

As he poked his head through the giant doors to the Great Hall, he spotted a handful of students breaking their fast. He grinned at the group of bleary-eyed Gryffindors in Quidditch uniforms. Hermione mentioned that at least half the students were staying at school during the holiday. Apparently this number included the entire Gryffindor team, who didn't look terribly enthused about their early morning practice. A quick look up at the head table showed a few of the staff were also enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

With a wide grin, he strolled through the hall and greeted his new colleagues. Hermione got up and gave him a big hug, and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall greeted him warmly. Looking around, he saw no sign of Remus, nor any of the other staff.

"Why don't you join us for breakfast, Harry," the headmaster offered.

"Oh I just ate a huge lunch with Lao Kuai," he admitted shyly. "But I wouldn't say no to some tea and toast."

Hermione nodded as he took a seat next to her. "Good idea, you don't want to let the time difference affect you too much." As they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, Harry talked about his time in China, how he reconnected with a number of forgotten routines and exercises. But now he had nearly all the time in the world to work through those routines and keep his magic under control.

"I can't thank you enough, sir, for letting me fill in for Madame Hooch."

"Oh, no, we should be thanking you, Harry," the headmaster replied. "I would not be the most popular headmaster if I had to cancel the Quidditch season with the most important games still to be played." He looked over his glasses at Harry. "Are you sure you really want to do this, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Of course. It's not like I have anything else to do, is it? Besides, I'm sure the break is just what I'm looking for. I'm thoroughly sick of being stuck in a dead end job." Nobody at the table missed the hint of anger in his voice. Nobody commented on it either, but everyone was quickly distracted as a few mail owls arrived. The Daily Prophet landed in front of Hermione and Harry was surprised to find Hedwig make a grand entrance as she swooped down and landed gently on his shoulder. She was very happy to see him. Harry took the letter and traded a piece of bacon he swiped from the Headmaster's plate.

Harry's jovial mood fell and he quickly sobered as he read the letter. "Oh bugger..." he murmured.

"What?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I'm supposed to be in London on Tuesday. They won't accept my resignation until I fulfil all aspects of my contractual obligations. Well I'm certainly not going. They've got all the work they're going to get out of me," he huffed as he threw the letter Hermione's way.

"Oh no, Harry. I really think you need to go to London," Hermione sounded grim as she read the entire letter. As usual, Harry only read the first few paragraphs. "They say here that a failure to attend will result in legal action being taken by the Wizengamot. Oh Harry, you didn't give them a full month's notice, did you?"

"Bugger," he mumbled into his tea cup. He didn't want to deal with those idiots in the Ministry any longer. It was a futile exercise. He looked over to his new employer for assistance.

The headmaster didn't seem terribly perturbed. "You really should go, Harry. I doubt they will want to hold you to your full obligation. I guess this meeting will just be a formality to wrap up any loose ends. I can only assume they want you to fill out a few reports – the Ministry does love its paperwork." Harry laughed at that thought.

"What if they want me to keep working?" _Damn, this is going to make me look a right fool. I'm supposed to be working at the school now. I have new obligations. I don't need this crap._

"I don't think you'll have too much to worry about, Harry," the headmaster seemed unconcerned. "We really don't need you until the start of May, so if they do try to force your hand, you can give them a few days before then."

Harry seemed a little less worried now that the headmaster seemed so calm about it. _Keep your calm, Harry. Don't let small things get to you._ Hermione threw the Daily Prophet his way and he enjoyed the opportunity to catch up on the news. He was not surprised to find the report of the Neo Death Eater attack had been brushed under the rug and explained away as a gas explosion. Seeing Gordon's blatant use of his own name in the article raised his ire.

Totally disgusted with the man, he flicked over the page, only to be confronted by a large photo of Draco bloody Malfoy smirking smartly up at him. Harry rolled his eyes as the photo Draco began to sneer at him. Draco's female companion was all smiles and gave Harry a sly wink when Draco wasn't looking at her. Harry ignored the pointy git as he read the accompanying text. _So Malfoy really didn't fall that far from the tree. No doubt he's wooing the Minister's daughter to expand his own political agenda. Typical. Still, _Harry thought with a little pang of regret, _just goes to show that he's really definitely straight, no matter how bloody good he manages to look._ He couldn't help but admire the obviously expensive robes, and was even more frustrated to realise that he was wondering about the body beneath them.

Disgusted in his own roving eye, Harry quickly moved on and read the rest of the social pages. He was glad to see that Lucas Fournier was heading back to the UK after his injury forced him out of the French Quidditch league. His worry about heading to London was soon forgotten as Harry took great pleasure in catching up with the Quidditch season. For once, he had no strong feelings either way about Puddlemere's loss to the Tornadoes. He had definitely moved on.

He couldn't help but be naturally concerned about the Neo Death Eater attack in Somerset, but a long chat with Remus after breakfast helped him realise that he didn't have to worry about it. It wasn't his concern any longer. Remus was glad for the company and he agreed with Dumbledore's assessment about his meeting in London.

"You know, you really didn't have to move all your stuff in this way, Harry," Remus offered as he helped Harry to bring his furniture and belongings out of storage and into his new rooms. The headmaster had offered Harry his choice of the vacant suites in the staff wing of the castle. Harry liked the light and airy suite. The large window overlooked a small courtyard and a small section of the Quidditch pitch in the middle distance. The pale sandstone walls were a relief to the regular monotony of the castle stone.

Harry had not thought twice about moving in to his rooms the Muggle way – lugging boxes from storage and into his rooms. He had been renewed with energy since returning from China and needed to keep himself busy.

As they dragged the last box into the room, Harry slumped over the couch in relief. This was going to be his home, at least for a while. He had no regrets about leaving Somerset so abruptly. His rent had been paid and he honestly wasn't going to miss his neighbours.

Remus returned with a couple of cold Butterbeers to quench their thirst. Harry's mind soon wandered back to his concern about going to London. Remus shrugged off that concern.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. They probably just want one final photo opportunity before they lose you forever," Remus said.

"You're right, you know. I really don't give a toss. I wonder if they've realised just what they're losing with me," Harry questioned. He began rummaging around through the nearest box and became distracted.

"Of course they do – now. They should have given you those classes when you asked for them," Remus agreed. "It's good that you're here, Harry."

"Is it, Remus?" Harry cocked an eyebrow, unsure if his old friend's words held any hidden innuendo. Even Remus was unsure what he wanted, but having Harry close was a little conflicting. He could see the younger man was so full of bountiful sexual energy, but he knew the truth and reasoning behind that, and couldn't help but keenly feel the loss of Sirius even more.

Harry couldn't work out why Remus suddenly fell silent, but followed the werewolf's line of sight. Remus gazed longingly at Harry's journal, and for a moment he thought he could see a pang of guilt in Remus' eye. Harry could only guess that Remus felt the loss of Sirius more keenly at times like this. He put a comforting hand on Remus' shoulder.

"You still miss him, don't you, Remus?" Harry asked softly.

Remus nodded. "Always," he swallowed hard.

"Did Sirius write in this journal often?" Harry was curious now.

Remus nodded again, not trusting his voice. "All the time."

"I never realised just how close you two were, Remus. I still sometimes think of him and wish he were here."

Remus touched the journal and smiled, but quickly brought himself out of his maudlin thoughts. "So, you've been writing in it now? Who's at the other end? Is he nice?"

"Yeah, Luc is pretty good. We've been talking for quite a while now. I only brought out the journal now because we normally sit down on a Sunday night and write. It's one thing I really look forward to now."

Remus couldn't be sure, but he suspected Harry didn't fully understand the implications of the journal. _Surely he doesn't think that…_ Remus shook his head. It wasn't for him to interfere. The magic of the journals was already at work and it didn't need any interference from one lonely old werewolf, no matter how good his intentions.

"Well Harry, I had better leave you to it," Remus smiled as he showed himself out. From the broad smile on Harry's face, he knew that his friend, Luc really meant more to him than he realised.

_**Hello Luc, I hope you're there, I have loads to tell you, and most of it is good. **_

**_Luc, are you there? You haven't had a better offer, have you? _**

_Hey Flash, sorry I took so long to reply. I am ashamed to say I am so tired, I nearly forgot our chat, which is crazy because I need to hear a friendly 'voice'. The journal's just been trying to escape from the bottom of my trunk. Sorry about that. I guess I'm still a little disoriented from another day from hell._

_**Oh? Why's that? And why is the journal at the bottom of a trunk?**_

_It's been a long day. Suffice to say I was in Paris this morning, and I'm in London now. I forgot how dreary and depressing this place is. I had a little 'discussion' with those security wizards as I came through Immigration at the Ministry, and got on their bad side because I had no idea that some of the potions ingredients I brought with me were 'Ministerial Controlled Substances'. Anyway, I had words, and they had words, and we all understand each other perfectly now. My purse has been lightened by a few galleons, and I will be writing the necessary letters of complaint. But enough on that. How are you? You said you have loads of goodness to tell me – I could do with hearing some good news._

_**I'll tell you all about my news after you tell me why on earth you are in London. What brings you over to this side of the Channel? I thought you were heading off to a new job with your mentor.**_

_I told you my job required a change in location. I might have neglected to mention it required me to live on this gods-forsaken island. My mentor is actually here, in the UK. I'm already missing the weather back home, and my new friends. Still, nothing I can do. My mentor expects me at work tomorrow, even if I'm suffering a hangover just like a Muggle._

_**You? A hangover? What happened to brewer extraordinaire? **_

_I went to Ari's birthday party, had a little too much cheer, then forgot I'd packed all my stuff and had it shipped here. And my petite mère was not around to do a Sobrietus charm. Subsequently, I'm a little delicate. So don't scratch that quill too loudly..._

_**And you didn't think to let someone else do the charm? **_

_Not really. There still aren't that many people I'd trust to do such a complex charm – at least not someone I trust to do it properly._

_**I see. I know what you mean. Come to think of it, I don't think I'd trust just anyone to cast Sobrietus on me, either. So you're here in the UK? For how long? **_

_Oh, Merlin. I'm here for too long. Still, I have no choice, as I have to repay my debt to my mentor. At minimum, at least three years. Still, if I could convince him to come and work in Paris, I would head back there in a Flash (no pun intended, Flash). What about you? How's your week been? Has this good news anything to do with your 'Love Life'?_

_**The 'Love Life'? Well, that's non existent. Most action I've had recently was our flirting last week in the journal. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable with that. **_

_No, I was just as much a willing participant as you. Still, that will be the most action I'm going to get in the foreseeable future, now that Jean-Paul is out of the picture. So if the love life is non existent, what is your good news?_

_**Well, now. I really can't believe I did it, but, well, I did. I told my esteemed employers to 'sod off' (none too politely, I might add). I quit and threw in the towel. I was surprised at myself for doing it, but I had just had enough of the stupid gits, and I kinda quit whilst I was angry, which I know isn't a good thing. I took a short trip to the Orient to calm myself, and managed to get some great new photos to add to my growing collection. Now it seems my luck is turning around; a temporary job has fallen into my lap. It's not my first choice of work, but it's fun, and I will have a blast. But it's only going to last until June. I was talking to one of my friends, and one of her colleagues had an accident. They were threatening to make lots of cancellations because they couldn't find a replacement, so I just happened to volunteer my services and to fill in for her. Luckily, I'm amply qualified to do the work. **_

_Hey, that's fantastic. You know, it might sound strange, but just from your words, I sense you are a lot happier. I am sure it must be a huge relief having quit. This other opportunity was just proving fortuitous. You are very lucky. Although I do hope that the injured colleague is all right._

_**Oh, it wasn't a bad injury, luckily. It's funny you know, I'm actually a little nervous about this new job. I never really thought about doing this, but I am excited and nervous all at once. I guess you'd call that apprehension. What about you? I bet it must be nerve wracking to have to start a new job, and move away from home at the same time. I guess this job is really taking me back to my home, which is something I didn't think about until just now.**_

_Hmmm, yes. Well I wasn't surprised by the Ministry's lack of trust when I arrived. I am used to people thinking the worst of me – it's all connected to my former notoriety. I just know that I am going to have that mistrust following me around until the moment I go back home. But to be truthful (as if this journal allows me to tell you anything but the truth), my job will keep me away from too many people, and if I'm very lucky, I'll be able to carry out my research in peace and quiet. I doubt too many people around here will be upset by that._

_**Why do you think that? Surely your former notoriety can't be that bad. You certainly aren't a former Dark Lord - I have it on good authority he was finally killed. I don't know of anyone else who could have such a bad reputation as you say. I trust that whatever it was, it was some long forgotten indiscretion that led to your infamy?**_

_Well, not so much an indiscretion as a misunderstanding. You know, you make it sound all so simple, and I feel so much better for just letting all my pent up anger out, even if you have to listen to me drone on and on. I have two friends on this continent, and you're one of them. I am so pleased I could tell you about this today. Thanks for being here to listen to my ramblings. I'm sorry about that, but my hangover is still hanging around, and I am tired, and normally I am much more eloquent, but I am trying to say that at the moment, you are one of the few people that I can trust. _

_I don't need to be a seer to know that things are not going to be easy for me here. I doubt anyone would believe me anyway. I know I'll need someone to talk to, and I am forever grateful for the fact that you are here. Owls back to Paris won't give me that instant answer I need to solve my problems. Besides, I will have to admit that I have told you things that I haven't dare mention to my friends back home. For some strange reason, I trust you more than anyone I know. Perhaps the fact that I don't know your physical self is what makes me believe that if I were to meet you, I could trust you implicitly._

_**I honestly don't know what to say, Luc. I guess I am very trusting, I will admit that, but I suppose I am proud to think I've never really broken anyone's trust before, even though others have stomped all over me. Maybe I am too trusting, but I can say exactly the same about you.**_

_I should hope I can trust you. If we ever meet, you'll have enough ammunition to really hurt me if you wanted to. _

_**No need to worry there, Luc. I think that you could do just as much damage to my reputation, and I wouldn't want to hurt you. I thank you and am honoured that you have placed your trust in me. I promise I won't let you down. So, what would it take to make the public get over their little misunderstanding that lead to your fifteen minutes of fame in the press?**_

_Fifteen minutes of fame? What do you mean?_

_**Oh, it's a Muggle reference. Sorry, but it means your moment in the limelight. According to some artist, everyone will have fifteen minutes of fame. Is there anything I can do to help you?**_

_Oh that's good. I must remember that reference. No, I doubt anyone would believe you. It would take an absolute saint to make people believe that they are totally wrong about me. I doubt anyone short of Harry Potter would make the wizarding world believe me. And I doubt that would help. He did tell them once that it wasn't true, but they didn't believe him. _

Harry was quite taken aback by that comment. Who could this be? Was it someone he'd met before? _I must have met him if I tried to tell the public something about him_, he thought reasonably. He knew there'd been times when he had found himself feeling pushed to defend the honour of various people, especially during the war. He'd stood up for Remus more times than he could remember and a few of the less-obvious Order members on occasion. Hells, he'd even defended the reputation of Severus Snape once or twice. That thought had him truly stunned for the briefest of moments, before he remembered that Snape hadn't been living in Paris and certainly wouldn't have been studying Potions. Quickly, before his pause could arouse suspicion, he replied with the first thing on his mind.

_**You've met Harry Potter? He knows you? He's spoken about you?**_

_It was a very long time ago, Flash. I don't exactly hang out in the same circles as he does, so I doubt I could arrange for you to meet him. Sorry. But to answer your question, yes, he did tell the public he believed me, but they were so set in their beliefs, they ignored what he said. _

_**I wasn't trying to meet him, don't worry. He certainly gets enough publicity from what I can tell. I'm sure he hates it when people fawn over him just because of what he did. I bet he would like nothing better than to live a quiet life.**_

_Wouldn't we all like to live a quiet life? I am so tired, Flash. I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm sorry I'm not much of a conversationalist tonight, but I'm beginning to see that Muggles are made of sterner stuff than we are. How in the four hells do they put up with a hangover without the intervention of magic?_

_**I think they use drugs like paracetamol and aspirin. Don't you go taking any Muggle stuff – who knows what it will do to you.**_

_Don't worry, they taught us all about Muggle pharmaceuticals back at University. I didn't get a chance to get myself anything at the Apothecary here at Diagon Alley either, and every store is closed. I guess I'll just have to sleep it off._

_**Okay, well you take it easy, Luc. Good luck this week, and stop worrying. Some people just have it in their nature to be mean spirited, and I doubt there's much you can do about it. Just be true to yourself, nobody can ask more than that. If you try to do everything they want you to do, you'll end up with dozens of split personalities. I'm actually now terrified about my new job, but I suppose I'll just get up and dive into it. That's probably the only way.**_

_Best of British luck to you then! Talk to you next week when I'm hopefully much better company. Good night, Flash._

_**Good night, Luc.**_

* * *

**April 21 – Monday**

Even though Draco was bone weary, his sleep at _the Wandering Warlock_ had not been restful. His overactive mind spent hours racing over dozens of unconnected thoughts. He tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bedding until he was resigned to the fact that his return to England was out of his hands. He trusted Severus' judgement. Of course, having Flash around to chat through a few insecurities would undoubtedly keep him sane. It was a relief to hear that his friend had quit that horrid job and had found something he enjoyed in the short term. Draco couldn't imagine working under the same conditions as Flash, but knew if he were stuck in that situation, he would have no trouble telling his employers what he truly thought of them. It was nice to know that apart from Severus, he would have at least one other person in the country he could call a friend.

He had been avoiding it, but Draco knew that worry about the Neo Death Eaters and their recent activities were the real reason he could not sleep. The reality of their actions was slowly sinking in, and he loathed the fact that if he had been a little more vigilant, they might not have the resources to be this organised. That thought lay most heavily on his mind; it was still churning away long after it was time to get up and be on his way to King's Cross.

Still bleary eyed, but freshly bathed, Draco managed a very light breakfast before heading through the Floo to the station. He would have given every Galleon in his possession for a semi-decent cup of coffee, but he had to suffice with strong, black tea. It just didn't have the same kick, leaving Draco with an even deeper desire for his favourite brew.

Dozens of families were already on the platform, but he found himself immersed and stunned by the familiarity of the scene at platform 9¾. Fortunately, only half the students from Hogwarts had returned home for the holidays, but to Draco it was still too many people shouting and crying all at once. The faint echo of a hangover reverberated in his still fuzzy head.

"Draco Malfoy?" a voice asked curiously. Draco turned to find a student walk up to him. "It is you! What are you doing here?"

Draco took only a moment to recognise the tall and swarthy student in Slytherin robes. Damien Michaels had been Draco's replacement as seeker for the Slytherin team after he left Hogwarts, and he had spent much time with the then second year boy during his last year. If anything, the boy had definitely grown. It felt a little disconcerting to be looking up at the other boy, who now towered a good two inches more than Draco.

"Michaels. How are you?" They shook hands warmly. He was a little startled to find the friendly, yet familiar face.

"What are you doing here today?" Damien asked, not failing to notice the trunk alongside Draco. "Are you visiting someone at the school? Professor Snape, perhaps?" Michaels nudged Draco and gave him a sly wink.

"Don't be crass, Michaels. You really shouldn't be making insinuations about a member of staff like that. As a matter of fact, I'm now apprenticed to your Head of house, so I guess I _could_ deduct points for such an infraction." Draco felt like a prefect again, disciplining his house mates for minor misdemeanours.

Damien seemed very pleased at the news, "Really? You're going to be at Hogwarts for the rest of the year? That's brill."

"I'm sure you'll be in the minority in that opinion, I doubt there are many of your classmates who care so much about my presence," he reluctantly admitted.

"As if you'd give a toss what anyone thinks, Malfoy. It'll be great having you around!" Draco raised an eyebrow at the young man's obvious joy at seeing him. He could see quite a few students looking their way including a good number of girls trying to gain Damien's attention. He took the opportunity to make his escape to the train.

He had completely forgotten that the older students were only first and second years at Hogwarts during his own time. Seeing Michaels as a fully grown man was unexpected. He distinctly recalled the arrogant little snot was always hanging around the older students; expecting to further himself by associating with them. The boy had been a natural flyer, and Draco had groomed the boy to take over the Seeker's position. It was with a little grimace that he now recalled that Slytherin had since become practically unbeatable. _Yes, of course you'll always be remembered as the Seeker during Slytherin's longest Quidditch Cup drought. _Again, all thoughts lead back to Potter. He scowled at the thought.

He grasped the head of his cane more firmly, avoiding the temptation to give in to hot-headedness at yet another unbidden thought of Potter. Unfortunately, as he turned, the object of his utmost hatred was grinning at him in all his smug glory.

A life sized poster of Potter was draped over one entire side of the newsstand. Momentarily taken aback by the sight of the git, Draco snorted as he realised it was only a poster. No doubt Potter was revelling in the glory of having been voted most handsome git in some bothersome Witch Weekly Poll. Draco sneered at the poster as he almost let out an audible growl. The life sized photograph mirrored his reaction. In his annoyance, Draco threw a few Knuts at the paper seller in exchange for the_ Daily Prophet_, and headed towards the train.

The piercing squeal of teenagers renewed his almost dormant headache. He turned to see a gaggle of girls descending on the newsstand; swooning over the poster of Potter as they fought over copies of the magazine. _Merlin, am I going to have to put up with **everyone** fawning over the git everywhere I go? _He pursed his lips and fervently hoped they would soon quiet down before he chose to hex them for their poor taste in men. The fact that Potter was bisexual (despite rumours to the contrary), didn't seem to bother the overly excitable girls.

Their excitable chatter finally faded as he settled into an empty compartment in the last carriage. He really would have preferred to Apparate to Hogwarts, but he had promised Severus he would do this. Draco loathed the Express. If there was one reminder of his school days he would sooner forget, it was the memory of numerous unpleasant trips on the train to and from school. He didn't care to recall any of those memories right now, but the scowl at the thought had already formed on his face.

He wanted to do nothing more than curl up in a comfortable ball and sleep all the way to Hogsmeade, but he had a responsibility to these students, and more importantly, to Severus. Draco reluctantly stepped out of his compartment and began the long walk down the train, casting a few surreptitious protective and monitoring charms along the way. He had no qualms about doing this for Severus and the students. He wanted ample warning of any impending dangers. He was still vigilant enough to realise that these Neo Death Eaters should be taken seriously. If there was a threat to the students, he would certainly protect them.

As he made his way through the carriages, he found himself stared at by most of the students, but they dared not approach him. The only friendly faces he saw were those belonging to Damien Michaels and the small group of Slytherins that were hanging around the popular student. Draco nodded to Damien, who smiled and waved, but continued on his walk back through the train. He was soon back in his compartment and ready to while away the interminable hours of the journey.

It was a peaceful journey for the most part; the constant rocking of the carriage taunted him to rest. Early spring rains beat a heavy tattoo against the window, providing that extra encouragement for Draco to fall asleep. He extracted some of his research notes to help stimulate his mind during the trip. He need not have worried. The nosy witch with the sweets trolley took extreme liberty by sitting opposite Draco and attempting to strike up conversation with him on more than one occasion.

He had been polite, if curt at first, making a number of non-committal comments in response to her constant talking. He should have been surprised, but wasn't, when her conversation turned to the eating and buying habits of the 'little dears on the train'. Apparently they all wanted to buy Muggle sweets because it was well known that they were Harry Potter's favourite, and so now she had to stock a variety of Muggle confectionaries.

His deep sigh of frustration was evident, and he reluctantly admitted that he head a headache. Unfortunately, she didn't take the hint, and continued to ply him with a number of (mostly useless) suggestions on how to get rid of it. He feigned sleep just as she was quoting Gilderoy Lockhart's suggestions on how to cure headaches.

Luckily, Draco's feint worked, and he found himself waking up just as the train was slowing down into Hogsmeade.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione's plans to wander through the Hogsmeade shops on Sunday afternoon were washed away with the incessant rain that managed to soak into every nook and cranny. Most of their afternoon was spent relaxing in a warm and dry corner of the Three Broomsticks. The three were so cosy and comfortable, they were disinclined to even move, and decided to forego the feast back at the school and enjoy a quiet feed of pub food before the boys took the Floo back to London.

After Harry finally acquiesced to the requested meeting with the Ministry, Hermione had kindly offered a bed for his use in the London flat she shared with Ron. Hermione's internship with Poppy Pomfrey was due to finish in the next fortnight and Ron was more than thrilled that Hermione would be coming home for good.

The trio whiled away the hours in pleasant conversation, catching up on a myriad of topics, but the young couple had been most insistent of getting to the root of Harry's dissatisfaction with his old job.

"I don't care, Hermione. Honestly," he seemed nonplussed by the fact the Ministry was extremely unhappy with Harry.

"Didn't you ever read your contract with the Aurors, Harry?" Hermione was torn between sympathy and lecturing with Harry.

"Of course I did, Hermione. If you remember, both you and Ron checked it over for me."

"But Harry, did you forget about the terms and conditions of resigning your commission? You have to give them one whole month's notice, and you have to provide them with a replacement..." Hermione seemed to be arguing in circles, stabbing one of her potato chips in the air as she made her point.

"But they had me listed as unfit for duty without giving me prior written notification. It seems they were the ones to break my contract first." Harry sounded quite adamant, but his full attention was on cleaning the last of the curry from his plate with a delicious piece of naan bread.

Ron nodded, agreeing with Harry, "Still, Harry, I don't think you should be trying to beat the system. Your recent record isn't exactly shining, you know."

"Ron, if there's one thing I've learned recently, it's that I really don't care what happens. Really, what's the worst thing they could do?" Harry seemed quite complacent, but he wasn't worrying about it, not any more.

Ron shrugged, "I don't know, Harry. I've given up on wondering what half those people in the Ministry do."

"Anyway, I'm sure that if the worst comes to the worst, I can always ask the Minister to put in a good word. I'm fairly certain he would." Harry smirked at Ron.

"You wouldn't dare, Harry Potter!" Hermione was stunned, "Would you really use your contacts and your name just to get ahead?"

"Well, yes Hermione. Can't you just think of all the times I've done exactly that?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, never," she admitted reluctantly.

"See? It's like I said, I would only use it if they want to play nasty. I'm tired of everyone wanting to walk over me." He sighed.

"Speaking of being walked over..." Ron indicated for them to look out the window. The trio watched as the thestral driven carriages began to arrive outside the train station. Harry heard the school train arrive long before they could see it through the teeming rain.

"What's Snape doing down here? He never bothers to meet the train," Ron asked curiously.

Hermione mumbled, but chewed quickly before swallowing. Apparently she had something exciting to tell. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Snape's gone and got himself an apprentice."

"Really?" Harry asked curiously. "Who'd be crazy enough to want to work with him?"

"I guess we'll know soon enough," Hermione murmured. "But Poppy was rather surprised. Apparently Dumbledore has been trying to convince him to take on an apprentice for years. Suddenly, out of the blue, he agrees. It seems most out of character for the Professor."

They finished their meal as they watched the students run for the cover of the carriages. They were most surprised to see Snape smiling as he led a hooded figure into one of the carriages.

"Ahem, well, perhaps it isn't such a mystery as to why he's got the apprentice," Ron smirked knowingly.

"Ron!" Hermione chastised. Harry snickered.

"I guess we'll know for sure soon enough, won't we?" Harry smirked, but shook his head at the thought of Snape becoming romantically involved with anyone. He thought absently about Charlie, and his unrequited lust for the potions master. Harry repressed a smile. He could only begin to imagine Ron's reaction if he ever found out about his brother.

The carriages were long gone and the trio reluctantly departed. Harry gave his friends a few moments alone. He knew exactly how they must be feeling during this time of Hermione's internship. The enforced separation was hard, Harry knew that, but he didn't begrudge them one moment of happiness. Harry's altruistic outlook on life had returned now that his own future was unwritten and very much an open, blank page.

As Harry watched his two best friends show their deep affection for each other, a warm feeling overcame him. He smiled as he instinctively knew that his own soul mate was out there and that one day his own soul mate would make him just as happy. Somehow, that moment seemed much closer than it had previously.

* * *

Stepping off the train, Draco raised the hood on his robe in a fruitless attempt to keep off the soaking rain. He could still feel the gentle sway of movement as he stepped onto the platform. He always hated that feeling after getting off the train. He shivered as the cold and wet wind bit through his robes. There were only so much a drying charm could do against the force of nature, and he knew that he would look like a drowned ferret no matter how much magic he imbued into the fabric of his robes.

The biting chill in the air was a little unpleasant, particularly after the beautiful spring weather in Paris, but Draco took a deep breath as dozens of memories returned with the crisp Scottish air. _Well,_ he thought wryly,_ welcome back to Scotland, Draco. Surely it can't get any worse than this_.

As the throng of students disembarked from the train, he was surprised to see Severus standing on the platform, intimidating them with his usual scowl. Draco was surprised to find him there. _Surely he didn't come down just to meet me? He must have been sent down from the school to make sure all the students arrive safely. _Severus' genuine smile told Draco that he had indeed come to greet his apprentice.

The Potion Master's scowl quickly returned when the students began to look at him strangely. Many looked between Draco and Professor Snape, and many quiet whispers were hurriedly being exchanged. _No doubt Draco's arrival will be through the gossip mill by the time the carriages reach the school_, he thought Most students gave Snape a wide berth, leaving ample room for Draco to greet him.

"Severus," he shook his hand firmly, a weary smile crossing his face.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Draco," he said with a veiled hint of mirth, but Draco could hear the relief in the man's voice, "I doubt you had a pleasant journey, but I can see from the headcount you didn't manage to strangle any of the dunderheads. I'm disappointed."

"Sorry, Severus. I must be slipping. I'll try to do better next time. I assure you, your grand plan to poison their pumpkin juice won't be delayed. After all, isn't that why you brought me here?" It felt good to banter with his old friend. At least that was something he had to look forward to. Severus laughed heartily.

Draco asked, continuing their teasing repartee as they stepped into one of the carriages. Both men tried to ignore the thestrals, but they still produced a shiver down Draco's back whenever he saw them. "You know, I'm sure they'd snap you up if you were to apply to _L'institut_. You are ten times more brilliant that any of those idiots there, Severus. You really should think about it. You deserve a change. Surely it's better than having to put up with this," he indicated the thestrals and the students.

"Ah, but you're forgetting one thing, Draco. I can't stand France. But I suppose there would be more prospects for a lonely old Potions master there. Surely it can't be worse than this backwater of Scotland," Severus said bitterly. He was forever discussing how much he loathed teaching at Hogwarts, yet this was the first time Draco could sense Severus' real desire to get away.

"So how are things, really?" Draco asked out of curiosity.

Severus made a dismissive gesture with his hand, "Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't get any easier, and I do believe the students are getting more imbecilic with each passing year." He gave un uncharacteristically emotional sigh, "I think I'm getting too old for this, Draco. Look at me; I've taken on an apprentice, for Merlin's sake. It's a sign. I'm getting old." Draco raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic admission. "Still," Severus continued, "It doesn't help when I become a pet-sitting service for irascible old owls."

Draco laughed loudly at the thought of Severus with Melchett. "He is rather indifferent, isn't he?" he replied as he stifled further laughter.

"I think he was missing you," the sarcasm was quite evident in Severus' statement.

"Melchett? Missing me? I think you have the wrong bird there, Severus." Draco laughed at the thought of his most difficult, yet strangely faithful eagle owl. "I always wonder if he'll actually return from a delivery, for all he seems to care. No, I think he's probably just overjoyed at the fact I haven't been around to actually make him earn his owl treats. Besides, he will probably enjoy the countryside, and no doubt the company in the Owlery. He is a Malfoy bird through and through, and I think he despised France. He's probably just excited to be home."

"Your bird doesn't like France? He's just moved up in my estimation," Severus retorted blandly as Draco stuck out his tongue in reply.

Draco didn't think the rain could get any heavier, but he was wrong. The wind whipped around the carriage, slipping through the cracks in the window frames. A bitter wind sent another chill through Draco. He was so tired he could barely keep up the conversation with Severus. Severus could see Draco's weariness and allowed the man some quiet time before they arrived at the castle. Draco was grateful for the warming charm that Severus surreptitiously cast. Unfortunately, it was making him very sleepy. The wheels of the carriage splashed in the deepening puddles as the castle loomed closer. Despite his earlier sleep, he was surprised by the deep yawn that escaped his lips. Weariness overcame him suddenly. "You didn't have to meet me, Severus. I'm a big boy you know. I_ can_ take care of myself."

"Don't think on it, Draco. Someone had to ensure the students made it to the feast successfully. Worst luck," Snape sighed wearily.

"I take it that the feasts are still over the top?" Draco remembered the rather unimaginative range of foods available at the feast and his taste buds cried out in protest as he realised just how much he was already missing the Patisserie.

"But of course. Apparently Dumbledore claims it's some sort of tradition and that we should get into the 'spirit' of it all. If the students aren't bouncing off the walls from the sheer overindulgence in refined sugary desserts, then they are utterly listless from eating too many rich and stodgy foods. Overfed and overstimulated students have no place in my lab. Fortunately for you, we have other business to attend to. We'll be taking some tea later, if that suits you?" Draco was really rather glad of the fact he could avoid the feast. Anything to avoid the obvious stares from the students. He really wasn't ready to face their derision en masse. Undoubtedly they would know all about him within the next couple of days, but he fervently wished for a quiet existence so he could quickly finish his research and apprenticeship and return home.

"I assume you will want a few days to settle in, so I have taken the liberty and conveniently forgotten to inform the headmaster of your exact arrival time." Draco nodded in understanding. "Still," Severus smirked at his young apprentice, "I thought I should warn you though, Potter's been wandering around the school for some reason. I caught him skulking around this morning."

"Oh?" Draco ground his teeth and scowled. "Really?" he said casually, trying hard to sound uncaring, but truly curious as to why the git would be visiting Hogwarts. "Please tell me he doesn't make a habit of it. What am I saying, the git always has to show his face to his adoring public."

"I have a hunch as to why he's been hanging around the castle, but I can't be sure. Consider yourself lucky he's now gone."

Draco offered no more interest than a raised eyebrow. He had no idea why Potter was there, but it seemed Severus wanted to tell him.

"Hmmm, yes. He seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time with Lupin. It doesn't take a genius to work out what he's after. His intentions are as plain as the scar on his face. It seems he's taken a distinct interest in watching the Defence professor..." Snape shook his head at the idea, but Draco caught the tail end of his thought, raising an eyebrow curiously.

_Hmm, Potter and the werewolf. How... interesting, _Draco concluded. _Trust Potter to not have any standards. Typical, really_. He was so disturbed by that vivid yet disturbing mental image of Potter and Lupin, he nearly missed what Severus said next.

"Lupin was ill?" Draco checked his mental calendar, realising the full moon had just passed. "Was it the Wolfsbane?"

"Relax, Draco. It was only the Wizard's flu, and he was ill before the full moon. The Wolfsbane probably helped him recover more quickly. There seems to be quite a good combination of restoratives in your latest formulation. You have some rather unorthodox ideas about what you are putting together in the Wolfsbane, Draco. Have you considered researching them on their own – aside from just in the Wolfsbane?"

"Hmmm, it's a thought, Severus. I'll work on that, if that's what you want me to do. But how is Lupin doing now? I suppose we'll have to use the same formulation for him next month, if he wasn't well. I was really looking forward to finding out if it helped speed up the healing recovery times..."

"Stop worrying yourself, Draco. You are tired and it's no doubt been a long day. You can ask the werewolf yourself when you see him. I am glad I no longer need to be your intermediary." Draco seemed confused at what Severus meant.

Severus looked amused. "Look, there's no love lost between Lupin and myself. My first duty as your _master_ is to hand over everything to do with the Wolfsbane to you. I for one won't be sad to give up my interactions with that obsessive twat."

Draco's eyebrow rose at Severus' choice of words. He knew about the man's rivalry with Lupin from their school days, and couldn't help but smirk. Seems that someone could hold a grudge longer than he could. The carriages had arrived at the school by this time, and the rush of tired and wet students made a beeline to the large doors as they hurried out of the wild weather.

Severus led Draco straight to his rooms. Draco was feeling less tired now, perhaps he was on his second wind. He couldn't help but have a dig at Severus as he recalled the man's comments from their meeting back in the Leaky Cauldron. "So, Potter was at the school. Are you sure you weren't just _jealous_ that he spent so much time with Lupin? I distinctly recall you saying last month how much you admired his _assets_."

"Did you honestly think I was being serious, Draco?" Severus smirked in amusement. "I was merely saying that to stir you. The mere sight of Potter is just a horrid reminder that youth is wasted on the young, and that all you pretty young things are wasting all that beauty on living the high life." The smirk was returned in kind. Draco couldn't help but snicker at the man's thoughts. It seemed Severus was starting to feel a little restless about being alone. Perhaps the man was more jealous than he realised.

The castle was as familiar as an old favourite blanket. Further resistance to his move back to Scotland was now pointless and he began to relax at the renewed familiarity of the sights and smells of the castle. He was a little unsure when Severus led him up the stairs instead of down the familiar passageways to the dungeons. Where were they going? "I took the liberty of choosing your rooms, Draco." Where were they headed? "Either I'm getting older, or the cold and damp in the dungeons is getting worse. I thought, perhaps your knee might appreciate something a little... warmer. Besides, these rooms are in the staff wing and were already set up." Severus rarely mentioned Draco's injury, but he was grateful for the consideration to his ongoing health. He too had been a little concerned about living in the dungeons and the effect it would have on his maddeningly annoying injury. Remembering how well it had felt in the warmth of Marrakesh, he saw the sense in taking rooms away from the dungeon.

Draco was really quite weary, and was looking forward to his nice soft mattress, even though he was so tired he really could have slept anywhere. Severus turned down a corridor at the top of the first flight of stairs. They stopped at the first door on the right. He tried to focus on where he was as the thoughts of a nice, comfortable bed were making him drift off.

If Draco's memory served correctly, the staff wing was on the first floor, not too far from the Defence classroom or the library. As they entered the room the wall sconces flared dramatically and the room was lit with a brilliant blaze of light. He was momentarily overwhelmed by the room's brightness, but soon realised that it was the pale sandstone reflecting and enhancing the bright light. The set of rooms, Severus explained, included a small, generous office. Roughly the size of his studio in Paris, the current sitting room seemed more than adequate. He immediately recognised his trunks and furniture in one corner of the room. Opening the nearest door, he welcomed the sight of his bed in the adjoining room. The familiar birch pillars of the king sized four poster appeared to have made the move unscathed. Another wave of tiredness overcame him at the sight of that very inviting mattress.

"I had the elves empty out this room today and asked them to bring your belongings out of storage, Draco. Nobody's really stayed in these rooms for years from what I can recall. You know how much I loathe this part of the castle. According to one of the infernal creatures, I think they had been using this room for storage. There were just boxes and junk lying around in here. I do hope they haven't misplaced anything." Severus was such a pedant. It was good to find that at least some things never changed about the man.

"I specifically wanted you to have this suite of rooms, Draco. They once belonged to old Master Montpelier," Severus continued, "He had an affliction that prevented him from working in the dungeons, and the administration at the time had a laboratory created for him here," Severus gestured as he opened another door, and Draco followed in awe. The office and laboratory was everything Draco had imagined. Similar in size to Severus' own rooms, the lab already showed signs of habitation. Draco ran a finger along the bench top, his hand pausing as he opened his own potions cabinet.

"This... this is more than I need..." Draco was in awe at the facilities he had been given. He had assumed he would be sharing cauldron space with Severus.

"Nonsense, Draco. There is plenty of room in the castle. Besides, apart from the adjoining classroom, these rooms have been all but abandoned since I started school here. Anyway, if I recall how fastidious you are with your work area, you won't want to be sharing space with anyone soon. As an added bonus, the Floo is directly connected to the one in my office, so there's no need for you to walk all that way to the dungeons."

Draco almost stammered, "Thank you." He was genuine in his thanks.

It was quite late by the time Severus left him. He was too tired to give too much care about eating, but a slow rumble in his stomach reminded him how long it had been since breakfast. A quick Floo call down to the kitchens secured him a few rounds of sandwiches, and regretfully, a pot of tea. He wasn't sure of the elves ability to make decent coffee, and he wasn't willing to find out right now. He was a little taken aback when he asked for a pot of tea, and was then quizzed as to which of the two hundred types of tea he would like. Too tired for any inquisitions, he barked out that he just wanted Earl Grey.

He sighed. The last thing he needed now was another surprise. He wasn't to be disappointed.

"Master Draco?" a squeaky voice from Draco's distant past interrupted his unpacking. He turned around to see a house elf with a huge grin beaming at him.

Furrowing his brow, Draco tried to recall this elf. _Where have I seen him before?_

"It's me, Dobby! I hasn't seen you since you was a boy! Master Snape doesn't tell us you is arriving here, Master Draco!" the excitable elf suddenly realised he was still holding the tray of tea and sandwiches when the scalding tea spilt over his hand, and he flinched. He put down the tray and began wringing his hands.

It all suddenly came back to Draco. The wringing of the hands and the doleful look in the elf's oversized pupils. "Hello, Dobby. Still at Hogwarts I see." He recalled his father's complete apoplectic fit at the loss of the elf during his early years at Hogwarts, and a dim recollection that the elf had taken up servitude at the school. "I thought by now you would have been serving Potter personally." He immediately regretted mentioning the prat's name, as the look of unabashed awe on the elf's face made Draco cringe.

"Oh, no, Master Draco! I was asking Harry Potter if I could come work for his house, but he is saying no to me! He is saying he is not needing a house elf and Dobby is to stay with Dumbledore! And now Master Draco is staying at Hogwarts! Dobby always liked Master Malfoy! But who is looking after the Manor? Is Dipsy and Gaggy still working for Master Draco?" Dobby was full of questions, but quickly stopped when Draco pointed his cane in Dobby's face.

Draco immediately realised his mistake when he saw the house elf cower and begin to shake in fright. "Merde! Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to threaten you – I don't do that sort of thing. I am _not_ like my father." He sighed. " I'm just very tired. Don't worry, there's no wand in the cane any more. I should not have pointed that at you. I'm just too tired to answer all your questions now. I've had a couple of trying days. I apologise again, Dobby."

Still unsure, the house elf hovered for a few more moments, but nodded slowly. His large eyes widened even further when he saw Draco was actually using that cane to walk over to the chair. "Dobby is forgiving, Master Draco. Dobby will make sure Master Draco is comfortable. It is good to see you, Master Draco."

"Thank you," Draco offered to the elf. A look of surprise crossed Dobby's face at the thanks. No doubt he was unused to it. Draco remembered that he would have rarely heard that back in his days at the Manor. It had been too many years, and Draco's interactions with most house elves had been shaped by Lucius' behaviour.

Dobby left quietly, but Draco had already forgotten about the elf. The sandwiches were barely tasted and the tea merely washed down, he was so tired. It was almost too much effort to get out of those filthy robes and into a long, hot bath. He opted for some pyjamas instead; literally falling into bed. Sleep claimed him before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

**April 22 – Tuesday**

Harry stormed out of the Ministry on Tuesday afternoon, a dark storm cloud gathering about him as he strode directly into the Leaky Cauldron. Harry's friends had been overly optimistic about his meeting, and he should never have listened to them. The Ministry officials were all ready to make him fulfil the remainder of his contract, right down to the minute. That would make him unavailable to replace Madame Hooch as he would be unavailable then until after the Quidditch season.

Lloyd Winslow had been adamant that Harry had broken his working contract by storming out the week before, and he was enjoying every moment he held Harry's future in his hands. Harry tried hard to maintain his calm – he knew that any outbursts of power would not help him.

Harry doubted that pure luck was with him when Rufus Scrimegour just 'happened to drop by' to have a chat with Winslow. He could sense Dumbledore's intervention in the proceedings, but he wasn't going to argue in the least. In the end, Rufus Scrimegour's no-nonsense solution was a winner for everyone. Harry agreed to finalise all outstanding reports and he was only too happy to administer practical exams for the students he had been tutoring. Winslow had been reluctant to admit to Scrimegour that Harry had been placed on the unfit duty list without prior notification, and so they would waive any further fines. Harry would leave the Ministry on the last day of the month will all his entitlements intact.

As he sipped on a glass of wine, Harry's temper began to calm. He had won, even if he didn't get the perfect result. He smirked over Winslow's reluctant admission that his skills were irreplaceable and the insincere offer of his own classes in the new semester. Harry knew it for the hollow offer it was, and politely declined. He definitely knew that would be the biggest mistake of his life, but the small admission of praise had felt justified.

Ron met him for a few more after dinner drinks, and he was only too happy to keep Harry there for the rest of the week. Harry knew Ron was quite lonely whilst Hermione was at Hogwarts, and Ron was thrilled to have the company.

Harry gave the Ministry no complaint as he performed his final duties with ultimate professionalism. He was truly going to miss the students, and they all thanked him profusely when they realised he wasn't going to be coming back. Harry felt a keen sense of loss about that, but knew it would never make up for the other rubbish he had to put up with in the job.

**April 23 – Wednesday**

Draco very quickly slipped into a nice, solid, peaceful routine in which to conduct his research. It didn't take him long to get settled into his new laboratory. A very pleasant half hour was spent with Severus each morning over breakfast as they planned Draco's work schedule.

It came as no surprise to Draco that for many years, Severus had overextended himself. Along with his teaching duties, he had been the principal producer of all the infirmary's potions, brews and balms. Added to that was the work he had undertaken with the Order and his duties as a spy. Although that role was now finished, Severus continued to work on numerous projects for Professor Dumbledore.

Draco was quite happy to take on some of these duties, and had already begun the next batch of Infirmary potions. He didn't even try to hide his glee when Severus handed over all duties related to the Wolfsbane. He was thrilled to be able to develop the potion and still continue with his research. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that this apprenticeship was probably going to be much easier than having to constantly handle the bureaucracy of a research grant. Severus promised to smooth things over with the Ministry in relation to Draco's 'smuggling' charge, and as he already had a permit for purchasing aconite, he would merely add Draco to his own permit.

Draco could gain his mastery just from being Severus' apprentice, then, when he was finished, he could publish his findings and hopefully gain the honour he so desperately wanted. He was looking forward to talking to Professor Lupin, if only to finally see for himself how the werewolf was faring in person. Severus had arranged for Draco to talk to him later in the week. Things were moving along swimmingly, but that wasn't to say that the job didn't come with some pitfalls. So far he had avoided the other staff and students, and he didn't fancy socialising with them any time soon. He wanted to get settled first.

Draco had kept to himself for the most part, taking his meals directly from Dobby and talking to Severus during the day. He was too busy to head up to the Great Hall for any meals, and he unconsciously timed any excursions out of his lab to coincide with the students being in class. It was pleasant just to lose himself in his work; he had missed it all whilst in Marrakesh. It had been a brilliant and wonderful holiday that he would never forget, but there was no point in his pining away over Jean-Paul.

He was finished with his first batch of brewing for the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey was surprised to receive his Floo call, and seemed pleased that he would be replenishing her medicinal stores. "I'll send someone around to pick them up, shall I?" Draco nodded, glad he didn't have to limp his way over to the Infirmary. He had seen enough of infirmaries and medical wards to last a lifetime. He just knew that Madame Pomfrey would want to enquire about his knee, and he wasn't really up for a Spanish Inquisition.

After a fruitless search through the library, Draco eventually bumped into the Headmaster. He felt chastised at first, but it quickly became apparent that the old man was familiar with Severus and his antisocial quirks. He gave Draco a short lecture about his expected role within the school, and promptly invited him to tea. Draco politely declined for now, as he really was in the middle of something important, and he needed to find the properties of a particular combination of roots. The old man nodded in understanding and reiterated that the invitation to tea was open ended, and that Draco should perhaps make time to mingle with the other staff. Much to Draco's annoyance, Dumbledore flippantly suggested what he should try to do with the combination of hellebore and henbane seeds.

* * *

The caffeine withdrawal had shortened Draco's temper severely. He had tried being patient with Dobby, but the daily saga was creating a new type of headache for Draco. If only he could make Dobby understand the intricacies of making coffee. Surely if the elves could whip up Black Forrest Cake for dessert, they could understand the basics of a coffee grinder and a drip filter plunger.

He sighed in exasperation as an extremely excited Dobby presented him with a pot of coffee. Draco tried hard not to spit out the ghastly liquid in his mouth. He was calm as he _politely_ asked Dobby how he made it. It took him a good ten minutes to explain that no matter what, the coffee wasn't a flavouring to be added to an existing pot of tea. The elf seemed to understand, but Draco knew that it was going to be a long while before his next decent drink. It wasn't the first time he pondered a quick and very illegal Apparition back to Emmaline's. The remembered smell of her coffee was imprinted in his mind and that made the withdrawal even harder.

Still, the constant mention of Potter's name on the Wizarding Wireless Network kept his temper simmering. The hapless wireless was hexed after the forty-seventh mention of the git's name. Draco was in a right royal snit. He later regretted his harsh action, and quickly tried to charm the device to work again. An idea formed and he wasted the better part of an afternoon attempting to make it pick up his favourite Parisian radio station. He was unsuccessful in that attempt; he was too far away to receive any French stations. Still, he managed to charm the device to pick up a Muggle station. To his pleasant surprise, BBC Radio 1 was a much more interesting station than the Wizarding Wireless Network, and even better, they never once mentioned the cursed name of Harry Potter.

His peaceful evening of research was disrupted by an unexpected knock at the door. He remembered that Pomfrey was coming to collect her supplies. He certainly didn't expect the bushy headed witch standing at his door with a curious smile.

"Well, Malfoy, I suspected as much," Hermione Granger stood, arms folded as she waited to be invited in. Draco stood and blinked several times.

"What the bloody hell do _you_ want," he snapped. This was unexpected. _Severus never mentioned she was around. Bloody hell. First Potter, then Weasley. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to run into the last of the golden Gryffindors. Next they'll be telling me Neville Longbottom has replaced Madame Sprout._

"Madame Pomfrey sent me down to collect our supplies for the Infirmary," Hermione pushed her way through the door, taking in the sight of the well stocked laboratory, "Rumour has it that Snape took on an apprentice. Why am I not surprised to find it's you – you've been hiding away just like Professor Snape," she replied with a look of smug satisfaction.

Draco made his way slowly over to bench and began packing vials and jars into a box. He took a deep breath to keep calm before speaking to the former head girl.

"So I take it I will have the displeasure of your company on staff as well?" he sighed in annoyance. _I didn't think that things could get any worse, but I was mistaken._

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Malfoy. I finish up with Madame Pomfrey in a couple of weeks, before heading to St Mungo's and starting my final internship," she offered as she wandered around the lab. Draco became rather irate to see her poking her nose into his research. He could see her furrow her brow as she examined the row of recent test tubes Draco was working on. She continued the inane chatter, "So how are you anyway, Malfoy? I see from the paper that you've been courting French heiresses. What on earth brings you back here, of all places?"

_Well at least she isn't on staff permanently_, he thought gratefully. He chose to ignore her words about Arianna. He had been surprised to see that the photo from Arianna's birthday had made its way to the social pages of the Daily Prophet, but hearing Granger talk about that made his anger simmer on the surface. Who the hell did she think she was? She still couldn't keep her nose out of other people's business. With their history, they were never going to be best friends.

"I can only assume that Severus neglected to mention your presence here because of the fact you would soon be gone. Here," he shoved the box of potions under Hermione's nose, "I do believe you came for these." He spoke with the long practiced tone of indifference he always affected when he was unexpectedly and unpleasantly surprised.

Granger seemed to ignore the brusque dismissal as she began to examine the items for the Infirmary. "Everyone wondered where you went after the war, Draco. We knew you were injured," she ran her eyes down to his injured knee, "but you never collected your Order of Merlin."

"Well, where I've been and the intricacies of my social life really aren't your concern, Granger. As you seem to have all your senses in working order, you can plainly see that I am here, and that I am currently brewing potions for you to take back to the infirmary as I engage in inane chatter with former Gryffindors."

"I see that someone is still a cranky git," she retorted mildly. "Keep your shirt on, Malfoy. I was only trying to be polite," she picked up a jar, unscrewed the lid and gave it a good sniff. "Are you sure this balm is okay? It doesn't smell right." Her critical tone immediately put him on the back foot.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it, Granger. I should know," he said indignantly.

"It's just that it smells different—"

"Yes, that's because I don't use animal base for these balms. It's too oily and they don't keep for as long."

"But what else could you use?" she seemed interested in what he was discussing, "A saline base wouldn't stay stable for more than a day, and surely you aren't using Dragon bile – that's ridiculously expensive, not to mention restricted –"

"It's based on henbane seeds," he offered.

"But that's poisonous – what on earth do you use as a catalyst?" she seemed genuinely interested. Draco was surprised at the depth of her knowledge, but recalled that her marks at school were fairly similar to his in both Potions and Arithmancy.

"No," he did like to prove her wrong, "It's the leaves and stem that are poisonous, but the ground seeds stabilise when you add powdered Bicorn horn, and it lasts longer than any other base I've experimented with. That bruise banish salve should last at least until Christmas with that base."

Hermione seemed impressed. "I would never have considered mixing the Bicorn horn. That's... innovative," she replied with a hint of admiration.

"It's called taking a risk, if you're not afraid to experiment. Brewing is more than just following a set of instructions in a book. That's merely a guide for those who have no idea how you can combine thousands of items and make a myriad of magical potions. That's why _I'm _the Potions apprentice, and you are the intern medi-wizard. I don't know a single medi-wizard who is more than just passingly competent at brewing. I certainly won't be telling you how to heal your patients Granger, so why don't you just trust my judgement?"

"I never said I didn't trust your judgement. I've never questioned it once – not since the start of the war, Draco." Hermione was looking at him in a strange way.

"Hmmph!" His temper had been on a tight leash all day, and he really didn't have any reason to get angry at Granger. Seeing her had been an unpleasant surprise, but he reluctantly admitted that she was being quite pleasant. "Sorry, I'm just a little surprised you would actually care. I never really gave you much quarter during our school years, and your presence on my doorstep was... unexpected."

"Yes, well you were mostly an uppity little snot back in school. But it took a lot of character to do what you had to do during the war, Draco. I doubt very many could even begin to imagine what you went through."

He didn't say anything in return. She was right. It had been hard, but he never regretted it. An awkward silence passed. He really didn't know what to say. She was actually being... pleasant, and he'd been an uppity snot. He really needed to work on that. Especially if he was going to be working around people he didn't particularly like. _Guess I'll just have to keep working on my acting skills. They got me through the war._ He limped back over to the bench, but he could feel Granger's eyes watching him.

"Actually, I was just wondering... your knee—"

"Yes, I do have one – two actually," he answered smartly. He knew what she was going to ask. Even Jean-Paul had been curious about Draco's injury. It was an obvious magnet for anyone with any healing ability.

"I was just wondering if I could take a quick look at it—"

"Why Granger, I never knew you thought of me that way. Won't Weasley get jealous?" he bit back with sarcasm and sighed deeply. "Look, I fail to see how some trainee medi-wizard could find a cure for this cursed knee when the best medi-wizards my considerable fortune could buy were unable to do so. Just give up and concentrate on trying to do something less ambitious – like curing Wizard Flu or something."

"But—" she interrupted, but Draco stopped her with a menacing stare. He didn't need someone to again remind him of the futility of trying to cure his knee. He knew the prognosis, and he knew not to get his hopes up yet again.

"Whatever you might _think_ Granger, it's none of your business. Can't you just accept, like everyone else, that this injury is incurable. Good day." Draco flicked the door open with his wand, ignoring Granger as she turned quickly and left. The door slammed shut behind her.

_Well that went well. Am I going to have this confrontation with every person I meet? Guess I shouldn't be surprised that I have to justify myself to everyone. How dare she think she can just waltz in and fix everything! She was always such an annoying know it all. _It took Draco a good couple of hours to settle down, but soon realised that despite his anger, it was probably misplaced. He was the one who snapped at her, yet she had been quite pleasant.

* * *

Harry was pleased that his second day back at the Ministry seemed to go fairly well, but nevertheless, he was greatly looking forward to the next week when he could officially be decommissioned and allowed to return to Hogwarts. He glanced at the journal after Ron went to bed, but decided he was simply too tired to write anything. Besides, it was nothing that couldn't wait until Sunday when Luc would be expecting a chat with him.

He climbed into bed, relishing the sensation of the cool sheets against his skin, and spent a few moments with his new evening ritual. After that Neo Death Eater attack, Harry had been a good deal more conscientious about his evening Occlumency, reminding himself that it would not only prevent opportunities for loss of control, but could also prevent any further headaches like the last one. His Occlumency preparations easily led into the breathing exercises from Lao Kuai, and he settled into the resulting balance, ready to accept the rest his body sought and the information his subconscious might reveal.

_'Gods, I love you.' The voice whispered in his ear, and the words sent his heart into a tailspin. The depth of meaning behind that statement caught in the back of his throat and nearly brought tears to his eyes. Harry looked at the man lying next to him, but couldn't make out any features. It was dark, obviously quite late at night, and they were curled up in the bed together. Harry tightened his arm around the other man's shoulders, offering a squeeze in response before his mouth seemed to open of its own accord. _

_'I love you, too.' Something inside told Harry that he had only just learned what that statement truly meant. It wasn't that he hadn't meant it before, just that he hadn't experienced it on this level. The face that rested on his shoulder shifted slightly, and Harry thought it felt like his lover was smiling. He felt a slight tickle from the eyelashes and smiled at the feeling of comfort he felt. This was perfection, lying here, tangled together with his love, knowing deep inside that happiness awaited them both. The other man's right hand began a slow trail across Harry's chest, gently brushing the skin in an almost-tickling manner, ever so slightly teasing Harry's left nipple for the briefest of moments. It wasn't a touch meant to arouse, at least, not in a passionate, desire-filled manner. It was a touch expressing love, revering the special bond between the two of them. Harry traced random designs with his fingertips on his lover's back, then eventually turned to face him so that they were holding each other face to face._

_Though the facial features wouldn't register, Harry was looking deep into the eyes of this man, recognising that he'd known him before, and would know him again in the future. His gut instinct kicked in and told him that their souls belonged together, and well, who was he to question that? They continued to gently touch and pet one another, slowly teasing and exploring with their fingertips, relishing every moment they had together. Harry felt the desire building inside of him, but it was different than he was used to. Rather than the driving need for sex, he simply felt fulfilled, even before any sexual activity took place. Just being with this man gave Harry a sense of being more complete than he was before, and the idea of making love to him filled Harry with undefinable emotions. They slowly stroked one another's skin, kissing sweetly, gently. Eventually, once they were joined, Harry realised one major difference in this lovemaking. It was taking place on a deeper level than anything he'd experienced before. Their energies were intertwined, building around them and increasing the sensations and emotions exponentially. It was as if their souls were making love and their bodies had merely come along for the ride._

Harry awoke slowly, feeling calmer and happier than he had in a very long time. As he stretched languidly, he began to remember the dream he'd had about his mystery lover. _That's exactly what I'm looking for!_ He was somewhat startled by this realisation, and sat up to think about the details, wondering if it would give him a clue where to find this wonderful man. _I can't remember his face. I know it was the man I'm looking for, but I can't see his face!_ His frustration gave way to wonder and confusion and even a little fear as one final thought burst into his head. _Just like I haven't seen Luc's face._

* * *

Thursday dawned clear and bright after endless days of rain. Melchett seemed only too happy for a flight as Draco attached his promised letters to be delivered to Arianna and Emmaline. He begged his Petite-mère to send some decent coffee, and enclosed the clipping from the Daily Prophet for Arianna's amusement. No doubt she would get as much a kick out of the implication that they were practically engaged as he did. Melchett preened and fussed over his feathers but he protested and wasn't impressed by the fact he was expected to fly all the way down to Paris. Draco ignored his complaints. He reluctantly flew off in a huff just as another owl flew in.

A return letter from Gringotts confirmed they received his letter reporting his change of address. He still felt a little miffed that he had to report his movements to Weasley. He knew that Magical Law Enforcement were concerned he was involved with these Neo Death Eaters, but Draco still resented the fact he had to be kept under such scrutiny.

"Please tell me there are no other nasty surprises," Draco asked Severus as they were having their usual morning meeting over breakfast. Severus apologised for neglecting to tell Draco about Miss Granger's temporary staff appointment. "I pay so little attention to the other staff, Draco, I sometimes forget that you have a history with some of these people. I have spent too long ignoring most of them and they have learned to keep their distance."

Severus was at first surprised to see Draco had already commandeered one of the house elves, but understood the situation perfectly when he found out the elf in question was a former Malfoy elf. Aside from the coffee debacle, Dobby managed to have a rather indulgent repast laid out for Draco each morning. He did miss his indulgent little pastries from the patisserie, but the steaming crumpets and honey and fresh fruit were always tasty.

"Well, we can only wonder at who Dumbledore is going to get to replace Hooch—" Snape wondered to himself.

"Has something happened? I only saw her the other day," Draco wondered aloud as a stray drip of honey dribbled inelegantly down his chin.

"It seems Hooch caught a nasty case of pregnancy. Silly bint kept flying though – now she's bedridden until the child is born this summer. Naturally, Dumbledore would never dream of cancelling the remainder of the Quidditch season, so he's looking for a replacement. Not that I care for gossip, but if I understand Minerva correctly, I think that Dumbledore's already found someone. Merlin knows who we'll get this time. He's probably got someone like Oliver Wood tucked under his sleeve. I wouldn't put it past him. Could be why Minerva seems so smug."

* * *

Despite his self imposed solitude within the castle, Draco did not pass up the opportunity to take a short walk down to Hogsmeade in the fine weather. He was more than happy to make the short trip to pick up an order for Severus at Slug and Jiggers. He was badly suffering from shopping withdrawal, but he never noticed it until he was away from Paris. Hogsmeade didn't quite have the diversity of shops that Paris was renowned for, but it was better than nothing.

As he made his way to the edge of the castle walls to Apparate away, he spotted the Slytherin Quidditch team making their way back to the castle from practice. He couldn't fail to miss Damien Michaels break away from the crowd and trot over to talk to him. The young man had been making an effort to be nice to Draco whenever he spotted him in the hallway. It seemed strange to see someone else in the Slytherin Quidditch robes, with his old number embroidered on the back. He also couldn't fail to notice the young man's finely formed physique, and for the briefest of moments he wistfully wished that Michaels was at least a few years older. That thought was buried even more quickly than he thought it. He could not afford to let anything happen that could jeopardise this apprenticeship, and being caught with a student, no matter how hot they were, would be at the top of the list of huge mistakes he could make.

"Hey, Malfoy!" the boy ran up and smiled. "Where you headed?" he asked eagerly.

"Michaels. I'm just heading down to Hogsmeade. Shouldn't you be in class?" he asked.

"Yeah, I've got Potions. Snape never says anything when we come back late from Quidditch practice," He stepped up closer to Draco, "actually, I wanted to ask you something—"

Draco cut him off, "I really can't chat now, Damien, I shouldn't be encouraging you to skip class. Maybe later?" He noticed the look of disappointment in the boy's face as he gave him a dismissive wave and turned towards the gates. He didn't mean to be so curt, but knew that Severus really didn't encourage their tardiness. Within moments he Apparated to Hogsmeade.

As he arrived in town, he was surprised by the changes that had taken place in the small village since the end of the war. He didn't get a chance to see the town upon his arrival due to the heavy rain, but the town seemed newer and more vibrant than he recalled. The Three Broomsticks still stood proud in the centre of town, with a number of stores to the left of town still sporting the same old storefronts.

After being away for so long, it seemed like he was walking through a new town. Honeydukes seemed unchanged in all its pastel green glory, as was Slug and Jiggers. Madame Puddifoot's seemed to be closed, with a sign saying a new store, the _Leaf and Bean_, would be opening soon in its place. Weasley Wizard Wheezes hung loudly and proudly in garish pink neon over the door of what was once Zonko's.

He felt the comforting warmth of familiarity as he stepped across the threshold of Slug and Jiggers. The store was exactly as he remembered from his last visit in his seventh year. The potions on the shelves had exactly the same amount of dust on them as the last time he walked into the store. The giant tubs of newt's eyes stood in exactly the same spot as he remembered. The slightly acrid smell of the store was a familiar yet somewhat alluring scent to him.

Alonius Jigger was an ageless old wizard, with a craggy face that held one expression. His long, lank hair and beard hung limply in testament to the many years he spent over a cauldron. His yellowed hands were cold and clammy. "Whatever are yer doin' back 'ere?" he confronted Draco when he recognised him.

_Great, _Draco thought and sighed. _Someone else who probably thinks I'm either a traitor or a bloody Death Eater. I really don't need this crap from him. _He suspected the man had the same opinion of him as most of Britain, "Pleased to see you again, Mr Jigger," he retorted mildly. "I'm apprenticed to Professor Snape, so I guess I'll be around more often than you might like."

"Good," Jigger replied emphatically. Draco was surprised, but the old alchemist continued. "Knew your grandfather, I did. Brilliant Potions master old Abraxas. Glad to see you followed in his footsteps, and not your father's." He slapped a tightly wrapped parcel on the table in front of Draco. It took him a moment to realise the man's toothless sneer was actually his version of a smile.

"Er, thank you," it seemed strange to receive a compliment from the man. He had been expecting everyone to malign him back here, but this praise was a little disconcerting. _Well, if I include Severus and Granger, that makes a sum total of three people in England. A whole slew of supporters_, he thought sarcastically. _I could add Flash, but goodness knows what he would think if he found out whom he's been corresponding with._

They talked for a while longer, Draco not realising the slow release of tension that he had built up over the past few days. He had been expecting resistance at every turn from those he met, but so far (with the exception of the security wizards at the Ministry) everyone he met seemed to be nice – for want of a better word. Even that Granger chit had been more than passingly pleasant.

His ego seemed a little bruised at the unexpected pleasantness. The expected conflict and disdain had not been forthcoming. He was beginning to think that perhaps he was overreacting in thinking that everyone in Britain thought poorly of him. Not even Rosmerta had blinked twice when he sat down at The Three Broomsticks for a quick drink. Perhaps the time away had achieved the purpose of helping them to forget.

He continued his quiet wander through Hogsmeade, reacquainting himself with the available stores. However, he couldn't shake an eerie feeling as he walked down the high street. It felt like he was being watched. The feeling did not abate, but he could see no visible sign of anyone watching. He shrugged it off as a result of his highly suspicious nature, and the fact he still didn't trust most people. No doubt someone had seen him and was whispering behind closed doors. It was what he had expected.

As he made his way back to the Apparition area on the outskirts of town, he passed a copse of trees. A sudden chill crept up his neck and he turned sharply, drawing his wand. Unfortunately, his knee gave way and he lost his balance. Before he knew it, a wand was pointed in his face. He looked up and was unsurprised to find a familiar face. No wonder he never spotted his invisible stalker. After all, he had taught the Death Eater everything he knew about stealth. It seemed that Theo Nott had not forgotten his lessons.

"Well, well, well. The prodigal returns," Nott drawled. The stringy boy he last remembered had matured into a tall, pock marked man with a crooked nose. The last time he had seen Nott, the idiot was being held under the Cruciatus curse by none other than his own father. He wasn't sure if his former colleague's constant twitching was from nerves, or just the legacy of the unpleasant unforgivable curse.

"Nott," Draco wasn't totally surprised to see him. Somehow, he had been expecting it. He stood carefully, maintaining a firm grip on his wand. "I'd say it's a pleasure, but it isn't. What are you doing here? You do realise that you are still a wanted man, don't you?"

"Just wanted to make sure it was you. We'd heard a rumour," Nott studied the trees, wondering if Draco was alone.

"'We' as in you and your _new_ friends, perhaps?" Draco wasn't surprised to find Nott involved with these Neo Death Eaters. He had always been one of Voldemort's more zealous supporters.

Nott stared at Draco, unsure of what to say. "I was asked to come and talk to you."

"Really? Did you and your friends decide to come out of hiding to return all that money you stole from me? Unless that's what you are offering, I've got nothing to say to you or your _friends_." He was bitter and his self-control was wavering.

"Touché, Malfoy. Took you long enough to work out you were being ripped off. I'm here to make an offer, Malfoy. My friends are willing to forgive you your _discretions_ and cut a deal. You might yet see some of those Galleons again."

"You really don't get it, do you, Nott? Tell whoever it is in charge of your petty little band that I am not interested in any deals. In case you guys forgot, I play for the other team. I always have. I was never a fan of _your_ former loony leader. Besides, even if some of your friends are interested in talking to me, there are dozens of others who would rather kill me first. Did you forget who it was who gave me this little reminder?" Draco indicated his injured knee. "No deal, Nott."

"Pity, Malfoy. We were hoping you might have seen the light and come home to join us. After all, you are our principal financier—"

"What part of 'No' don't you understand, Nott?" The stringy man looked around nervously as Draco spoke. He obviously had not been expecting Draco to turn down his offer. Nott was always terrible when a plan failed; he rarely had a backup plan. Draco suspected that Nott was not alone, but he wasn't expecting Nott to vanish into thin air.

_Merde! Portkey,_ he thought in frustration as he raised his wand to thin air. Draco didn't stop to hang around. _He could be back with a few of his new 'friends'._ _What was the point of that whole encounter? Surely they didn't expect me to quiver in fear and agree to their offer. Who is running their little enclave? _

Severus wasn't surprised at all when Draco told him about the little confrontation as soon as he arrived back.

"I was expecting as much, Draco."

"And you didn't think to warn me?" he asked Severus incredulously.

"I wasn't sure. But with all this Neo Death Eater activity increasing, it doesn't surprise me now that they might just show their faces. I doubt Nott is terribly high up – the boy was never more than a lackey. He wouldn't have been too much of a loss if you had managed to get the better of him. Will you be reporting the little incident to the MLE's?"

"Of course I'm going to tell them at Magical Law Enforcement, Severus. I'm not stupid," Draco rubbed his temples to stave off the impending headache. "Weasley mentioned I was most likely under suspicion of being involved with them because of my missing money. If I keep quiet, and they find out later, then it's just proving them right, isn't it? _Merde_! I don't have any time for this shit!" Draco was furious. "Why can't they just leave me alone!" Severus left him alone to sulk. He had already forgotten his earlier good mood; his frustration rose at the feeling that things weren't going to get better any time soon.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled out quill and ink as he began the slow process of informing the MLE's. So much for his relaxing day in Hogsmeade. If he were lucky, he might actually sleep that night. It wasn't the first time he cursed the lack of decent coffee, and he doubted it would be the last.

* * *

A bout of eager knocking was heard on Remus Lupin's office door a little after lunch on Friday. Thinking it might be Harry, he quickly opened the door, but was completely surprised to find Draco Malfoy standing on his doorstep, a hopeful gaze on his face. He suddenly remembered a conversation earlier in the week with Severus, who told him to expect his apprentice. Of course, now it made perfect sense. Remus had wondered why Severus had finally decided to take on an apprentice, but seeing Draco here now, it became much clearer.

"Professor," Draco drawled lazily.

Remus was quickly over his surprise, "Draco, please, come in."

Draco seemed a little anxious to be there. It was a reaction Remus was used to, but he tried to put his former student at ease with a smile, "Severus mentioned his apprentice would be visiting. Is he getting ready to make the next batch of Wolfsbane? I assume he asked you to come down and ask me the usual questions—"

"Actually, Professor Lupin, I'll be brewing your Wolfsbane from now on," Draco remarked casually as he pulled out a quill and small parchment notebook.

"But..." the werewolf seemed a little hesitant, "Is that wise? He never said anything to me about someone else making it – have you ever made something that complex before?" He was worried that as an apprentice, Draco may not yet have mastered the difficult potion.

"With all respect, Professor, I've been the one sending Severus the alterations that he's been brewing for you this past eighteen months. Er, and just in case you are still concerned, Severus taught me to make it during the War. I, er, had several dealings with Lycanthropes during my tenure within Voldemort's ranks." Draco seemed a little indignant that his expertise was being questioned.

Remus tried to interrupt and apologise, but Draco continued. "Anyway, I was planning on devoting my research mastery year to this one potion, but events have conspired against me. Severus has been most generous to allow me to continue with my research as I assist him. I have quite a few ideas, and I wanted to thank you for all the input you have given to Severus on my behalf. I was hoping that we could continue that relationship and we could both, perhaps benefit from it."

The werewolf was stunned at the revelation. "Really? I always thought Severus was the one making the improvements. I – well, it's been great. I – thank you for what you are doing, Draco. I'm sorry if I seem a little stunned, but Severus never indicated that he had anyone he was collaborating with. In fact, he told me very little about anything, just that the potion was going through an improvement phase—"

"I'm quite aware that you and he never saw eye to eye, Professor, and I must admit that I was probably a little snot to you when you were my teacher, and I just wanted to clear the air and apologise," Draco was surprised at his own admission, but a small weight lifted off his shoulders as he voiced it. "Voldemort created havoc with his own dark creatures. I saw enough of that to last a lifetime. So many innocent victims, and like yourself, many have been wrongfully persecuted. It's unfair, and if I can do something to ease your curse, then I will do it."

"I never realised you felt so passionate about Lycanthrope Rights, Draco," Remus seemed stunned at the passion behind the young man's words. He offered Draco a cup of tea as they sat down. "And please, call me Remus. I'm only Professor Lupin in front of the students." He smiled at the former Slytherin, who returned it with a nod and a small smile of his own.

Still breaking the ice, Remus quizzed Draco on the source of his interest in Wolfsbane. "I saw first hand just what wild Werewolves could do, Remus. I saw the destruction they wove during the height of the War." Remus nodded. He knew intimately the desire to kill and maim and destroy. He couldn't begin to imagine what the young man had seen during his work as an Order spy, but he guessed that he had seen more horrors than the average person.

"There were so many innocent victims, Remus. Voldemort was trying to increase his ranks of dark creatures every month. Of course, now it just makes it harder for the victims to obtain the potion. I'd dearly love to have something that could be commercially produced, but I only have your feedback to help me. I really wanted to ask you today if you would still be willing to assist in my research, Remus."

"Of course I would love to help. It's not like I'm suddenly going to stop needing Wolfsbane, and I admit that in this past year, I've been feeling better than ever." Remus had been feeling great – he felt fitter than he had in years. Draco surreptitiously agreed as he watched the werewolf, noting that the man seemed to be healthier than he recalled from all those years earlier, and he attributed it to the improved potion. Of course, it didn't hurt that the man seemed to be at such ease in his own skin, and Draco couldn't help but watch the subtle play of muscles under his robes.

"Smashing," Draco offered. "Now, I was hoping to ask you a few more personal questions, in particular about your recent illness. I don't know if that will mean I should change this month's formulation of the potion, or if I should just keep to the last recipe—"

Remus and Draco spoke for a good hour, and the young apprentice seemed satisfied with the werewolf's answers. Remus found the time passed quickly. He had not expected to ever meet someone who was so much like Severus with his knowledge, yet so different in almost every way. Draco had definitely matured from the boy he remembered teaching a good decade earlier. _Attractive, too,_ Remus thought, but quickly pushed that thought aside. He could sense the mild scent of interest emanating from Draco, but Remus was used to a variety of smells. Of course, it did confirm one thing, and he wondered if Severus had ulterior motives for taking Draco on as his apprentice.

For years Remus had felt that Severus brewed his Wolfsbane as if it were an unpleasant chore. It was refreshing to find that Draco seemed to be genuinely passionate about Lycanthrope rights. His efforts to developing a workable long term Wolfsbane were admirable, and certainly not unfeasible. Remus had once thought that Draco was a mini Lucius clone, and had often wondered if his desire to join the Order was some form of teen rebellion against his father. The war had left its marks on everyone, and in this case, it had brought forth all the good qualities of Draco's character. Qualities that had not been seen in the Malfoy line for generations. He found the boy had all the confidence and arrogance of his lineage, but it was tempered with a caring heart that was never something that Lucius could have claimed to have created. If anything, the boy was a Potions genius, and Remus had come to that conclusion after only one afternoon.

However, Remus realised that there would only be one problem. Harry.

During their conversation, Remus had mentioned Harry's name a few times, and he could not fail to see the dark scowl cross Draco's face. He couldn't miss the scent of hatred either. It was then he remembered that Draco and Harry were never the best of friends at school. If his memory served correctly, they had been even more vehemently opposed than Sirius and Severus.

Remus gathered that Draco was unaware of Harry's appointment to the staff, and he didn't feel it was his place to inform him. As for Harry, well, Remus didn't feel it was his place to enlighten him about the identity of the mysteriously good looking Potions apprentice.

Besides, he had no intention of doing anything to trigger Harry's anger. He had seen the raw undercurrent of power that rippled through the young man, and Remus had sensed that power escaping whenever he was angry. He had been quite intimidated by Harry's rather forward proposition earlier in the month, but knew that a relationship with Harry was wrong. Besides, Harry had a journal and his future was sealed in ink on parchment. No, Harry was not yet in full control of his erratic powers and Remus felt it wise to avoid mentioning Draco to Harry. Besides, He doubted that Draco would be pleased to know that his old rival was also at the school. He only hoped that they were both mature enough to behave like the young adults they were.

* * *

_Dimanche, 27 Avril._

_Hey Flash, are you there?_

_**Yes, I just sat down. How are you doing? Any better than last week?**_

_Oh well, I could bore you to tears with unpleasantness, or we could talk about other things to help me forget._

_**Okay. There's certainly no need to dredge up unhappiness if we don't have to. I can tell you about the 'lovely' week I had, instead.**_

_You are quite right. I would 'love' to hear about it. anything to help me forget!_

_**Well, the majority of it was spent trying not to get too upset with the fact that I had to return to my old job. They had me trapped, contractual obligations, and I had to come back to finish out the month. I guess I was just lucky that my new temporary position was able to wait until May...**_

_Oh that's a bugger. I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you cursed each and every parchment so that when it passes through your bosses' hands, it leaves a lasting reminder. It's good to know that your new employer is so flexible. You deserve a little freedom after such a rotten job._

_**Oh, I should have thought of that! I would love to leave that kind of lasting impression on those ignorant, tunnel-visioned bureaucrats.**_

_Of course, I think that sort of thing would get you into a little bit of trouble with the Magical Law Enforcement office, and you don't want to get on their bad side. I should know._

_**Yes, I suppose it would. You should know, huh? Had some dealings with the MLE in the past? Why Luc, you never told me you were a criminal!**_

_Well, I'm sure we all had a run in or two with them during our misspent youth. I did have a few dealings, in fact, the memory is rather fresh right now. I ran into an old cohort this week and he tried to make me an offer I couldn't refuse._

_**Oh? But I presume from the way you're talking about it that you did, indeed, refuse?**_

_Naturally, and I have been in touch with the appropriate authorities. Goodness knows more trouble is the last thing I need right now._

_**Well, honestly, do any of us ever really need trouble?**_

_No, I'm quite happy to keep out of trouble of the illegal kind. I'm not saying that I'm disinclined to get into other types of trouble... on occasion._

_**Oh yes... especially with the coming Beltane season, I'm feeling an inclination for that type of trouble myself.**_

_Ah, how could I nearly forget Beltane? I've been so busy trying to get into a routine here, I would have let it pass me by. Do you have any firm plans? What do you normally do to celebrate the sabbat?_

_**Well, normally I just go with the flow. I never did much celebrating of the High Days until recent years, and Beltane has always been one of those that I wasn't quite sure how to celebrate. Last year I did go to a community Maypole celebration, but as for this week, I have no specific plans. **_

_No other special celebration? Have you never been down to the fires? _

_**I can't say that I have been before. I haven't checked out the local fires, but then, I'll be heading back to my new job mid-week. I don't even know what's planned in that area.**_

_I have usually looked forward to visiting the fires every year, particularly since I have been of age, but this will be the first year in a while that I am officially unattached. I'm not sure how the locals will take to my presence. I thought my reputation may precede me here, but I've found a few surprising pockets of support. I'm not used to that._

_**The strange thing is, I've had this growing sense of anticipation recently – a strange feeling that something monumental is going to happen.**_

_Something monumental? Yes, the magic around at this time of year can be quite powerful. You should protect your home lest it become inundated with the wrong sort of power._

_**Oh, that's true... rowan branches, right? As for the monumental event - well, this will sound a little silly, but I've had a very strong and very definite sense that I'm going to meet my soul mate and it's going to be soon. It's really odd. I've never felt more certain of anything, especially in relation to my love life, but I'm suddenly positive that there's a very special someone out there and he's just waiting for me, even though he doesn't know it. Suffice to say I'll be a bit hyper-aware of anyone I meet in the next few weeks.**_

_Yes, do go with your instincts. I've found them to be so very important. I would not have made it through the war without mine. Of course your soul mate is waiting for you. He wouldn't be attached to anyone else if he were your soul mate. So what brought about this great revelation?_

_**Well, we do sometimes get attached to the wrong people... it's happened to both of us, hasn't it?**_

_It's not so much my attraction to the wrong person, more that I'm sure the locals will probably run away._

_**I'm not sure, exactly. I saw a couple of my friends who are very much in love, and some old associates who seemed quite intimate, and it was just a feeling that came over me. It was like a sense of calm and assurance that I would soon feel that sort of completion as well... not that I don't feel complete on my own, but, I have a feeling that whoever he is, he can make me more complete. Well, the wrong people doesn't necessarily mean there's anything wrong with them, just that they aren't the right people for us. Ollie was the wrong person, so was Charlie (not that I got attached to him). I'd wager that Jean-Paul was the wrong person for you... unless there's more to write on that book, of course.**_

_No, no developments in relation to Jean-Paul. I've managed to stop the constant urge to jump in the Floo back to Marrakesh. But you are right. He has someone out there that is perfect for him. I have learned so much from the experience, and I absolutely want to put those skills into practice again._

_**Oh, the Tantric skills?**_

_You got it. _

_**You know, I learned a bit about that during my trip last week... just in theory of course, I've not had a chance to put it to the test.**_

_Ah, don't you just hate the theory. I think practice is the best thing. So where have you been? You never mentioned any trip, or did you?_

_**But apparently, the biggest thing about Tantric sex is not simply prolonging the orgasm, but actually focussing on the energy flow and combining the two people's energies. It can make both people stronger than they are alone.**_

_Yes, I seem to recall that Jean-Paul mentioned something like that. I, er, was more interested in the practical side rather than the theory. Perhaps that is why I need so much practice. Or maybe I should take up some other discipline to help. I used to do Yoga._

_**I mentioned it in passing last week. I spent nearly a full week in the Orient, a tiny little island off the south of China, actually. My mentor said that when done properly, the energy flow during Tantra is very powerful and intense, and that there's actually not much in the way of action or stimulation because the whole purpose is about finding yourself in your partner, or something like that. He… ah… also said something about the experience being very intense and you could get lost in the moment if you weren't careful.**_

_Oh yes, you did mention that. Sorry, I forgot. I've had so much on my mind this week. Well then I should investigate further and find someone who is willing to find himself in me. I can't write that and not think of all the innuendo attached to that_ _phrase!_

_**I'm sure Yoga would be good, if nothing else to make you more flexible for variety of positions!**_

_Yes, I find that after my little war injury that the Yoga helped me to keep as active as I'm ever going to be._

_**Oh, there is a great deal of innuendo in that, isn't there? And I have to say, I could probably be convinced to 'find myself in you' if you were here right now. Being alone during the Spring Fever season is torture!**_

_I haven't really practiced any Yoga in about six months. I associated it too much with Antonio. Yes, that is very wicked of you... I am surrounded by a seething mass of hormones at work and it is torture, I can tell you. _

_Well if I were around, at least I could find myself in someone I trust. I've been having a few trust issues lately, and I find myself rapidly narrowing the list of people I can trust._

_**I'm sorry. Do be careful who you trust, but don't narrow the list any more than you truly need to. It can be very lonely, closing yourself off like that.**_

_Well, it's been quite hard not to. You do know about what happened down in Somerset, don't you? With that Muggle 'gas explosion'?_

_**Yes, I read about that.**_

_Yes, shocking stuff. I find myself worried that the people who did that might be some of those who weren't captured after the war. I know a Ministry cover-up when I see one, and this reeks of Death Eaters. It worries me so much that I really can't say anything, and now that I realise it, I have no idea who you are. You could have been involved, and now I feel a right git for thinking that, but see what I mean? I don't know who to turn to. I trust my mentor implicitly, and he shares my concerns. Those useless Aurors haven't lifted a finger. Sorry, didn't mean to get so serious, but it's just something I've had to face now that I am in the UK._

_**No, they haven't. It's incredibly frustrating, because there are people who could have helped them, and weren't notified or consulted about things before they got so bad... Now all these people are dead and the papers and the Ministry are covering it up again, and they'll dick around until it gets really bad like it did during the war. Don't worry about getting serious. Life is serious sometimes, and we can't really be friends if we can't discuss real life, right? Besides, at least now we know that we agree on something else - Bureaucracy breeds incompetence.**_

_Touché. I'm sorry, but being here has brought out and dredged up many feelings about things I would much rather forget._

_**Perfectly all right.**_

_So we agree that the Ministry is full of dicks, you have an exciting new job and you've become a globetrotter, I would do anything to go home to Paris right now, and we will both be alone on Beltane. Is that right?_

_**Yes, I think that about sums it up.**_

_Well, we could always get together for Beltane... and start practicing that Tantric stuff._

_**Oh! That could be fun! Although something tells me you're not one hundred percent serious about that suggestion.**_

_You're right. I doubt I could get away. I'm a little isolated right now, and not being terribly serious. Didn't we say we would at least wait until Yule? We don't want to rush things now, do we? I've barely known you six months, although, something tells me you wouldn't mind if I were being serious._

_**This is very true. We wouldn't want to seem hasty. I still say Yule is a good time, and to be completely honest, I'll be travelling on Beltane anyway, finishing this job, starting the new one... I'm still peeved that they've managed to keep me here because of a stupid interpretation of my contract.**_

_Ah, the old binding wizard's contract._

_**Well, to be perfectly honest, no - I wouldn't mind if you were being serious. See, I've been debating whether or not to tell you this, but...**_

_Go on, you know I won't judge you._

_**I know you won't judge me, I just don't want to scare you off... I had the strangest dream the other night. I was with someone... someone very special, but I never saw his face. It wasn't strictly what I would call a sex dream, but there was some sex in it. It just... felt so right... so perfect. We were just there together, just enjoying being with each other... It was almost like the same feeling I got when I think of the notion of meeting my soul mate soon... a total sense of everything being just right, love, completion... I'm a little afraid to write this because I don't want our friendship to change, or especially to go away, but you know how this journal works, just pulling and pulling until you spill your secrets... Anyway, when I woke up and remembered the dream, the first thing I thought of...**_

Draco sat and waited. For a moment, he thought that Flash had gone. No words appeared on the page for a few minutes. If he didn't see the tell tale drip of purple ink, he might have thought that his confidant had just vanished. He reread the last paragraph. What was Flash trying to say?

_**I think it was you. I think I dreamt I was with you. **_

Draco sat and blinked in total surprise. Flash had what sounded like a very personal and intimate dream, and he thought it was about him? He didn't really know what to say to that. _Am I upset, what do I really think? I'm honestly speechless. Well, I'm not angry, or sad, or upset by it. I'm going to need time to think about that._ He realised Flash was waiting for some sort of response.

_**See, I knew I should have just kept that to myself. I'm sorry, it was probably just because we chat regularly, and... well...**_

_Sorry, Don't be ridiculous. I'm... well, I'm well... speechless. Please don't go – I was merely thinking about what you said._

_**I'm not gone. Just embarrassed as hell.**_

_I really don't know what to say, Flash. I don't think this changes our friendship, as such. I never realised you might think that way about me. I guess I have come to think of you as a confidant of sorts. I've never actually thought any further than that about our friendship. I'm sorry if my stupid flirting has given you the wrong idea, or built up your hopes._

_**No, don't be sorry about it. See, this is what I meant. I don't want you to second guess everything you say to me. I have no specific hopes at this point. I have a really strong feeling deep inside that I'm going to meet that perfect guy soon... and well, we're not meeting until at least Yule, right? it's fine, really. I think of you as a confidant as well, and I never consciously thought of a relationship between us, the notion just popped into my head that morning.**_

_See, I think that all that damn sexual tension in the air has been playing tricks on you. _

_**I think it was probably because I would like a guy that I can have these types of conversations with... the fun, casual chats as well as the serious, thought-provoking discussions... it's the type of thing that I feel is important in a relationship, and with you is the only time I've experienced it like this... So I just have to find someone in the flesh that can offer me the same thing and has the same interest in learning Tantra as well!**_

_Although, I found from your first words that you are an intriguing individual, Flash. Perhaps... but as you say, you're going to meet your soul mate soon. Whilst I'm stuck here surrounded by imbeciles. Besides, it was a dream. You have no idea if your dream lover looks anything like me. Yes, I think that you have summed up my desires as well. It really is laughable. If someone else were to read our words they might think that we are a perfect match..._

_**You're probably right... though the sexual tension has abated some since my trip to China. That really helped me find my centre a little more. I have no idea WHAT that dream lover looked like, but I have no idea WHAT you look like, either.**_

**_Yes, it is laughable isn't it? Perfect match indeed!_**

_Normally this is where I'd tell you that I am devastatingly handsome. I believe I could possibly compare myself to one of those actors from Lord of the Rings. If I were big noting myself and flirting, that is. You've certainly cheered me up tonight, Flash. Don't think on your words. If you can't tell me, then honestly, who can you tell?_

_**Oh? You wouldn't happen to look a bit like Legolas, would you? Because honestly, with a little work I could try to pass myself off as Aragorn, and I hear some fans think they make a hot couple!**_

_Yes, I'm sure you do... and when I see you in the flesh you'll look like Samwise. Stop telling tall tales. I really do look like an orc._

_**Oh, I seriously doubt that!**_

_Well, I do work with an old wizard who could pass for Gandalf._

_**Besides, I'm harbouring a secret crush on Gimli... I think it's leftover from my charms professor...**_

Draco knew then for a fact from that statement that Flash had indeed been to Hogwarts. He doubted any other dwarves taught charms at any of the other English schools. He was just about to agree with Flash when he held his quill back. He didn't want to mention just yet that he too had attended Hogwarts. For some reason, he felt it best not to mention the school at all.

_Oh dear, you are a funny man. Reality being cast by Lord of the Rings. Just as long as Boromir is free, I'm a happy wizard._

_**Oh, I'd have to agree with you on that one! And I'm just lucky enough to work with someone who has that same wild handsome look, too!**_

_You work with Boromir? Damn, where can I get a job like that? _

_**You just have to get lucky, I guess.**_

_I haven't laughed that hard in ages! But do pass Boromir this way when you've had your wicked Tantric way with him, won't you?_

_**I most certainly will! I have to share, isn't that what we're taught is proper?**_

_Which brings up another of those rather risqué questions in my mind, and now it's passed out onto the paper. Have you ever indulged with more than one partner at a time? Oh, shit, sorry... Ollie did that to you, didn't he? Sorry. _

_I'll just shut my mouth and keep quiet now. Damn journals._

_**He did that, but not to me... just in front of me. Don't worry yourself over it, he really doesn't bother me any more. I've never indulged, but I've toyed with the notion a bit.**_

_So you really have moved on? That's good to hear. I must say I have indulged, but it wasn't my idea. I can't say I particularly enjoyed sharing then. I can be quite greedy. I expect my partner will be satisfied with what he gets from me, alone._

_**Yeah, that's my feelings on it as well. That's why I've never done more than toy with the idea. I suppose I sorta have some romantic notions about sex.**_

_Don't compromise your own ideals if you really aren't comfortable. It can be okay to just say no. If your partner isn't happy with that, then he doesn't truly respect you._

_**Exactly!**_

_I sometimes feel as if we are a meeting of great minds. I am yet to find something that we totally disagree on._

_**It's a little weird, isn't it... refreshing, but almost disconcerting at the same time.**_

_Hmmm, especially since we seem to have the truth dragged out from under us by the damn cursed magic in this journal. I think I'll need to make it a mission to find something that we disagree on..._

_**How do you feel about butter beans?**_

_Er, you can take them or leave them. I eat them, but I don't crave them. They can be a little bit mundane. Eggplant?_

_**Only if it's cooked just right... I've had some really good eggplant parmesan, but other than that I don't care for it much.**_

_What's your favourite chocolate? are you a soft centre or a hard centre man?_

_**Hmmm, I'd have to go with a soft centre - and nuts, I like nuts!**_

_Well, you see, there you have it. I am yet to find a soft centre I like. I prefer something hard I can bite into, like a caramel. Although, I don't mind a nut centre. We don't like the same chocolates - I knew we would find discord. Of course, next thing you'll be telling me you are a lifelong supporter of the Cannons or something like that._

_**No, not at all. I primarily support the Tornadoes, truth be told, though my support has varied on occasion over the years... the chocolates, that'll be a true issue.**_

_Yes, but I guess that if you were being optimistic, you could say that we could find harmony in that, and we would never argue over the last chocolate in the box. Damn! Still no severe grief between us. Well I haven't followed the Quidditch in a very long time, although I am familiar with the Falcons, but I don't particularly get upset who wins or loses, although I don't mind it when a team uses underhanded tactics and gets away with it._

_**Oh, I needed that laugh, and the look on the bright side, as well. It does seem like the perfect solution to eating all the chocolates in a variety box, doesn't it? The Falcons aren't bad. I can't say I've ever gotten extremely upset over a Quidditch loss, except for when it was my school team losing.**_

_Yes , school Quidditch can be nasty, can't it?_

_**Yes, it can!**_

_I guess I'll have to ponder the greater questions in life this week... I'm determined to find out something that we can amicably agree to disagree on. _

_**Okay, I'll see what I can come up with as well! There's got to be something we don't see eye to eye on... As for now, I think I need to call it a night. I still have a mountain of paperwork to finish in the next few days and they've run me to death this week.**_

_Do you need any help in working a few subtle curses into that mountain of paperwork? Extreme diarrhoea? A nasty case of piles? Erectile dysfunction?_

_**Oh, how I would love to curse my supervisor with some of those... but I'd better not tempt myself.**_

_So I won't mention a book called 'Horrendous Hexes for Heinous Harridans and Hags' then?_

_**Right, you don't mention it, and I won't go looking for it on my lunch break tomorrow.**_

_Perfect. Yes, I am a little tired myself. I do hope you have a good Beltane. Don't try to avoid it. It can be a dangerous time if you don't at least try to protect yourself from all that errant magic._

_**I'll keep that in mind, you have a good one, too, and I'll check in with you next week to see how it went.**_

_Okay Flash! Take care!_

_**Will do, you too. G'nite, Luc.**_

* * *

**April 30, Beltane Eve**

By the last day of the month, Beltane Eve, word had gotten around that Harry Potter was leaving the Ministry. He dreaded the thought of some sort of pathetic little party to say goodbye with everyone spouting insincere platitudes. Harry was grateful for Arthur Weasley's intervention when the Minister called for an official decommissioning ceremony. In the quiet, but publicised ceremony, the Minister thanked Harry for his years of service to all wizard kind. Harry seemed amused by Arthur's veiled threat to restructure the Auror division now that he was gone.

Harry had one more stop after leaving the Ministry for the last time. Quality Quidditch Supplies wasn't terribly crowded as he stepped in to pick up a few supplies. In fact, he realised that there was hardly anyone left in Diagon Alley. Looking up at the calendar behind the counter (Harry did his best to ignore Oliver Wood's insincere smile beaming down from Mr April) he realised it was Beltane Eve. Even though he had discussed it with Luc only a few days earlier, it suddenly hit him that he would be alone tonight.

That thought put a dampener on his rather happy return to Hogwarts. It was ironic that his old job, and his old life, ended just as he was celebrating the start of new life. He quickly ducked into the florist just before he left the Alley. He wasn't terribly superstitious, but ever since discovering his wizarding heritage, he threw himself wholeheartedly into that heritage wherever possible. He knew that as a child he would have gathered primroses on Beltane Eve and thrown the flowers at the door of their home for protection. At least, that's what he thought he would have done.

After the war, Harry spent many days researching everything he could about the Potter family. It became quite an obsession for a while. He learned that the family was steeped heavily in the deepest pagan traditions, reaching back for centuries. Apparently his mother had given up on her Irish Catholic upbringing when she and James married. According to Remus it had not been an easy decision for his mother, but in deference, James agreed that their children would have Christian baptisms. He wanted them to make their own choices when they grew up. It was the only reason he had a godfather, which was quite uncommon in the wizarding world. According to Remus, their conflicting faith had been the one bone of contention between his mother and father, but James had loved Lily deeply enough that they saw beyond their religious differences. Of course, Harry could now see why Petunia loathed his father.

The only thing Harry avoided on Beltane was visiting the fires – alone. He had gone in previous years when he was with a partner, but knew that if he were to attend alone, well, Harry knew how much he loved public attention. With a great sigh, he realised that he would be spending this Beltane alone. He wondered, absently, if Remus was doing anything, but shook his head. His friend had explicitly turned down his offer in the past, and Harry didn't want to seem desperate, even if he felt that way most of the time.

No, he would just head up to his new rooms at Hogwarts, place the rowan branches at the windows and doors to ward off unwanted spirits and magics during the Sabbat, and spend the night in quiet meditation and contemplation.

* * *

The highlight of Draco's week was his rather eye-opening chat with Flash. He was thoroughly surprised by Flash's admission that he might mistake an imaginary dream lover for Luc. Draco had not considered thinking of Flash in such a way, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that Flash displayed all the qualities he sought in a life partner. It certainly gave him plenty to think about.

He was also pleased that Lupin was eager to help with the Wolfsbane research. At least he wasn't going to have any resistance from the werewolf.

The run in with Nott had curbed his desire to head anywhere outside the castle. He had contacted one of the Investigative Goblins from Magical Law Enforcement about his encounter, but he could glean nothing from the Goblin as to whether or not this was going to help him if they ever tried to charge him with helping the Neo Death Eaters. Severus told him to stop worrying, but Draco did the only thing he could when he was worried – he buried himself in his work.

He hadn't realised his self imposed isolation until Severus made mention of it, but he shrugged and claimed he was busy. A very long letter from Arianna brightened his week, her astute observations putting a genuine smile on his face. She too had laughed off the fact that the British paparazzi had inferred their relationship was more than it was. She decided to play up on that by writing to him on bright pink parchment dipped in some ghastly floral perfume. He could just see the cheeky grin on her face as she sent off the letter. No doubt she mixed it up with her father's mail so he wouldn't fail to notice it and make his own assumptions.

What did add to his worry was the lack of any return letter from Emmaline. Not a single word from his petite-mère, and he was genuinely concerned. It seemed strange that she would not send him at least a simple note to say that things were all right, but he couldn't help but be concerned. Perhaps he was overreacting, but he still wrote to her again. As an afterthought, he replied to Arianna (on sturdy, high quality parchment doused in his own favourite cologne and sealed with the unmistakeable Malfoy seal), asking her to check up on Emmaline on his behalf.

The whirlwind of activity continued as he visited the infirmary to discuss the specifics of soporifics Madame Pomfrey needed. He had purposely delayed his trip until after he knew Granger had finished her internship with the school nurse. He really didn't want to talk to her again, even though she had been passingly pleasant to him.

Poppy had indeed been impressed with Draco's efforts and she even commented that his previous batch of potions all had a favourable reaction when they were needed. "I don't know how you do it, but I have been told you can actually make some of them taste a little better. I don't know why Severus insists on making them taste worse than dried dragon dung," she commented, "but you didn't hear me say that," she added hurriedly.

Severus visited Draco each evening to ensure things were running smoothly. They took their evening meals together, Draco enjoying the opportunity to talk with his old friend and mentor. It felt good to be able to discussing almost anything with him. There were very few subjects he could not broach with Severus, but he had Flash to talk to about those.

The pair were sitting quietly on Wednesday evening, both relaxing after a very pleasant dinner. He had long given up hope of Dobby ever making a decent coffee, so Draco transfigured a glass jug into a coffee plunger and brewed his own coffee from a very small bag of beans he discovered in his stores.

"I'll never know what you see in this vile swill, Draco. It's bitter and too strong, not to mention full of caffeine," Severus scrunched his face as he drank his coffee, but Draco noticed he never put the cup down until it was empty.

"Ah, but Severus, now that you've tasted it, you'll never want to go back. Trust me," He sipped at the espresso. It wasn't the same as what Emmaline had made for him, but in the absence of anything else, it would have to suffice. "What I do miss is the Patisserie," _and Emmaline, where is she?_ "Are you sure you couldn't find your way to working in Paris?" he pleaded.

"Hmm," Severus snorted, "Well if you keep hounding me, I might very well decide to do that. You know I never could resist you whining for too long. I think that's an inherent Malfoy trait. Your father used to hound me as well, but for completely different reasons. Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. Your presence is requested at a _Staff party_ on Saturday night. I'm afraid it's one of those staff events that even I can't get out of, worst luck," Snape sneered.

"Oh? What's the occasion?" Draco asked curiously. He couldn't help but wonder what old Lucius could have hounded Severus about, but perhaps some things were best left dead and buried.

"I think Dumbledore's tired of the two of us seeking solitude. It puts a dent in his social schedule when we don't want to play with the other children. He probably wants to show off the fact that he's got two Potions masters, even if the party is only for the other staff. Actually, he mentioned something about other new staff, so I guess he wants to introduce Hooch's replacement, and I really hope that nobody is announcing their impending retirement. I guess it's that time of the year."

"Any idea who's replaced Hooch?" Draco offered Severus another of the cinnamon cakes. Severus found them hard to resist, and Draco was more than pleased that Dobby had remembered how much Draco enjoyed those little cakes when he was a boy.

"No idea, but no doubt Albus will make a grand song and dance about it come Saturday," Severus offered as he left.

* * *

Draco woke with a dreadful pain in his neck. He had fallen asleep at his desk yet again. Looking over at the clock, he could see that it was quite late on Wednesday evening. A curious glow was coming through his window, and he got up slowly, taking his time to stretch and get rid of his aches and pains. Those complex arithmantic equations had been taxing, but he didn't think they would put him to sleep.

The glow seemed to be coming from Hogsmeade. He could see tendrils of flame flickering over the treetops – the cause of the strange glow. A moment of panic ran through him as he suspected the worst. Just as he turned to alert someone, a strange object in the courtyard caught his eye. Squinting, he thought he recognised it. Looking over at the calendar, he immediately relaxed.

He had been so preoccupied, he had completely forgotten the sabbat. _How could I forget Beltane Eve? _He considered for a brief moment heading down to the fires, but quickly turned and headed back to sit by his own fire.

He knew why it had slipped his mind. The idea of spending the most important of the Sabbats completely alone was something he really had been avoiding. This was the first Beltane in years he would be alone. Memories of previous Beltanes, including the last one with Antonio, brought a wave of overwhelming guilt. It had been a most memorable occasion, one he would never forget. However, he was doing his best to do that now.

It felt wrong not to do something. He didn't want to go to the fires alone, even though it were highly likely other single witches and wizards would be there. He should at least do something to celebrate the arrival of spring and new life. It was indeed a magical night, and he would need to take care. Strange things had been known to happen to those wizards who did not protect themselves on such a powerfully magic night.

The guilt at doing nothing began to gnaw at him. Just as he decided on a course of action, he heard a noise just outside his door. Not the door to his chambers, but the door to his adjacent office. Draco scowled. He knew that the students often attempted pranks on the staff on a night like this, but he was in no mood for any of it. Being the closest door to the end of the hallway made it a prime target for such an instance.

He didn't expect to see anyone there, but they had left behind a small gift. Looking around, Draco found the hallway empty, but nearly tripped over the large rowan branch left on his doorstep. He looked at it quizzically. Surely it wasn't something that was part of a prank. He checked it for charms or hexes before he touched it. It appeared a totally harmless branch.

Who could have known that he was planning on getting that very thing from down at the greenhouse? Who knew he was planning on placing rowan branches at his windows and doors for protection? Some of the old ways may have seemed silly to some, but Draco could remember helping his mother do this very ritual when he was a little boy. If he wasn't going to be an active participant in the whole Beltane ritual, he should at least acknowledge it in some way. Somebody else must have realised he was planning that. Seeing nobody else, he could only assume that Dobby had somehow remembered and anticipated his need.

It made him feel suddenly old. This was the sort of thing lonely old wizards did. He didn't continue that morbid thought, but bent down and took the bough, closing the door and heading back to place it against his window. He was trying very hard to forget about all he was missing. He couldn't think about that - not now. Flicking the radio on to drown out the joyous sounds of the happy students, he was soon lost in the heavy and hypnotic beats of Muggle rock music.

Unable to concentrate, he decided to take a shower to relieve some of the tension. He felt much better and clearer headed afterwards. Of course, wanking in the shower was really not his style (he would have preferred a partner there to _help_), but it seemed the only thing he could do that would help get his mind off his maudlin thoughts and allow him to concentrate.

Dressed in his black silk pyjama pants and open silk dressing gown and feeling quite refreshed, Draco poured a glass of wine as he returned to those ghastly arithmantic equations. Very soon he was concentrating on how the brewing times would affect the combination of ingredients in his next batch of Wolfsbane. _A much more worthy pursuit than the frivolous pursuit of love and happiness,_ he thought with just a touch of bitterness.

* * *

Harry's day had been extremely long – what with the decommissioning ceremony and the long wander through Diagon Alley. Ron wanted one last night out with Harry before he left to return to Hogwarts. It seemed Ron was enjoying the opportunity to spend quality time with Harry down at the pub every night. Harry didn't want to say anything aloud, but he also suspected that Ron didn't get the opportunity to eat much greasy pub food when Hermione was around. Ron's wistful look at the plate of bangers and mash was a dead giveaway.

He eventually dragged himself away from Ron and through the Floo back to Hogsmeade. As always, the Floo trip seemed much worse after a little too much wine. As he walked up to the school he saw many locals heading out towards the fires. As he wandered in through the school doors, he saw the same high spirits in a number of happy students heading out to the main courtyard. One glance over there showed the large maypole being erected. The good mood was infectious and Harry couldn't help but smile. It was good to see that the old ways were not totally dying out, even if he chose to celebrate very quietly this year.

He was yet to see any of the staff as he made his way to his rooms. He was looking forward to getting a good sleep. He wanted to be out on the pitch bright and early; a good flight before breakfast was just what he needed. He was stopped in his tracks, however, when the door to his rooms failed to open. "_Alohomora_," he muttered for the third time. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He tried the same on the door to his adjacent office, but to no avail. "_Waddiwasi_," he tried half heartedly. Nothing happened. He sighed at the possibility someone might be playing a prank on him, now that he was on staff.

Carefully laying the rowan boughs at the door, he headed down to see Remus. Surely he would know what was going on. He suspected Peeves might be trying to welcome him back to the castle in his own warped and twisted way, but the thought of dealing with that poltergeist, and then Filch, was one he didn't want to contemplate tonight.

Remus was clearly not in his rooms, but Harry thought he would try to get into his room one more time before disturbing anyone else. As he came back to his own door, he noticed the rowan boughs were missing. Now he knew something was definitely amiss.

He tried to unlock the door again, but was getting quite frustrated. _Surely I didn't set any different locking charms on the bloody door? I don't remember if I did. _"_Finite Incantatum," _Harry muttered in frustration. The door didn't budge, but he could faintly here what seemed to be a wireless coming from the other side of the door.

_Surely I didn't drink that much. I know these are my rooms. Who the bloody hell is in my room? And why are they playing Muggle music?_ For one moment, Harry suspected that Remus might be in his room. _Would he have changed his mind? _Harry was a bundle of confusion. All he wanted to do was sit down quietly in his own rooms. He ventured a firm knock on the door.

There was no response, so Harry knocked louder. He wasn't surprised to feel a number of wards being dissolved but he jumped back when the door opened in a sudden rush.

"Look, whoever you are..." the voice sounded all too familiar and full of its usual ire. Harry looked up in complete surprise to find Malfoy just standing there, lounging against the door of _his_ room.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in my room, Malfoy?" Harry had the presence of mind to voice the thought. He was desperately trying to look anywhere else but the pale chest and dark silk pyjamas presented before him. "In fact, what the bloody hell are you even doing at Hogwarts? Aren't you shagging some politician's daughter overseas?" Not the most eloquent of insults, but Harry forced his way through the door. "And what in Merlin's name have you done with all my stuff?" he cried with increasing confusion.

The whole time Malfoy just stood there with his usual smirk. "Oh, do come in and help yourself, Potter. Isn't it enough that the entire wizarding world wants you? You want to come knocking on my door all hours of the night and claiming it's your place. Perhaps that usual swill you imbibe has finally gone to your head," Malfoy's cold and calm presence did nothing for Harry's sense of confusion. _Please tell me they didn't get Malfoy to replace me whilst I was in London. Don't be ridiculous,_ Harry thought, _he couldn't fly, not with that limp. _

Harry shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. As he looked around the room he could not find one single recognisable thing. Perhaps he had got the wrong room. Perhaps the stress really had got to him.

"What is it, Potter? Is there some reason you come barging in here, or has the kneazle got your tongue?"

"Why don't you tell me, Malfoy?" Harry finally found his voice, even if he found it bloody hard to concentrate whilst Malfoy was standing there half naked and looking better than he should. "Why don't you start from the beginning? I haven't got all night, you know. I do have classes to teach in the morning."

"Classes? So you're a _teacher_ now, eh? Being an Auror not good enough for you any more? No bad wizards around to blow up so Potter thinks he can do anything he pleases? Thinks he can just take over wherever he wants," Draco droned in quiet fury. How dare this over-pompous git just come knocking on doors late at night?

"Just stop right there, Malfoy. I could ask you the same thing. What on earth are you doing in the staff rooms here at Hogwarts anyway?" Harry looked around the room again, looking closely at the desk and the piles of books, parchments, herb and test tubes. It did indeed look like Malfoy was settled in for quite a while. A sudden thought crossed his mind, but Malfoy spoke before he could voice it.

"Well at least some of us have _careers_, Potter. Not that you really have any interest, but..."

"...So you're that new potions apprentice, the one Snape has been fawning over? It all makes perfect sense, now, come to think of it." Harry retorted hotly. He really didn't want to get into a slanging match with Malfoy, not now.

"I think fawning is a little harsh, Potter. I'd say professional respect for a colleague is what you should be calling it. Not that you seem terribly observant. As you can no doubt see," Draco indicated with his arm, "this is clearly my suite of rooms. I'm sure you were perhaps, mistaken, about which rooms you have been assigned." Draco winced at his own patronising tone. He really did sound like his father just now, but that quality always came to the fore when he was dealing with Potter.

Harry really didn't appreciate the veiled sarcasm coming from Malfoy. The ferret was up to something. Harry could sense it. One minute he is wooing French heiresses, the next he is apparently ensconced at Hogwarts working with Snape, again. "So what happened to all my furniture and belongings that were here before you just took over?" Harry wasn't truly in the mood for a confrontation, and he knew when to hold back, lest he lose control.

"I have no idea, Potter. All I know is that my belongings were here when I arrived." Harry just stood there thoroughly confused, his hand running nervously through his hair.

Draco looked away. What was the bloody git thinking? Barging in and carrying on. The man was definitely touched in the head. Draco rolled his eyes and moved towards the door. He had noticed Potter eyeing him off and for the first time he noticed his own half undressed state. He furiously tied his dressing gown. How dare the drunken snot start ogling him? That was the last thing he needed tonight. He remembered something Severus had mentioned earlier about Potter's previous visits to the school.

"I suggest you leave now, Potter. Perhaps the werewolf might let you share his bed. Unfortunately mine is already taken." Malfoy's drawn was unmistakeable. Harry fumed. How dare he make insinuations about him and Remus! Harry was conveniently forgetting his own previous desire to shag Remus, but that was not the point now.

Draco held the door open and their argument spilled into the hallway. "How _dare_ you insinuate..." Harry shouted. The lights flickered around them. Harry looked up in surprise. He was letting Malfoy get to him.

"I think you need to calm down, Potter. We wouldn't want your _control issues_ to get out of hand, now, would we?" Draco fully remembered when Potter lost control in the Leaky Cauldron. He was trying to lead him as far away from his lab as possible. He really didn't want to have to clean up the mess that would ensue if Potter completely lost it.

"You just don't know when to stop, do you Malfoy?"

"On the contrary, Potter, I'm not the one who disturbs other's privacy..."

Harry was adamant, "...but these are _my_ rooms."

"It seems you are the delusional one." Draco retorted calmly.

"I am NOT delusional, Malfoy! I moved in here ten days ago! Where is all my stuff? If this is some stupid Slytherin prank, then congratulations. I'll be sure to take it out of their hide when I referee their Quidditch practice tomorrow!" That was the only logical explanation Harry could come up with.

"Oh, so you're replacing Hooch," Draco said with complete disinterest. "It seems you truly are a jack of all trades. I suppose in some quarters the saying must be true. 'Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach'. I do hope you manage to stay on your broom this time, Potter."

"Why you little..." Harry's wand was drawn by this stage, and Malfoy somehow had his own wand pointed right at Harry's chest. Harry blinked. How could he let the bloody ferret get to him like that? He blinked again. One lousy evening, and he had nearly forgotten everything he had worked so hard for with Lao Kuai. He took a deep breath and stepped back from Malfoy's wand.

He tried to focus on something - anything other than the inviting expanse of neck running from below Malfoy's ear to the top of his collar. Of course, Lao Kuai mentioned that whenever his magic got out of control, his sexual urges went along for the ride. Why wouldn't he find the git appealing? Harry closed his eyes, ready to walk away from Malfoy. He would go and find Remus and sort out the problem. Knowing Malfoy, he probably kicked up some sort of fuss and stamped his foot and bought his way into that room. After all, it was one of the nicer rooms in the staff quarters.

Draco really wasn't in the mood to put up with a recalcitrant Potter. It was bad enough that the git demanded that these were his rooms. Draco really didn't need or want to know that Potter was on staff, but he wasn't about to take any nonsense from him. He had had enough of hearing about him every single day since he returned to the UK. Still, Potter always brought out the worst in his personality, and he never realised he had drawn his wand until Potter took a deep breath and stepped back.

"Is there something I can help you with, gentlemen?" The headmaster's interfering tone was exactly what was needed. "The students said there was a little disturbance in the halls, but I had no idea that two of my staff members were ready to hex each other," he said disapprovingly.

"Professor, I moved into these rooms when I was here over Easter. It seems that Malfoy has managed to take over during my absence. I merely expressed my surprise and confusion at finding him here. I'm just tired, sir, and I'd dearly love to crawl into my own bed and get a good rest." Draco looked at Potter in stunned silence. The git was a smooth talker when he wanted to get his way. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"I know nothing about this, headmaster," Draco offered in reply. With a deep sigh he explained his side of the story to Dumbledore. _Am I always destined to be explaining my actions whenever Potter is around? Surely I'm not going to moving out of here. Severus will have a fit. Malfoys never back down. Especially not to Primadonna Potter._

Draco was extremely bored, and just a little cold, from standing in the hallway in little more than his pyjamas. He offered the use of his Floo to contact Severus and prove Potter's embarrassing little episode.

After what felt like hours, and numerous calls between Severus, and now Remus (who was grabbed by Potter when he walked past), it turned out that Potter had indeed moved into the rooms first. Severus had assumed Potter's packed belongings were just items in storage, and had the elves move the entire lot into another storage area.

Draco watched in amusement once he realised that he wasn't going to have to move. The headmaster agreed with Severus that these were indeed the best rooms for a Potions master. Draco sat back and watched the byplay as both the headmaster and the werewolf tried to bend over backwards to accommodate Potter. He tried to avoid watching Potter during the whole mess, but found himself involuntarily drawn to the casual Muggle wear beneath the outer robes.

Draco couldn't help but notice the sheer power rippling behind Potter's geekish façade. He turned away, disgusted that he could even consider watching Potter that closely. He watched him interact with the werewolf instead, and definitely saw that Potter desperately wanted something from Lupin. _So he wants Lupin, but the werewolf won't put out? I'm impressed. _

Eventually the impromptu gathering broke up from Draco's living room and he got the peace and solitude he was longing for. He certainly wasn't going to get any more work done tonight. Potter's belongings had been found, and Draco's face fell as the headmaster suggested that Potter take residence in the empty rooms right next door. Any hope of avoiding Potter all together was now gone.

Harry felt a little put-out, but totally unsurprised that Snape would just ride right over everyone else to ensure Malfoy was comfortable. The git was already spoiled enough. One look at Malfoy's belongings told Harry that the conceited ponce had not changed one bit. Some days Harry wondered just what it was that convinced Malfoy to defy his father's loyalties during the war. Apart from that one thing, he seemed the same stuck up prig Harry had known since school.

Harry really didn't care where he slept, he just wanted to crawl into bed. The rooms next door were practically the same, just without the attached lab (he didn't even know the room _had_ a lab attached). He was a little disappointed he couldn't see any of the Quidditch pitch from this window, but looking down into the small courtyard, he knew exactly where he would be doing his T'ai Chi come morning.

It didn't surprise Harry in the least that Malfoy protested when he tried to take his own rowan bough back to his new rooms.

Malfoy couldn't believe Potter's audacity in taking _his_ rowan bough from the window. He made a mental note to take stock of his other valuables after Potter left.

"Must you turn everything into a pissing contest, Malfoy?" Harry was really tired now. He would have just left the bough, but there was a principle at stake now. Malfoy might have his room, but he'd be buggered if he was taking his own bough.

"You're absolutely right, Potter." Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise at Malfoy's acquiescence. He sounded as tired as Harry felt. "Just take the bloody thing and get out. I'll curse you in the morning - when I'm awake." He turned to look at Potter after hearing a loud snap.

Potter had snapped the bough in two – offering half to Malfoy. Malfoy didn't accept the offering, he just continued to watch Potter in amazement. Fed up, Potter rolled his eyes and returned half the bough to the window sill, stalking out with the other half.

Why did Draco feel that his apprenticeship was suddenly going to be interminably longer than he first thought? The derision from the public – Draco could live with. The constant doubt from them as to his trustworthiness – he could live with that too. Having to see that smarmy smirk and put up with Potter's over inflated ego on a daily basis – that was going to be torture. For the briefest of moments he considered Nott's offer. Nothing could be worse than this.

_Still, _he thought, _it's not like I'm going to be anywhere near the Quidditch pitch. If he just keeps himself away from my bloody rooms, then we might just be able to stick it out – Merlin, I hope Hooch comes back next year. After all, I put up with the git for seven bloody years, what's a couple more months?_

As Draco fell asleep, his half conscious mind had one rather disturbing and disconnected thought. Potter's cologne was that same one that had been following him around for the past few weeks. The thing was, unlike the way Jean-Paul wore the scent, this time it smelled just right.

Harry stalked back to his new room. Dobby had made sure that everything was there, but nothing other than his bedding and clothes were unpacked. His pillow was firm yet soft, but as he closed his eyes, he could not help but recall the silky flowing swirls of fabric surrounding Malfoy's giant birch bed. Harry rarely admitted to jealousy, but that was a bed that Harry could only begin to dream of. He renewed his vow then and there. He was going to start acquiring all those wonderful belongings – old furniture and quality accoutrements. In fact much of Malfoy's stuff was reminiscent of the furniture he remembered from Roussillon.

Harry was definitely overtired if he was thinking about Malfoy's furniture. It had been the longest day imaginable and the run-in with Malfoy made it just one idiot too many that he had been forced to put up with. He doubted Malfoy would spend much time out of the dungeons, especially if he were working with Snape. Harry didn't think he would be spending his days anywhere near the castle, so he really hoped that he wouldn't be dodging barbs from Malfoy every day.

Just when Harry thought his life was looking up, someone threw Malfoy back in his path to show him that there would always be obstacles to overcome. Harry sighed as sleep finally overtook him.

* * *

_Draco woke slowly. The feel of the rough Indian cotton against his skin told him where he was. Marrakesh. A slick sheen of sweat covered his body and he could feel the hair at the back of his neck curl in the dampness as rivulets of sweat sluiced down his face, back and chest. The tension and the spark were pooled in his groin, and he revelled in the memory of this feeling of sheer anticipation. He attempted to move, but found his wrists bound above his head with a fine silk scarf. Somehow this felt familiar, yet completely new at the same time._

_He turned to find Jean-Paul's dark visage meditating in the corner of the bed. "Please..." Draco pleaded. _

_"Patience, Draco. Focus your thoughts on every inch of your skin. Send your desire into every pore. Focus on where you'd like me to touch you. Imagine someone is touching you there. You aren't allowed to come, not yet. You want this; you need to know what it's like to feel the desire as it leaks from every pore, not just your cock."_

_Draco squirmed. He did want to feel it. He needed to feel such an exquisite level of desire, but he was so close to release he could almost taste it. His untouched and heavily leaking cock pulsed and lay heavily against the sweat soaked curls of hair trailing down his stomach. His balls ached to be touched, yet Jean-Paul would not relent. He had brought Draco to such a frenzy, then at the last minute stepped away. _

_"I want..."_

_"I know what you want. I can smell your desire. Take a deep breath and let it go deeper. Can you smell my desire? I can feel it, touch it, taste it thrumming in every inch of skin," The voice deepened and sent another quiver of desire through his inner core. _

_"Yes..." Draco squirmed. He wanted more. He grinned as those hands finally touched him. However, it only took a few seconds to realise something didn't feel right. The hands didn't feel quite as he remembered. The voice was different – a little more husky. This had to be a new lover; he could feel the greater sense of anticipation he had sought for so long. _

_He desperately wanted to touch and taste this new lover's flesh, but found his hands were still firmly held above his head. He could smell the heady scent of the man's arousal, mingled with that now familiar cologne that had haunted him for weeks. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and willed his desire to the fore._

_Upon opening them again, he found his hands freely roaming over every muscle and tendon of his lover's defined back. His tongue sought every dip and clough of the man's body. The taste seemed familiar, yet different, and when he looked up into his lover's eyes, he found he could not focus on the man's face. He momentarily frowned, but found firm hands seeking to make their own exploration of his body._

_This was it, the vision. Draco could feel his pleasure rising to even greater heights as their two bodies slipped and slid across the now smooth cotton sheets. He found himself again at the mercy of his lover's tongue as it kissed its way up his thighs, and he looked down through half lidded eyes to see the messy head of dark hair as a warm, hot mouth breathed against his cock, and a talented tongue tickled its way into the dripping slit and under the ring of foreskin before pulling it back and exposing the pulsing head of his cock. _

_The tension and the spark were back. He couldn't hold off for much longer, but as his own hands were trailing through the dark mess of coarse hair, he felt an equally talented pair of hands searching out the more intimate and tender parts of his body. These hands – they felt so familiar – so potent - as he felt the magic emanating from them at their electrifying touch. They knew just where to touch him to make his desire come to the fore._

_The sweat was pouring from both of them now. He desperately wanted to hold off, but his lover was doing everything in his considerable power to make him reach that explosive climax in the quickest possible way. Every lesson from Jean-Paul echoed as it reminded him to keep control, yet this lithe lover had him yearning to reach out and grasp and beg and suck and fuck with every fibre within. _

_Looking down through the streams of sweat dripping into his eyes, he watched in lust as the dark haired lover bobbed over his now fully engulfed cock. His hips rocked in a sensuous rhythm as firm and slightly calloused fingers began doing unimaginable things to his balls and the urge to succumb overtook all others. He could stay like this for all eternity, but his own mouth yearned to touch and taste that delicious mouth, and it eagerly awaited the unknown taste of his lover's undoubtedly throbbing erection._

_The dark head looked up and met Draco's eyes. The face of his lover began to coherently form. The dark eyelashes blinked in lust and closed as they took one deep suck and the tension faded as he felt the surge of power pumping into that deep red mouth. The sudden shock of release pounded in his chest and as he quivered from the waves and aftershocks ripping through every pore of his body. Jean-Paul was right; it was so much more exquisitely intense for the experience. _

_He looked down into the lusty eyes of his lover. Those deep green orbs had always contained so much contempt and hate. But now, Harry Potter's eyes were only looking at Draco with complete passion and trust. _

Draco sat up with a deep gasp and a shudder. The sheets were twined around him and he felt the sticky release covering his chest and the sheet. He heart pounded in his chest and he took a while to get his breathing under control. It had been a while since he had experienced such an intense wet dream, but the memory of what he had experienced with Jean-Paul was so real he could still touch it. The fact that it had somehow morphed into a dream about Harry Potter just piqued his anger and frustration.

"Fuck," he screamed at no-one as he slowly tried to get out of bed. The most action he had experienced in a couple of weeks, and it was a wet fucking dream. About Harry _fucking_ Potter. He knew it was only an extension of their heated confrontation the night before, but still, it should not have happened.

As he showered, he felt the tension that had eased from his body after the intense dream, but he quickly realised the source of power that triggered the dream. Since coming of age, Draco had always attended the Beltane fires. He had always spent the night at the fires with one partner, or another, or several if he could rightly remember the events from his first year in Paris. His subconscious no doubt decided that he needed to continue that celebration, and pulled out a very vivid memory of his time with Jean-Paul. In the way of all subconscious thoughts, it also decided to mess with his mind and place the face of his least favoured person to that dream lover.

Fate was cruel, and he vowed to never again ignore the pull of the Sabbat if such a disturbing dream was the result.

* * *

Harry awoke in a tangle of sweat and come covered sheets. The difference this time was the vivid clarity in which he remembered his dream, and he rolled over and groaned, punching his pillow. Even in China, his dreams had maintained the same intensity, yet remained wisps of memory. Of all his semi-forgotten dreams over the past months, and of course, that one with the faceless lover, why did he have to recall every detail of being ploughed into the mattress by none other than Draco Malfoy?

He tried everything he could to get the dream out of his head as he went through the T'ai Chi forms down in the courtyard. He had overslept, even though it was still quite early. He couldn't quite centre himself this morning, but the dream had left him feeling quite sated and calm, so he wasn't too concerned.

He could still feel the touch and taste of those lips on his skin as he showered away the aftermath of the dream. It was such a strange dream, after all, he could distinctly recall the dream originally starting with Remus. It didn't surprise him that the dream Remus had suddenly morphed into that French Quidditch player, Lucas Fournier, but he couldn't remember when the dream lover became Malfoy. All he could remember was seeing the licentious appetite in the blond's eyes and knowing that it was all for him. He could still feel the fine hair through his fingers and knew that it had been a moment of sheer bliss and perfection.

But thank the Gods it was only a dream. How embarrassed did he feel? Malfoy was practically married to some rich French girl, and here he was reliving some very old fantasy that was practically forgotten. He surmised that the heated argument with Malfoy the night before was the impetus to the dream.

He was soon dressed and ready in his new black Quidditch uniform. It felt good to be back in the soft feel jersey trousers and the long leather boots. Surprisingly, the dream had taken the edge off his constant lust and he felt ready to face his first day as Hogwart's Quidditch instructor.

As he walked through the castle on his way to breakfast, he noted the wreaths and rowan boughs, and as he passed the windows leading past the courtyard, he remembered the maypole. Suddenly, the crazy dream made even more sense. _Beltane._ Of course he always had intense sexual dreams around this time of the year. Even his relationships seemed more intense at this time of year.

Of course, the vision of Malfoy in dark silk pyjamas crept into his thoughts again. Why the fuck did he have to meet the git last night, of all nights?

His thoughts were quickly overcome with nerves as he headed into the Great Hall for breakfast. The weather was good with just a light headwind hovering around the ground. Even the enchanted ceiling agreed with his weather check. With a wide grin, Harry faced the hordes, and his future, with renewed energy. In his good humour, he had almost forgotten about Malfoy's presence in the castle.

The good mood was quickly dampened by the sight of Malfoy sneering down from the high table. How quickly he had forgotten about the idea that they could avoid each other. Unfortunately, a very vivid memory of his dream chose that moment to pop into his head, and he blushed profusely from his roots right to the edge of his collar. Lady luck was obviously missing, for the only empty seat at the head table was the one next to Malfoy. If memory served, Hooch always sat near Snape, but Malfoy's presence had obviously bumped her one seat up the table.

Fortunately, Remus sat on the other side of the vacant seat. Only now he noticed nearly all the students had broken out into intense whispers. He really hated being the centre of attention. At least this was not as bad as the public in general. He would soon have them all in their place.

Harry helped himself to tea, and sat back to await the inevitable announcement from the headmaster.

Draco was a reluctant starter at breakfast in the Great Hall. He had managed to avoid it for a few days now, but a polite word from Dumbledore the night before indicated that his presence was expected at the Great Hall each morning and nearly every evening. Severus had obviously been reminded of this small requirement as well, and he looked as happy as Draco did about it.

He wasn't surprised to find Potter making a grand last-minute entrance. "Typical." He mumbled under his breath. It was with some horror that he realised the only empty seat was the one next to him. So much for the hope they could avoid each other. Potter was blushing furiously and smiling at Lupin as he sat down. _Merlin, he's as transparent as anything,_ Draco thought. He returned to his crumpets and tea as Dumbledore began his announcements for the morning.

Draco knew better, but couldn't resist one more jibe, for old time's sake. He leaned over to Potter and whispered quietly, "Having trouble finding the Hall, Potter? Or did you end up in the Greenhouses, convinced that the plants were all students?"

"Put a sock in it, Malfoy," Harry whispered a little too loudly, thumping his tea cup back on the table. A few of the teachers looked at them reprovingly, but Harry nodded an apology. He could only begin to suspect that Malfoy was only here to test Harry's control. There was nobody else around who could help Harry to lose his temper any quicker than him. Perhaps Lao Kuai had employed Malfoy for this task.

Harry was introduced as Madame Hooch's replacement and the resounding applause was deafening. Draco bit into the lemon in his tea as the school lauded their wondrous hero. The attention seeking git was no doubt enjoying every minute of it. Draco felt the urge to put him back in his place.

"So do you want some tips on catching a snitch, Potter? I'll be available to talk to the seekers some time after half three if you want to send them to me," Malfoy crowed.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Harry looked at him incredulously. He was doing all in his power not to imagine Malfoy in those silk pyjamas.

Malfoy shrugged. "Surely you want the students to talk to the best - a _real_ seeker - someone who's actually beaten _you_ to the snitch."

_Merlin, is he still on about that? _"Somehow I doubt they'll be interested in listening to someone who can't even sit on a broom." Harry knew the words were completely out of line the minute they left his mouth. He was concentrating so hard on not letting Malfoy get to him; he said the first thing that popped into his head.

Malfoy's features darkened, his face clouded in fury. _The fucking git has taken it too far this time,_ Draco thought in anger. _Isn't it bad enough he's the one who caused me this injury, now he has to fucking taunt me with it! My taunts were innocent and now he's the malicious one. _Draco stood, his eyes displaying his disgust with Potter.

"Touché, Potter," Draco spoke a little too loudly as he nodded in defeat to Potter, and many of the students looked their way. A few of the older students nudged each other knowingly. They remembered the known animosity between the pair. They were hoping it might degenerate into something entertaining.

"Malfoy..." But Harry's voice came too late. He could see Malfoy muster every ounce of his dignity and limp carefully out the door.

"Damn!" Harry cursed loudly.

"Harry – I think you've done enough damage for one morning," Remus spoke reprovingly.

"I know, Remus. Shit. It's just that every time he opens his mouth..."

"I understand, Harry. I don't think you realise just what he's been through. I think you could have picked anything other than his war injury..."

"I realise that, Remus. I was trying so hard to keep my cool; I forgot that my mouth runs off sometimes..."

"Please be careful, Harry. You're not children any more. I don't think Draco is the same boy you remember, either."

"How do you know so much, Remus? He's only been here a few days." Harry seemed a little put out by that fact.

"He's the one that's been making the improved Wolfsbane, not Severus." Harry was genuinely stunned. Malfoy? Remus continued. "He's doing an in-depth study of the potion for his research and he's asked me for my input and assistance."

"This is the same Malfoy who wanted you arrested for being a werewolf?" Harry sounded sceptical.

"No, Harry. This is the grown up Draco Malfoy, not the scared little boy under his father's thumb. I think you need to distance yourself from the two, Harry," Remus admonished.

"I will if he does," Harry replied churlishly. Remus just rolled his eyes. It was indeed going to be very interesting to watch those two working together on staff. Of that, Remus had no doubt.

Harry could not help but think on the old Chinese curse he had come across back in China. _May you live in interesting times_.

Indeed, life at Hogwarts was now infinitely more interesting than he could ever imagine.

* * *

TBC

**Publish Date:** (this chapter) 11-January-2005  
**Updated:** 28-February-2005

**Chapter Length:** 40,646 words.

**Authors' Notes:** We would like to thank each and every one of you for your patience and continued interest in our little fic. We're having a great deal of fun writing it, despite the delay in chapters at times. We're hoping the next chapter won't take quite this long, but with real life sneaking in and throwing things at us that we're not quite expecting, we can't make any specific promises. Again, though – thank you! Now (from Wintermoon) I have to say that because of the insanity of my real life, Azhure has done more than her share on this chapter and it totally wouldn't be here this soon without her continued devotion! Thank you a million times over, Azzie!

**Thanks to our reviewers: **Kiarene, Arrhythmic Song, Sully J. Milsteria, Lily Evans Potter Black Lupin, dreamerdoll, Lundra, Megan, OxBeachFlirtO1, Lelimo, futago akuma-tenshi02, Amy2k, marlee, thedarkside45, bubblypop, dan-rad, menecarkawan, dragenphly, Kaaera, Emily 22, ShadowQuirk, Slyffindor Witch, driven to insanity, AsheslovesHarry, Blahness Mucho, Frankie-SMYRC-girl, Regulus, CuriousDreamWeaver, harriet, Angel-Wings6, eladnarra, gina87, M'Lady, saFire flame, AnnieT, closetfanficaddict, Separatrix

**Special Notes…**

**Vegeta's Mate:** thanks so much for reading! There's no sequel planned for this, but we estimate about ten more chapters, hope that helps.

**Shena:** nope, neither of us have ever visited any of these places. It's amazing what google can offer, and I'm thrilled that we've managed to make the locales seem so believable.

**Tangledhair: **you said by Tuesday! Tomorrow is Tuesday! And yes, you can hit it with Lupin if you want, perfectly all right with me.

**Louise4:** you know, you're right. I wish Harry had hugged Maggie – glad you liked her.

**It'sJustMe:** wow! Thank you for that, it's a lesson we're both learning in our own lives, so it's coming out in our work. I can't tell you how good it makes me feel to think that our characters are coming across as that real!


	14. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 14: You Can't Always Get What You Want **

_You can't always get what you want,  
But if you try sometimes you might find,  
You get what you need.  
_**Rolling Stones**

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams, Letters, or Diary entries from Luc.  
Underlined Text: Suggestive comments in the diaries.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

* * *

**May 14 - Wednesday**

Albus Dumbledore's face was unreadable as he watched the school's two newest staff members as they sat uncomfortably across the other side of his desk. The pair tried desperately to avoid the headmaster's keenly piercing gaze. Draco was studiously examining his fingernails as he completely ignored Harry, who was looking a little frazzled, if not somewhat guilty. The Quidditch master's fingers tapped a nervous beat against his thigh as his gaze wandered aimlessly around the room, avoiding the headmaster's obvious disapproval. It wasn't every day that Dumbledore had to deal with staff acting like children, but he had hoped that the two young men sitting before him could learn to finally get over their differences and work together.

"Well I never thought I would have to discipline my staff for acting like eleven year olds," Dumbledore's voice held no amusement as he sighed in frustration. The tension between his Potions apprentice and the Quidditch master had been palpable since their first day on staff together. It had been optimistic of the headmaster to think that they could resolve their conflict in an adult manner, but matters had come to a head not long after dinner, and Dumbledore immediately hauled them into his office to put a stop to it.

Nobody within the walls of Hogwarts who knew the two young men was truly surprised at the level of animosity displayed between them, but none were more surprised than Harry and Draco. It had been a most frustrating fortnight since Beltane, a fortnight both men could have done without.

* * *

Harry sat contritely as he tried everything in his power to avoid looking at Malfoy. Everything about returning to Hogwarts had seemed so perfect, until he realised that life in the castle also included one smug, blond wizard. It had come as a complete surprise to learn that Malfoy was firmly ensconced on staff as Snape's apprentice, but Harry could not curb his insatiable curiosity as he discovered many things about his one-time rival.

Once upon a time, Harry would have gained untold pleasure at having cut Malfoy down verbally. Ron would have been there, egging him on and patting him on the back for his cleverness. Remus had been correct in his assessment; Malfoy was _not_ the same boy he remembered. The more he thought on it, the more he realised that the former spy had become more of an enigma than Harry ever thought possible.

Just when Harry thought he understood what motivated Malfoy, he would raise his mask and return to the pompous and smirking git that once strutted his stuff all over the school. This frustrated Harry endlessly. He honestly had no grudge against Malfoy, but for some reason, Malfoy continued to maintain their old feud, which unfortunately made Harry lose his hard fought for cool on several occasions.

Malfoy's refusal to accept an apology from Harry for his harsh words became an invitation for Malfoy to constantly bite back with acidic barbs that were more hurtful than childish, but Harry could only hold his own tongue for so long. Remus attempted to keep them from each other's throats during mealtimes, but each meal was thoroughly tainted by the distinct chill that rose from the pair.

But the worst thing of all was that Remus was becoming _friendly_ with Malfoy, which upset Harry more than anything else. Harry knew he had no rights to claim Remus, no matter how much he wanted to. His own friendship with the werewolf was not in jeopardy, but he soon discovered that jealousy was one emotion he had extreme difficulty handling. He had mixed feelings upon learning that Malfoy was behind Remus' good health and vitality. On one hand it was hard to believe Malfoy could achieve something so... humane, but he really didn't want to begrudge Remus the one thing that was keeping his curse in check.

Harry was kept busy with the physical demands of running the school's broom and sports programs, which was a sheer delight. With a few exceptions, the students seemed to take his instruction well, and he gained pleasure from seeing young people extend themselves and overcome their own physical limitations to take to the sky. Harry had always enjoyed the physical aspects of his work, and he wondered why he ever allowed himself to become stale and stagnant sitting behind a desk for so long.

He had no intention of tempting fate, and continued to work on his T'ai Chi as part of an ongoing control routine. He was proud of the fact that he had managed to keep his errant power in check since returning from China and had not had any uncontrolled power surges. He hoped this was a sign that the Neo Death Eaters were not active, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before they would strike again. As he meditated, he pondered this new sense of jealousy, but upon reflection he reluctantly admitted that he had always been somewhat jealous of Malfoy and all that he had. It was hard seeing Remus talking casually with Malfoy. He tried, rather unsuccessfully, to bury all the feelings and desires he had for Remus, but it was nigh on impossible. Seeing the smirk on Malfoy's face as he was with Remus was enough to raise his ire.

The one thing Harry needed to do was talk to someone – someone who could understand him completely – Luc. He would know just what to do, and would give Harry just the advice he needed to deal with the annoying git who dogged his every waking step. It had been a few weeks since they managed to sit down and chat, and Harry felt the loss keenly. Their schedules had become overwhelmingly busy, and Harry ended up having to cancel one of their chats as he dealt with a visiting contingent of representatives from the Quidditch League. Just when he was ready to sit and talk with Luc the week before, he found a note from his friend telling him that he would be all night brewing and could not leave his cauldron.

Every time he thought he had overcome any jealous feelings, Malfoy would rear his well coiffed head and Harry would be immediately reminded of the git and why he was feeling jealous in the first place. It didn't help that Malfoy invaded the one moment of quiet solitude he sought every morning. Harry had discovered the Eastern courtyard was the perfect place for his morning T'ai Chi, but he had not expected to share the quiet and peaceful spot with Malfoy and his disgusting smoking habit. Harry still couldn't work out why someone like him could get hooked on such a disgusting Muggle habit.

He sure hoped nothing would prevent him from chatting with Luc come Sunday, for he really needed to hear his friend's thoughts about this unhealthy jealous streak.

And just in case he did not get enough of Malfoy's presence as he tried to meditate, Dumbledore forced them to share mealtimes together. Even though he would always start the day with the best of intentions towards Malfoy, his resolve would usually crumble by the end of breakfast. If Malfoy wasn't baiting him with one of his quick barbs, he was spending the meal watching Harry closely. He was used to Malfoy staring at him. He had managed to handle seven years of that type of behaviour from him, after all. It was just tiresome now. Surely Malfoy would have grown out of such a childish habit.

This confused Harry more than anything. One minute Malfoy would project a persona that emulated that of his childhood, and the next he would seem like a totally different person – a _nice_ person. Was this the individual Remus saw when he talked to Malfoy? Because he certainly never showed that face in front of Harry. He would always display that familiar façade when he thought nobody was watching.

Harry had managed to observe the Potions apprentice a few times as he interacted with some of the other professors in the staffroom. Madame Pomfrey, Remus and Snape were all treated with a modicum of respect. On one occasion, Harry overheard a very candid conversation between Malfoy and Snape. This was not the brash and petulantly aggressive man that seemed to confront Harry at every turn. _What happened to the outgoing braggart? He's really rather introspective, and serious when he's not putting on airs and graces. He obviously takes his work very seriously. _Harry was surprised that the former spy had managed to create a career for himself that involved actual work. He had always assumed that Malfoy would spend his future living the high life on his obviously substantial fortune. Surely the Draco Malfoy sitting there discussing the properties of ground dragon teeth with Snape was not the same one Harry remembered from his youth.

He thought he might have some idea what caused this change in Malfoy. Harry still felt the guilt every time he watched him grab for his cane and walk uncomfortably through the school corridors and halls. It had been Harry's responsibility to finish off Voldemort, and had he managed the task earlier, he could have saved dozens of lives and thousands of injuries, Malfoy's included.

_Is that why he's so different? It has to be the injury. It's like he only puts on that mask whenever I'm around, as if it is expected. Of course, I'm a complete git for taunting him about it too, but I couldn't help myself. Why do I always let him goad me into an argument? _Harry did try not to rise to Malfoy's taunts, but found that it was a difficult habit to break, much as he imagined smoking was for Malfoy if the sheer frequency of his cigarette consumption was anything to judge by.

Harry found himself increasingly tired of seeing Malfoy at every turn, especially since every time he saw him, he was again reminded of that amazing dream from Beltane. How could he forget it – it had played numerous encore performances on many nights since the Sabbat.

He certainly wasn't complaining about the dream, as it had allowed him to release all that pent up sexual tension. Harry just didn't need the waking reminder of that smirk - at least not associated with such activities as it was involved with during the highly erotic and intense dream. The man was practically married, but that didn't help Harry in the least. His subconscious was playing nasty tricks and Harry wished his oversensitive libido would just choose some other person to target in his dreams.

All Harry knew, as he sat here waiting for the headmaster to pass out some pearls of wisdom, was that Malfoy had irritated him to the point where he nearly snapped. Their battle of wills had come to a head and it was so easy to let his control slip and the cutting words to escape. The fact that they had drawn their wands and were ready to duel in the Entrance Hall was not something Harry was proud of.

His gaze finally fell on Malfoy as they awaited Dumbledore's judgement. For a moment, Harry thought the headmaster might cancel his teaching appointment, which would be a travesty. He seemed so calm, his sneering mask of indifference completely in place. Surely he must be worried about losing his apprenticeship, if that's what it would come to. But this was the Malfoy that Harry remembered from school - the cool Slytherin. Why did he insist on keeping up pretences with his feigned apathy? Harry's gaze was drawn to the perfectly manicured hands. _If he's brewing potions all the time, how is it his skin isn't all greasy and discoloured like Snape's? _He could not believe his mind wandered to such thoughts, but it was another of the mysteries surrounding Malfoy – mysteries that Harry felt he would never uncover.

* * *

Draco seemed so self-assured and calm, that Harry was startled when he was the one to speak first to the headmaster. "I'm sorry, sir. I admit it was poor form to let our personal feud spill out in public. But if you must know, I was provoked..."

"That's bullshit, Malfoy, and you know it." Harry's tone sounded more weary than angry, despite his harsh words. Malfoy had been the only one doing any provoking. What Harry couldn't work out is why he was surprised to see Malfoy trying to wheedle his way out of any culpability in this. It was just the sort of behaviour Harry had learned to expect from the little ferret he'd known years earlier, but somehow, this time it was both surprising and confusing.

"Harry..." Dumbledore admonished.

"Well, sir, I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm really tired of this, and I know it sounds childish, but Malfoy really did start it. I admit that he goaded me into saying something I now regret. I've tried apologising to him, then ignoring him, but whatever I do it seems to upset Lord-High-and-Mighty here. I've had it up to here with his smarmy taunts." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a weary sigh. He regretted the fact that Malfoy's return to their teenage behaviour was pulling him down as well.

Draco cleverly kept his mouth shut – so typical of the Slytherin when in 'danger' – but his scowl showed his extreme displeasure. Harry could see the tiny mole above the peak of his lip quiver. That mole was awfully distracting, but Harry had learned to read it well. Malfoy was unhappy about something. The mole usually quivered when he was angry. Malfoy took a calm breath before responding. "I won't deny, Potter, that you antagonise me at every turn, but I certainly do not have to put up with your injurious barbs every time we come face to face. I merely responded in kind."

"Responded in kind?" Harry's voice rose in incredulity. "I tried to apologise once and since then you've done nothing but—"

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore's hoarse roar made everyone in the room jump. Even the captive onlookers in their picture frames leapt in surprise. "I'm not interested in your personal differences, and neither is anyone else. I will not have the students placing bets on which one of you is going to be the first to wind up seriously injured. I've already broken up one illicit betting ring amongst the senior students. I will not permit your behaviour any longer."

Both young men now looked suitably chastened, but the headmaster continued, "Perhaps I was wrong to think that the two of you have moved past your childhood rivalry, but I can see now that I seriously misjudged _both_ of you." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it again. "I expected you both to uphold the highest standards when dealing with the students. Instead, I find you squabbling like a pair of Knockturn Alley gutter rats. Hostilities will cease immediately, is that clear? It might be too much to ask that you resolve your differences in private, but when you are in the public areas of this school you will act in a manner that befits a member of my staff."

Harry was contrite. "I am truly sorry, sir. I won't let it get out of hand. Of course, I can't speak for Malfoy, but I promise not to start anything."

Draco nodded reluctantly. "I doubt I will have any trouble ignoring Potter, sir. I really had no desire to become reacquainted with him in the first place, but I can certainly be civil when the need arises." Harry just rolled his eyes at the total condescension and sarcasm that dripped from Malfoy's statement. The snooty git was only doing it to grate on Harry's nerves. He took a deep breath and totally ignored it. He wondered how long their truce would last. He would give it until they reached the base of the office stairs.

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr Malfoy, but I am not sure that your assurances alone will suffice. Your very manner of addressing one another only exacerbates the hostility you still carry. I suggest that you both should get into the habit of calling each other by your given names. Yes, I do think that is a splendid idea." Both men missed the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, and they did not notice his amused chuckle as he flourished his wand to conjure a tray with tea items.

"Sugar, Draco?" Dumbledore poured a cup for Draco.

"Lemon, thank you," Draco's mouth soured in distaste at the thought of forced civility to Potter. He could do it, but he certainly didn't have to like it. He had done a great many things in the past that he didn't like. What was one more? He had been expecting something like this – Potter's cavalry to come and rescue him from the first sign of unpleasantness. Draco was actually surprised it had taken so long. It had only been two weeks since he discovered just how close he would be to his worst nightmare, but it was the two longest weeks of his life...

* * *

Draco had hoped that he could lead a somewhat peaceful existence during his tenure at Hogwarts, but that hope had been dashed the moment he saw Potter standing in his doorway on Beltane Eve. Despite the fact that Draco blamed him solely for his cursed knee, he knew that the former Gryffindor always brought out the worst of his competitive nature. Potter had always been a well practised target for his biting sarcasm, and even though he tried desperately to avoid the new Quidditch master, he could not avoid the habits of a lifetime.

It irked Draco no end that Potter's mere presence at Hogwarts would disrupt his plans to quietly complete his apprenticeship and carve out a niche in his chosen career. How was he expected to work with the git breathing down his neck at every turn? It lead to a very tense time for Draco.

It was that undue sense of tension that had nagged and nipped at his heels and had led to their near duel that evening. He really wasn't surprised that Potter was at Hogwarts; Severus had mentioned that he liked to hang around. Rather than ignoring the royal pain in the arse, Draco found their verbal bantering was somewhat comfortable, and something that had become expected of them. He could not resist trying to gain the verbal upper hand no more than he could resist scratching an itch. Somehow, that desire to be one up on Potter had festered and deepened to the point that he found himself unable to stop thinking about him. This disturbed Draco more than he would ever admit.

Draco continuously tried to repress the memory of that embarrassingly intimate Beltane dream which had featured Potter in a starring role. Unfortunately, the more he tried to forget, the easier the dream slipped into his forethoughts. It hadn't been the first time that he dreamt about Potter in such a way, but he easily explained previous dreams on raging teen hormones. He had been a thoroughly horny teenager at the time, and he dreamt of nearly everyone at some stage or another. Of course, the old dreams about Harry had been helped along by a rather eye-opening spy session in the Quidditch showers. There had been no such impetus for this new dream.

He had been surprised, then angered when Potter returned his taunts with a blatantly insulting blow about his war injury. He didn't fail to notice the menace in his rival's tone, even though he saw immediate regret in those green eyes. He had been used to Potter coming up with rather witty remarks on occasion, and a few well placed hexes on others, but he repressed those memories even further.

The more he thought on it, the more he realised that so much of his life had been defined by Potter's. His presence overshadowed more of Draco's life than he would willingly admit. He recalled that even as a child, his father spoke about Potter incessantly. He felt he knew all about the boy before he started at Hogwarts, and was keen to become his friend. He had never really overcome the snub at his offer of friendship. After that their rivalry was cemented and it seemed that the popular Gryffindor featured heavily in every aspect of his school life.

The longer he thought about it, the more he realised that it was Potter's fault that he was even involved in the war. Had Lucius not thrown his lot in with a maniac obsessed with the Boy Who Lived, Draco would probably be living a very different life. Naturally, the entire war was one horrific mess after another as Voldemort poured his considerable resources into sending his Death Eaters on ridiculous missions to find and destroy his nemesis.

Of course, once it was all over, Potter again defined Draco's life by his lousy timing. Five minutes earlier or later, and Draco's cover as a spy would not have been blown. As it was, he was lucky to escape with his life, but the degenerative curse in his knee that had been a parting gift from the nearest Death Eater was the primary source of Draco's resentment. It didn't matter that Potter was on the other side of the country when it happened - Draco had spent the past three years assigning the blame.

Draco tried hard not to let the injury get the better of him, but at times it would limit him severely. He found his inability to ride a broom extremely upsetting at first, but he learned to live without that one thing that he had once loved so much. He felt fully justified in his resentment of the wizarding world's saviour, despite his own war hero status. Unfortunately, current events were conspiring against him and he was again forced to coexist with the person he despised more than any other.

But that's not what was upsetting Draco at this moment. It was the fact that Potter continued to feature in that recurring dream that raised Draco's ire. After three days in a row waking up from that same dream – that wondrous, sensual, mind blowing dream that ended with the shocking discovery that his dream lover wore Harry Potter's lust filled face – Draco gave up sleeping. It didn't matter that as a result of the dream, he would wake up feeling more sated than he had in a long time.

Fortunately, he could forget the dream once he immersed himself in the dozens of tedious tasks required of an apprentice. Severus told him he didn't need to take on some of those burdens (that's why I assign detentions, Draco), but Draco took the opportunity and was glad for the diversion. Anything to keep from bumping into Potter every time he stepped beyond his rooms.

The stress of reduced sleep led Draco to reacquaint himself with a very old habit – smoking. Draco had initially been introduced to cigarettes during that stressful period when he first took the Dark Mark and began to spy. Smoking seemed to calm him down and allow him plenty of time to think. It was the ultimate form of rebellion against his father. Lucius never knew, of course, but the fact Draco partook of it was rebellion enough.

It was either smoking, or anxiety potions, and Draco wasn't stupid enough to take up an addiction to the latter. Besides, he needed his wits about him as he worked, and something about the cigarettes left him feeling sharper than before. He was fully aware of the dangers of such a habit, but right now, it was the lesser of two evils.

Severus had noted a return to old habits, but Draco snapped at him as well. The Potions master knew to leave well enough alone. Draco could not be faulted in his work, so Severus would leave the fatherly advice for another day. He had an inkling about the cause of the habit, but knew there were some things Draco had to work out on his own.

Draco's short temper and irascibility were at the fore whenever Potter was around. The headmaster's polite request that all staff appear at the head table for breakfast each day did nothing to improve that, not when Potter's assigned seat was next to his. Surely someone could have seen that seating them together was like waving a red cape to a bull. Luckily, Remus was aware of the discomfort to both young men, and stepped in, diplomatically choosing to sit between them during meals. It helped somewhat, but barbs and snide remarks still managed to be traded over the werewolf's head.

Draco eventually managed to get some sleep at night, but that exquisitely intimate recurring nightmare did not cease. He had no idea how long it was destined to continue, but he fervently wished he could wake up just once without that image of Potter's face burned into his memory. He would also cope a whole lot better if his rebellious cock would stop enjoying the dream so much.

As he (yet again) went through the motions of washing away the dream's physical evidence, he wondered if Potter had somehow hexed him. Curses of a sexual nature were certainly not unheard of, but he could not be sure. He wouldn't have been surprised if the smarmy bastard had. He even considered heading out on his next day off to pick up some cute piece of arse just to relieve his frustrations and get Potter's image out of his head. Of course, that would not help him with all the other emotional baggage he was carrying around, but he was ready to do almost anything for it to stop.

Every morning he would watch as Potter would be the last one to straggle in to breakfast. Draco doubted his tardiness was due to spending too much time primping and preening before a mirror – goodness knows the prat could use it. That rat nest on his head was beyond hope, and he usually managed to look like he just got up out of bed – right down to the casual way he wore his Quidditch robes. Draco told himself he was not checking out the git, but long repressed memories and recent dreams left little to his disloyal imagination. Curse his eyes for their disobedience. It was no wonder Draco bit back with anger each time Potter deigned to speak to him.

A day trip to Glasgow to pick up some supplies for Severus provided Draco with ample opportunity to escape the castle's confinement. With the wizarding stores hidden amongst the Muggle high street, Draco relished the idea of getting out of his drab apprentice robes and into his Muggle gear. It was nice to spend some quality time away from all sources of tension. After his last trip to Hogsmeade, he had enough presence of mind to be watchful for any more old acquaintances. Fortunately, his day was free of Death Eaters, and he enjoyed a leisurely browse through the stores after he picked up Severus' parcels. An interesting second-hand Muggle bookstore distracted him for a couple of hours. He was reluctant to leave the quaint store, but had little choice after he began to sneeze uncontrollably. Curse those Muggles for not having dust repelling charms on their books.

An attack of the munchies struck mid afternoon, and he ducked into the local corner shop. As he grabbed a variety of chocolates from the counter, he was immediately drawn to the rows of cigarettes behind the shopkeeper. Without a second thought, he had bought a carton, and very quickly reacquainted himself with the most noxious of Muggle habits. But, oh, he felt so much better.

Unfortunately, the noxious chemicals in cigarette smoke were a hazard in Draco's work area, so he was forced to partake of his 'relaxing' habit out of doors. Draco remembered a perfect spot in the corner of the courtyard that was the standard haven for Muggle-borns and other school rebels who smoked.

Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised to find that even his enjoyment of that haven was to be tainted by the presence of Potter.

Draco woke up in desperate need of a cigarette after yet another mind-blowing dream. The details of the dream never altered, and Draco refused to admit that he was somewhat enjoying waking up from them each morning. The irony of his situation certainly didn't go unnoticed. Just when Draco had determined that he needed to take a break from his love life for a while (he was never in doubt that his options would be severely limited at Hogwarts), he was constantly bombarded by dreams of the one person least likely to ever get his hands (or his mouth) anywhere near his cock.

He had heard no sound in the courtyard, but was surprised to find Potter standing in the middle of the quiet space, eyes closed. Draco was ready to open his mouth, but saw that his own presence had gone unnoticed. Dressed in what Draco could only describe as a pair of Eastern pyjamas, Potter seemed self-absorbed. _Well that's not surprising, _Draco thought. But after a few moments, he noticed Potter was moving in a smooth and choreographed way. He thought it looked like martial arts, only in slow motion.

He didn't realise he'd been watching Potter's smooth and graceful movements long enough for his cigarette to have burned down to the filter tip.

Harry's meditation was disrupted by the unmistakeable smell of cigarette smoke. Not wanting to stop, he continued with his exercises from the Book of Forms as he focussed on pushing away the negative energy. He also tried to do the same with the presence lurking at the corner of the courtyard, but the soft striking of a match sounded like an explosion to his senses, and he faltered. Harry immediately knew who would be presumptuous enough to stand there and just watch him. His breathing faltered and he lost the rhythm, losing his centre and focus.

"Can't you find somewhere else to destroy your lungs, Malfoy, or are you just here to disrupt my concentration and piss me off?" Potter sighed heavily and stared through Draco.

Draco casually leaned against the stone wall and took a long drag. He had managed to affect Potter, which was a perfectly acceptable way to start the day.

"Oh don't let me stop you, Potter. Surely you love having an audience."

Harry breathed deeply. Draco could see he was desperately trying not to give in to anger. "I find one quiet and _lonely_ place in this whole castle to meditate, and you have to come along and spoil it."

"Ahh, the price of fame, eh Potter? It's a bitch, isn't it?" Draco finished his second cigarette and stubbed it out dramatically with the end of his cane. He turned and walked away, desperately trying not to smirk at the incredulous look on Potter's face.

Harry closed his eyes. He had to work hard to regain his centre, but he was forcing himself to push away the bundle of negative energy that now enveloped him. His own frustration got in the way and he quickly gave up. It would take more time than he had to get back to that wonderful sense of calm he sought.

Draco arrived late to breakfast. He could not believe he spent a half hour watching Potter, but it had all been worth it to see Potter's barely concealed anger as he stalked in and sat at the staff table.

For the better part of seven years at school Draco had watched Potter. That habit was extremely hard to break, even now. He blatantly tried to ignore his own roving eye and its admiration of the cut and swathe of Potter's lithe form in the well-cut Quidditch jerseys. He frowned when it wanted to draw a comparison between that and the earlier loose Eastern linens he wore during his meditation. _Someone has definitely been teaching the git how to dress properly. At least his clothes seem to fit these days, even if they are a little too casual. Perhaps there is hope for the wizarding world yet. Still, he doesn't have to fuss with these ridiculous apprentice robes. _Once upon a time Draco's barbs would have Potter seething for a full day. It surprised him to see that Potter had fully regained his composure, becoming centred within the space of a few breaths. But what a grand show it was when he did fly off the handle.

Draco continued to be impressed as he carefully watched Potter, hiding his distaste behind the bland fare that passed as breakfast on his plate. _Why can't they serve decent food here? It is so tasteless - a man's tastebuds could die of boredom_. As he turned away, he sensed he too was being watched, but not by Potter. He turned his gaze toward the Slytherin table. Michaels, again. Draco had almost forgotten the keen and eager student that shadowed his every step.

It seemed that Damien Michaels was keen to renew his acquaintance with Draco Malfoy. Draco had an inkling as to Michaels' motivation for seeking out his company, but Draco was plainly disinterested. He had watched the arrogantly confident young man flirt with both other boys and girls, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be targeted. Draco remembered what it was like to be seventeen, arrogant and full of sexual confidence. Even if he had been toying with the idea of accepting Michaels' no doubt generous offer, he was not stupid enough to get involved with a student. It was more than his job was worth.

Michaels had not yet approached him directly, but it was only a matter of time before the inevitable proposition was received. Michaels was an ambitious Slytherin who would not let an opportunity go begging. Draco acknowledged the young man's gaze with a curt nod.

As the week progressed, things did not improve. He had taken to walking all the way down to the lake in the mornings for a cigarette – anything to avoid watching Potter prancing about in the courtyard. He desperately tried to ignore the other man at every juncture, but still felt a compunction to watch Potter like a hawk, because he just knew Harry would be following his every move. The Quidditch master was not so practiced at stealth as he might think.

Their childish taunts continued for the remainder of the week. Potter, surprisingly, was the one to draw Draco out with numerous barbs about the dangers of smoking. Draco was incensed. It was none of Potter's business. Perhaps the former Gryffindor felt it was his civic duty to be helpful to the point of arrogance. _Any minute he's going to sound as obnoxious as bloody Granger. Of course, he's just doing it to look good for his adoring public, as usual. Attention seeking git. _He hoped Potter would eventually get bored with his feigned concern and give up the charade when something more worthy came along.

Draco's lab was a hive of activity as he was busy preparing numerous items for the NEWT students and their upcoming practice exams. The day was warm and the windows flung wide to provide adequate ventilation for the cloying fumes of the preliminary base he was preparing for the seventh years. Fortunately, Draco was only stirring a cauldron when he first heard the crisp, clear tones of Potter's voice wafting up from the courtyard. He groaned at the intrusion and tried very hard not to lose the rhythm of his stirring. It seemed the git decided to commandeer that courtyard for everything, including his classes. Draco's demeanour soured at the interruption. He would have gladly drowned out the voice with his wireless, but he needed to concentrate carefully.

Potter was apparently attempting to explain a number of safety manoeuvres to the class, when his voice soured and showed a hint of frustration.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Brown," Potter's voice sounded firm.

"But—"

"That topic is not for discussion in my class. If anyone else would like to know more about the events that ended the second war, then I suggest you take it up with Professor Binns during your History of Magic class. This is not an appropriate time for such questions."

Draco was surprised the git wasn't basking in his own glory. Surely he loved the attention, and would have dearly wanted to regale them all with the tale of Voldemort's last stand.

"But sir, Professor Binns doesn't tell us anything of importance. My brother has told me more than him. You were there. You saved us all, Professor Potter. We just wanted to know—"

"Twenty Points from Gryffindor, Miss Abercrombie, and a detention after your last class." Draco was surprised at Potter's no-nonsense tone. He obviously had a bee in his bonnet about something. Why else would he sound so affronted? "This is a class for you to learn the intricacies of flying a broom. Events that are unrelated to the history of broom making and the sport of Quidditch have no room for discussion. Do I make myself clear? The next person to ask an irrelevant question will become much more intimate with a non-magical broom during their spare time."

Draco seemed genuinely surprised that Potter was deducting points – from his own beloved Gryffindor. Surely he would be crowing about his achievements at every avenue? _Just as Severus said, Gryffindors are becoming progressively more stupid each year. I doubt any of the Slytherins would deign to ask Potter about the war. He's likely to deduct a hundred points from them._

His current cauldron boiled over from inattention. "Fuck!" he yelled at the cursed flame as he attempted to scourgify the resultant mess. His obsession with Potter was now interfering with his work. A spate of giggles erupted from the courtyard. They obviously overheard his outburst. No doubt the 'teacher' was giggling along with them. He certainly wasn't trying to stop them. Why couldn't he be off lauding his deeds and spouting platitudes to his adoring public elsewhere? Anywhere but underneath his window.

But something completely different was at the root of Draco's frustration. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with Potter. His own busy schedule, along with Flash's, meant that they had not managed to chat for a couple of weeks. Draco wanted to write about all that had happened since their last conversation and he truly missed seeing his friend's wonderful words and humorous suggestions. He was certainly going to make the time to sit down this Sunday evening, no matter what got in the way.

Their correspondence was a bright highlight each week – something he had begun to look forward to. He had originally been a little unsure about Flash's romantic notions of him, but Draco seriously thought about it and realised that he was quite flattered. The more he thought on it, the more he wanted to get to know his friend, Flash. He could not explain it, but something had changed in their correspondence, and he keenly missed his friend's witty conversation.

He had so many things on his mind, it was a wonder he could relax at all. His tentative working relationship with Remus was promising, and Draco honestly enjoyed his company. He dared to suggest they were becoming friends. Remus Lupin was a well-learned man who had very quickly come to accept and appreciate Draco's expertise and knowledge. It certainly helped that his former professor never judged him in any way.

Of course, just when Draco was making the first tentative steps of friendship, Potter had to come in and stomp all over it, laying claim to Remus like a spoiled child unwilling to share. He could easily see that Potter was insanely jealous of their interactions. He wore his emotions so easily on his face (and in the depths of those green eyes, so expressive) and Draco suspected he was trying to muscle in.

Potter, along with everyone else who spotted his photo in the Daily Prophet, was under the misapprehension that he was engaged to Arianna. He saw no reason to disabuse him – or anyone else – of that notion. Of course, he had to share his amusement with Arianna, having written to her on a regular basis.

Arianna had written back, naturally, and the arrival of her usual flowery envelope at the breakfast table only cemented that misconception in everyone's mind. Only Severus truly appreciated the humour. Unfortunately, Arianna made no mention of Emmaline, and that worry was gnawing at him. Where was she? He toyed with the idea of Flooing Jean-Paul, but didn't have any International Floo powder, so he reluctantly let it go.

Of course, now he was in the midst of having to explain himself to Dumbledore. No doubt the old man would not believe Draco if he told of why he despised Potter so much. Naturally, Dumbledore would want him to play nice with Potter. Draco could pretend to be civil. It would just require the git to move to the opposite side of the castle, and ensure that they never crossed paths. That was the only acceptable solution – short of his returning to Paris for good – but he knew that wasn't likely.

* * *

As Draco sat back and mulled over the events of the past two weeks, Harry sipped his tea and carefully watched Malfoy. He thought the distasteful smirk on his face suited his sour disposition. The three sat drinking in uncomfortable silence for the next few minutes. Harry knew they could work together civilly – as long as Draco could learn to keep his mouth shut, Harry would have no problems ignoring him.

"Well, I think it's splendid that you could work out your differences," Dumbledore smiled as he stood. It was a clear indication that their meeting was over and the pair was dismissed. Draco seemed perplexed, and Harry was equally confused by Dumbledore's sudden pronouncement. They had not worked out any resolution. He set his cup down carefully before turning to speak.

"Sir, I don't think Ma..." Harry's voice faltered as he tried to say Malfoy's name. His eyes widened in panic at his sudden loss of speech. Harry tried to speak further, but no words came out. Draco had already risen and was half way to the door when he heard Potter falter. Seeing the panic on Harry's face, Draco quickly realised what the headmaster had done. Harry tried to speak again, but no sound was issuing forth. The headmaster's eyes twinkled in amusement.

"You have to say my name, _Harry_," Draco nearly snarled the word, his glare aimed at Dumbledore. _How could I be so stupid to fall for that old charm? The headmaster is as sneaky as a Slytherin. How dare he use dark magic on us! _Harry looked at Draco in confusion, but Draco quickly explained. "It seems that someone in this room has cunningly cursed us both with the rather obscure _Vocalisfavere_ spell. Unless you want to lose your voice permanently, you'll have to call me by my given name, _Harry._" He seemed quite irate at the idea, but kept his anger reigned in.

Harry's green eyes widened as he stared at the headmaster in disbelief. He attempted to speak, "...Draco," he rasped, his voice quickly returning. "I'm not sure I am familiar with that spell," Harry rubbed his vocal chords, glad his voice had returned.

"Congratulations, sir," Draco drawled, "I didn't expect that at all. I would never have suspected you to use such dubious magic." Dumbledore nodded his acknowledgement. Draco turned to Harry, "It seems, Po... _Harry,_ that the headmaster is not averse to using the Dark Arts when it suits his own agenda. That spell is a rather obscure derivation of the Imperius curse." Draco was impressed, yet angered by the fact that the old fool managed to get the better of him. He was slipping in his vigilance. Now he was being forced to be civil to Potter. The headmaster really had no right, but Draco was in no position to argue and keep his job at the same time.

"You're welcome, Mr Malfoy. I assure you both that the charm will wear off when it recognises that neither of you hold any animosity toward one another. Now, I do believe that I should be getting back to my stargazing. Would either of you gentlemen like to join me?" Both recognised the headmaster's dismissal as they quickly made their leave.

* * *

The pair stood in stony silence as the spiral stairs descended from Dumbledore's office. Draco was still pouting over the fact the headmaster cursed him without his knowledge. Harry finally broke the silence with an amused snort. "The students had a book open on us?" he sounded surprised at the headmaster's revelation.

"Of course they did, _Harry_." The word was spoken through clenched teeth. "I can't believe the old man shut it down." Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco smirked, "I understand your odds had shortened considerably after yesterday. Honestly, I thought that little vein in your temple was going to explode during breakfast. I was ready to put a few Galleons into the pool myself, but Morrison wouldn't allow me to place a bet," Draco seemed genuinely upset.

"The Hufflepuffs were running it?" Harry could not believe Julian Morrison, a Hufflepuff seventh year, would do such a thing as run an illegal book. _I would have thought the Slytherins in charge of that, but I'm not going to say anything else to antagonise Malfoy. He's touchier than a flowering tentacular in spring. _

For his part, Draco was still silently fuming. The mole above his lip was twitching furiously. First, Potter had tried to annoy him at every quarter. Now it seemed the headmaster was again supporting his golden boy. Of course Dumbledore didn't want Draco to argue with Potter, it didn't look good.

As they emerged from the gargoyle at the base of the stairs, the pair realised they were both heading back to their rooms. Harry shrugged, and they reluctantly walked side by side towards the staff wing. Now was as good a time as any to start showing the students they could behave civilly to each other. A silent nod was all the agreement necessary to indicate that silence was most likely the best way to display civility. _Anything to avoid that damn curse activating. I don't think I've ever addressed him personally, not in all the years I've known Potter_, Draco thought.

Even though the headmaster wanted them to cease hostilities, Draco could not help his naturally competitive nature. He would not give Potter the satisfaction of falling behind as they walked, and he didn't want to accept the false pity when Harry obligingly slowed down to allow Draco to keep up the pace. He stalked briskly, stopping only when they were caught on one of the moving staircases.

"I really should not have flown off the handle like that before, _Draco_," Harry said quietly. "You know I am working on keeping my power under control, and I know that we can't help goading each other. I guess I am so used to biting back whenever you speak. I didn't think." Harry quickly shut up and stood with his arms folded. They continued with their stony silence as they walked the rest of the way back to their rooms.

Just as Draco reached his door, he turned, looking directly at Potter for the first time. "What do you want me to say to that, _Harry_?"

Harry was very tired. He sighed, "Nothing, Draco. I don't expect you to say anything. I spoke out of line, and I apologise. I'll just keep my mouth shut."

Draco nodded in assent, closing his door quietly, glad that he didn't have to spend another moment in the git's presence. He was in desperate need of a cigarette, but didn't feel like the effort of heading out of the castle. Instead he poured a (generous) brandy to dull the craving as he flopped down into the armchair. He really wanted to talk to Flash. He toyed with the idea of just writing down his thoughts – like their early missives, but he wanted to hear – to see – those purple words flowing across the page. He wanted to read them and to know that he wasn't suddenly all alone in this big, wide and crazy world.

* * *

**May 15 - Thursday**

Harry sighed in relief as the last flying lesson of the day was nearly over. This group of young Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were busy putting all the school brooms away as he mulled over the end of another successful class. Thursdays were always a full day of classes, which seemed to make time go much faster. Harry couldn't be more pleased. This close to the end of term, he really didn't have to do much during lessons, as they'd already learned the basics from Madame Hooch. His primary purpose at this point was to allow the students ample opportunity to consolidate their skills, whilst ensuring that they were supervised and continued to follow safe flying practices. He was pleased to see that a few of the first year students had improved under his direction, and felt certain that Julia Brinsford and Brian O'Malley would both be excellent additions to their house Quidditch teams the next year. Once the brooms were neatly stored and the broom shed safely locked and charmed to prevent unauthorised flying, class was dismissed and everyone eagerly returned to the castle. He'd made plans to have afternoon tea with Remus and was looking forward to the relaxing visit he knew was ahead.

However, all visions of an enjoyable tea with his old friend flew out of his head faster than a snitch the moment Harry approached Remus' office. He heard Malfoy's familiar drawl wafting down from the office as he walked into the defence classroom. He stopped in his tracks as Remus casually laughed. _What could Malfoy say that's so funny? _Harry lurked carefully before the door, not wanting to interrupt just yet.

"So you've been doing well these past few days? No signs of illness? Fatigue? Anything?" Harry couldn't help but wonder why on earth Malfoy would seem so genuinely concerned about Remus' health. Preparing the Wolfsbane potion didn't require such inquiries, did it? Nonetheless, he was relieved to hear Remus respond with assurance that he was in great shape and had no ill side effects.

"I feel rather embarrassed asking this, Remus, but if I am to do _thorough_ research..." Draco asked shyly.

"I did promise that I would help. Go on – ask away."

"Well, I was wondering if you've noticed any change in your libido – any major increase or decrease in your sex drive," Draco had the decency to sound ill at ease as he asked. Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. _That's none of his bloody business! _Harry huffed indignantly, nearly storming into the room and telling Malfoy to keep his nose out of Remus' affairs.

Remus chortled in reply, "Well that is a rather personal question, but if you really must know..." Harry refused to admit his jealousy, but he couldn't bear to let that conversation continue. Breathing deeply into his centre as Lao Kuai had taught him, Harry finally took the last few steps to the doorway and pasted on a fairly realistic smile for Remus.

"Remus! Ready for tea?" Harry paused a moment, glancing at Malfoy and deciding to try his hand at civility despite the gnawing feeling in his gut. "Oh, hello, _Draco_. I wasn't aware you would be here. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Remus sensed the irritation coming from his younger friend despite his overwhelmingly affable façade. Everyone was surprised by the pair's sudden cordiality during breakfast, but Remus sensed that the headmaster may have been up to his old tricks. The last time he saw two people this affable was when Dumbledore cursed Sirius and Severus to make them get along. That was in the weeks before Sirius died, but Remus sensed the similar empty pleasantries, just the same. Remus sometimes wondered about the cause of Harry's barely hidden anger toward the young Potions apprentice. Surely he would be glad that Draco was being so helpful with the Wolfsbane. He really was quite a considerate young man.

"No, Harry, of course not. Come on in. Draco was just checking up on me and bringing my latest dose of Wolfsbane." He held the steaming goblet up as he spoke and took a long sip from it, pleased to note that it still tasted better than Severus' original formula. Meanwhile, Draco closed his notebook and put away his quill. He really wasn't in the mood for any of Potter's extended sarcasm and decided that leaving before a confrontation began would be a good thing. He said his goodbyes, maintaining the civil tone Potter had started upon entering.

"You know where to find me if you need anything, Remus. I'll bring you another dose tomorrow, and we'll continue our discussion on Saturday morning. I would suggest some extra rest if you can, as that seems to help your recovery rate after the transformation," Draco took two steps, paused and nodded cordially at Potter, "Harry, good day." Of course, the underlying tone was really saying 'Fuck you, Potter'.

Harry nodded silently in response as he quietly acknowledged the odd feelings he had inside. Keeping in touch with his centre allowed him to more easily recognise when he felt differently about things, and this was a prime example. He was irritated, not by Malfoy's behaviour, or even by his presence, but by the fact Remus and Draco were spending time together. Though Harry was completely confused as to why, he could inwardly acknowledge a feeling of frustration that they were sharing conversations and discussions Harry had no part in. He knew he didn't really have any proprietary right to Remus' time, but it irked him that Malfoy managed to rub him the wrong way just by hanging around.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts when Remus set the empty Wolfsbane goblet down on the desk. The sound caught Harry's attention and he quickly dismissed those feelings, chalking it up to regret that he hadn't spent more time with Remus lately, and the slightly uneasy feeling between them since that heavy flirtation a few weeks earlier. Harry wondered if he would be regretting that mistake for the rest of his days.

"So, did you want a cup of tea?" Harry smiled at the familiar question and noted that Remus had already poured two cups, one with just the amount of milk and sugar Harry preferred.

"Thanks." He took the tea and relished the warmth of the cup as it quelled the slight chill of his fingers. Flying in spring always left the extremities a little on the cold side. Harry watched as Remus twirled the honey dipper, capturing the stream just long enough to move it from the honey jar to his cup. After a pause to allow the amber sweetener to ooze into the tea, he twirled it again to avoid sticky drips on the way back to the jar. Though Harry had never grown used to the flavour of honey in his tea, he couldn't help but admire Remus' technique to avoid making a mess. _It's interesting how such simple things can be appreciated when the mind is relaxed_, he thought, sending a silent thank you to Lao Kuai for that lesson.

The time passed swiftly, but comfortably as Harry and Remus drank and discussed normal daily life. They talked about Harry's work with the students and how much he was enjoying this temporary teaching position. Remus commented that Harry seemed like a born teacher, destined to pass his knowledge on to others in one area or another. He knew Remus was right. All his work at the Ministry, his tutelage of the trainees there, his anticipation about taking over in Hooch's absence, it all led to one thing.

He _wanted_ to be a teacher and couldn't quite hide his excitement when Remus asked if he would consider covering the Defence classes the next day.

"Are you kidding? Of course I will!" Harry paused a moment, realising that the full moon wasn't until Friday night and heard the concern in his voice as he continued, "Do you feel all right? Was there something wrong with that Wolfsbane? Do you need anything? Are you coming down with another flu or something?" Remus had been constantly reminding Harry of Draco's contribution to the Wolfsbane potion. He was constantly surprised by the fact that the Potions apprentice was putting so much time and energy into helping Remus, but he was pleased at the results it had garnered, even if it meant that Malfoy was spending quality time with Remus.

"No, Harry, I'm fine. I haven't felt this good in years, but you heard Draco," Harry tried not to cringe at the name; really it was just an habitual reaction. "He suggested some extra rest if I could manage it. I thought that since you don't have classes tomorrow, and you won't have any practice sessions until after regular classes are over, you might be available. That leaves me with an extra day to rest before the moon, and the weekend to recover from it. This way, we can see how much the newest formula helps my recovery speed without any chance of lack of rest slowing me down. I'll just lounge around tomorrow as if I'm someone important with nothing better to do." He smiled saucily as he poured another cup of tea.

"Okay, as long as you're all right, I won't worry about you. And I would be glad to handle your classes for you, Remus."

"Are you sure I can't twist your arm any harder?" Remus smiled. "Those fifth years will need plenty of help with their OWL revision and I thought you could take everyone through their paces with their practical techniques." Harry completely forgot the unpleasantness that was Malfoy as they discussed Friday's lesson plans.

Just as Harry was leaving, he stopped mid-stride as a poignant thought struck. "You know, Remus, I hate to say it, but I almost hope Madame Hooch decides not to return next term, because I'll hate giving up this post."

"Well then, we can only hope she becomes thoroughly enamoured with motherhood," Remus smiled warmly, but avoided Harry's gaze as he waved him away with a knowing smile.

* * *

**May 18 - Sunday**

Harry sighed heavily as he sat back in his new armchair. The old leather chair had been liberated from _Algie_ _Abbot's Antiques_ in Hogsmeade. A few swift cleaning charms and a little elbow grease brought back the chair's original lustre, and Harry was now enjoying the fruits of his labour. It had been a satisfying couple of days. Remus' classes went extremely well on Friday; the students thoroughly enjoyed Harry's rather unique way of preparing them for their practical tests. The classes had been a complete success and he spent almost two hours telling Remus about his day. The grin was yet to fall from his face. Even the sight of Malfoy was not enough to make him lose the smile. He was truly grateful for the opportunity Remus gave him.

As the exam period began in earnest, the professors were just as busy as the students. Harry spent the better part of Saturday giving the broom sheds a thorough scourgify and sorting out the damaged equipment that would need replacing for the new school year. He was yet to test the old brooms, but he knew that some of them were no longer safe. The quick trip to Hogsmeade on Sunday to buy more broom polish led to Harry's bout of retail therapy, but he didn't regret his new purchase for one moment. Finally Harry could see what he wanted in life, and the idea of being surrounded by quality furniture was one of them. Even if he would be moving out of the castle in a few weeks (he had no idea what he would do next), he could imagine many nights curled up in this amazingly comfortable chair. But tonight, there was one more thing he needed to do.

He showered quickly, not wanting to be late. He forewent the usual shave to save time, but Harry had been rather slack in that department of late. It felt good not having to maintain obsessive facial grooming habits now that he wasn't working for the Ministry. Their insistence that Aurors remain beardless ensured that Harry had to spend twice as long shaving than anyone else. Sometimes he cursed the fact he had such dark hair.

Harry scratched at the now three day old stubble as he relaxed after the shower. _I wonder what I'd look like with a beard,_ he pondered absently. Checking the clock, he had a few minutes before Luc was expecting him. Too tired to get up again, he levitated a bottle of wine and lazily cast a spell to pour it into a glass. This was one of his last bottles from France, and he was going to savour the taste as he chatted away.

There were no tidy, green notes in the journal, much to Harry's relief. He had worried for a brief moment that perhaps his friend might have honestly been scared off by his revelation during their last chat. The thought had played on his mind the entire time.

**Sunday 18 May ** **Hey Luc, are you around? I certainly hope I haven't missed you again.**

The weekend had been mercifully quick for the Potions apprentice. All the preparation for the upcoming exams was complete, and Draco was now ready to tackle the unenviable task of cleaning and reordering the student stores. He would need to discuss what was needed with Severus so that they could advise the local apothecaries. Some ingredients would need all of the summer to be prepared. Despite the lack of students, there would be plenty for Draco to do over the summer months. Luckily, it had kept him busy most of the weekend and away from any possible run ins with Potter. _Thank the gods for small mercies,_ he thought.

Draco had just uncorked a bottle of wine when he heard the welcome rustle of the journal opening. He smiled warmly and was relieved to see Flash's familiar scrawl across the page. He made himself comfortable as he sat at the desk by the open window, the cool spring breeze blowing in from the late evening air. Draco's quill and ink quivered in the anticipation of another deep and meaningful chat.

_Bonjour, Flash. Of course I'm here. Sorry about last week. Things are hectic around here and as you know, you can't just stop a cauldron in mid brew._ _**I know what you mean. I have only just sat down now. I don't think I've stopped since Thursday. That's the great thing about this job – it's so physical and I get to spend so much time outdoors. I never realised just how much I missed interacting with people, too. Being stuck in a thankless desk job sometimes makes you forget such joys.**_ _I don't doubt that it is very different, Flash. You sound like you are having a great time. I am glad for you. _ _**Oh oh. You sound like you aren't having the best time in the world. Things aren't perfect at this end, but I can't complain. Still not shagging anyone, but I'm starting to think that this waiting business will make it all the more special when I do find the one that I want.**_ _Well, things aren't perfect around here for me, as you guessed. I am so glad you are here to talk tonight. I don't want to sound clingy, or needy, or frightfully foppish, but I've missed your company, Flash. Now, I wasn't really going to tell you how much I've wanted to talk to you, but I guess I just have._ _**You, clingy? Why, I could never imagine it, Luc. I'm also extremely glad you're here tonight. I admit I was worried you might have been avoiding me after what I said last time. **_ _Nonsense. I am flattered that you thought of me that way, Flash, but even if I had wanted to avoid you (which I don't), I probably would have been more blunt about it. As it is, things around here have been rather disconcerting, and I need to hear your sensible outlook and opinions. I fear that I might be creating another melodrama, and I need your calming influence. _ _**You think I'm a calming influence? I'm flattered. You might not think so if you knew me in person. I've been known to fly off the handle on occasion. I think my recent trip to the Orient has helped me curb my excessive outbursts. Why do I get the feeling that there's something wrong? You know I'm here to listen. Tell me what's been going on.**_ _I've spent the better part of the past couple of weeks wanting to talk to you and now I really don't know where to start._ _**How about at the beginning? I'm going to hazard a guess that this has something to do with someone who is bothering you. Call it my latent divinatory talent again. Have you shagged him already, or are you in a dither because you want to?**_ _Sweet Merlin, I wish it were something that simple, Flash. But you are right, it is someone that is driving me around the twist. Actually, it's several people. The crazy thing is that I can't seem to ignore this one idiot in particular. Everywhere I go, he's there. I have never suffered fools (not without suitable recompense), and I seem to be surrounded by idiots and their various hangers on. One of my co-workers is the boss' favourite. My tolerance level is honestly at breaking point with him and now the boss has forced my hand. _ _**Is he really that bad? Is he really incompetent? Surely he's not blowing up cauldrons everywhere? I had a friend with a distinct lack of ability in the vicinity of a cauldron. But he wasn't an idiot – he was just very highly strung.**_ _Oh I'd like to highly string this guy up. I don't have to work with him that closely, thank goodness, but he is on the same staff and everyone seems to think we should be best friends – after all, everyone else seems to adore him. I've just been so frustrated. His presence has upset the balance of my work, somewhat, and I find that I have this burning resentment towards him. He annoys me to the point of fury._ _**Burning resentment? Sounds like you've had plenty of time to think about this. What triggered that?**_ _Where do I start? Everyone thinks he's wonderful. He manages to get away with anything – he always has. People are mesmerised by him and they can't truly see him for what he is. He is arrogant and so full of his own importance; he thinks he is the greatest wizard alive, which he most certainly isn't. Everywhere I go – there he is. He has to be involved in everything and I have difficulty concentrating because he just seems to be constantly in my face. I can't tolerate it much longer, not when the boss wants us to work together. _

_This guy sounds like Gilderoy Lockhart, _Harry thought as he read Luc's concerns. _If I didn't know that Lockhart was safely in St Mungos', I'd think it was him. _Still, he was concerned that Luc seemed to be so negative about his co-worker. It didn't sound like Luc at all. The man seemed to be made of sterner stuff than that. _Of course, you're a fine one to talk, Harry. You are barely able to stand Malfoy, and you're now making judgements for Luc?_ It made Harry seriously rethink his ideals. _If I'm seeing Luc like this, how do others see my rivalry with Malfoy?_ After a moment of hard thinking, his dipped the quill and began to write.

_**But is this resentment justified? Is there a perfectly rational reason why you don't like him? You mention several times that he is an idiot and that you can see him for what he truly is. I only ask this because I've recently come across someone and felt the same way. I have had to sit down and really think about why I didn't like this person. He is a prancing git most of the time, but life is too short to waste hating him. It's difficult, but only recently I've come to realise I never really knew him all that well in the first place. It's not my place to judge him. I guess I've overcome my preconceptions. He's still a prancing git all the same, but I haven't got it in me to hold any hatred toward him. Not after seeing him and his war record.**_

Harry was surprised by the words that flowed from his own quill, but when he thought about it, he realised they were truthful.

_I haven't really thought about it like that. Do I have preconceptions about him? Well, yes. Life is too short to let this tosser ruin my life any further, but it seems that it may already be too late. I've spent an inordinate amount of time just thinking about him, which has become an annoying habit. _

Draco was taken a little aback as he read his own words. _Life really is very short, and I'm sitting here complaining to_ _Flash about bloody Potter_.

_**You said he ruined your life? What has he really done? What aren't you telling me?**_ _I sometimes forget that you don't know my whole life story (I feel like I've known you forever, Flash). I have known this git for quite a while. I suppose it's his appalling sense of timing that has caused me the most grief. It caused me no end of trouble there near the end of the war. I have to live with the consequences of his actions every day and it's hard for me to forgive that._ _**And you don't think he has to live with the same consequences? I know a little bit about the guilt that some people carry, particularly those of us who survived. I know all about survivor guilt. Been there, done that, occasionally indulge in it. Still, I never realised you'd known this guy for that long. **_ _Yes, we go way back._ _**Still it is a long time to hang on to hatred, Luc. Was what he did really so bad that it is unforgivable?**_ _Well, he never did aim an unforgivable in my direction, even if I've wished a few AK's at his head. A few people have tried to help, but very few can see my point of view objectively. I guess since you are so detached from the situation, I wanted to talk to you about it. You see, this is turning into a rather unhealthy obsession with him. I can finally see that. Sorry about being so down about everything. When he's around, I have such difficulty thinking of anything else. _ _**So you can't stop thinking about him? Are you thinking about him, or thinking about him? Isn't there a fine line between love and hate? Is he good looking and do you want to shag him rotten? Sorry, that one track mind is stepping in again, but when a person affects you that much, it usually means...**_ _Merlin, that's the last thing I need. I certainly can't imagine shagging him. Actually, that's a lie. I can imagine it. That's another part of my problem that I was just about to mention. Ever since Beltane, he's featured rather heavily in my dreams. My most intimate and vivid dreams. Unfortunately the dream has come back for an encore performance every night._ _**That's very interesting. I wonder what happened during Beltane? I only ask because I've been having a similar problem. I had a very explicit dream about someone I don't particularly like, but I can tell you that it was a bloody amazing dream. It too has had a few repeat performances since then. I honestly can't complain about that. It makes up for the lack of action during my waking hours. **_ _I wonder why we seem to be dreaming about people we can't stand. I will admit that it has made up for the complete lack of action here too, but I have to see his smug and smarmy face every day at work, and that rather spoils it for me. _ _**So would you really want to shag this guy? If he weren't an idiot and you weren't dreaming about him, and you hadn't hated him since forever? Are you trying to avoid the possibility that perhaps, deep down, you might just want to shag this guy?**_ _You weren't supposed to tell me that, Flash. You were supposed to say that the dreams would stop immediately and that this moron will leave here and I would never have to see his face again. It's driving me insane and I hate it. I hate him! _ _**Do you really hate him that much? It's not healthy to be so hateful, Luc. At least you need to face your obsession. I can sense it is something that might be holding you back. I saw so much hate consume people during the war – the Death Eaters in particular. It's not a healthy emotion at all. I guess I shouldn't talk. I've been known to indulge in it on occasion. You have to forgive him, Luc.**_ _I think a certain amount of hatred can be healthy. You wouldn't be human if you couldn't understand hate. I certainly know what you mean about the Death Eaters. They were thoroughly irrational in their beliefs, but they were brainwashed from the beginning. _ _**Could you really say that you hate him that much? On a comparative scale, would you hate him as much as say... Voldemort?**_ _You sure don't hold back, do you Flash? No, I don't hate him as much as Voldemort. He honestly hasn't done anything terribly awful lately; I just can't ever forget what he did to me. His arrogance and his stuck up, self-righteous attitude just irritate me no end. I think I just hate the fact that I have to put up with it._ _**He must be doing something right, Luc. You say lots of people like him, the boss included. Tell me, does he have any redeeming features? I want you to think of one thing that you like about this guy. He can't be all bad. **_ _I have to think of one thing? Could you make it any harder?_ _**Well, I was hoping for more, but how about you just tell me the first positive thing you can think of about him. **_ _Okay, I guess you could say that he isn't ugly. At least I know he's queer, and I suppose that some guys might think he's attractive. He's certainly not fat and spotty, and he can manage to wear a set of robes quite well._ _**That was two things, Luc. Are there any more? You seem to be obsessing about his physical attributes. Is he that good looking? How about his performance in your dreams? Anything positive there to report? **_ _You know, you really are evil. I try to forget about that dream, and you keep reminding me. _ _**Sorry.**_ _No you're not. You are living vicariously through me, remember._ _**Damn, you remembered... And here I was hoping to get a free show.**_ _Who told me he 'was not' a voyeur?_ _**I never said I wasn't. I just said that I've never really had much opportunity to watch. Call this practice. So, what is he like in bed? **_ _I certainly hope that I never find out what he's really like – it will be a cold day in Hades if I do. His lips are getting nowhere within the vicinity of my body, and I can tell you now that his mouth will be hexed closed forever if he ever thinks of trying. You're not really helping here, Flash. I wanted to forget about my dream. It's starting to get old. Of course, it doesn't help that it always starts out with Jean-Paul, and he ends up transforming into this other git._ _**You're still in two minds about leaving Marrakesh?**_ _Yes. Part of me wants to go to sleep just to see Jean-Paul in the dream, but the other part of me knows exactly how it will end._ _**You know, my dream has been somewhat similar. You said it's been happening since Beltane? That's really odd. My recurring dream is about the man I having been longing for, then he somehow turns into Charlie, then some other guy I saw in the newspaper, but it always ends with the least likely guy in the world finishing off the evening's proceedings. I've never been with this man, and I know that he's straight, but that doesn't stop my vivid imagination from working overtime.**_ _I wonder what happened at Beltane? Did someone burn a gigantic pyre of some hallucinogenic weed that covered the entire UK? I can't think of any other logical explanation. I find that rather strange that your dreams seem to mirror mine. I'll have to look into any bizarre Beltane coincidences. I wonder if we aren't the only ones. I really don't know who else to ask._ _**You could ask the horrid git that you can't stand. He might be having the same dream. You never know. **_ _Please, I'm sure he's so full of himself, if he were having dreams about me, he would be thoroughly pleased that he managed to make me come around to his way of thinking. _ _But enough. I've spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about him, and I knew you would help me to get him out of my system. Thanks, Flash. I'm going to try and get past it – I have to before I go insane. Now how about we forget about him for a while, and you tell me about what's been going on with you these past couple of weeks. _ _**Deal. Like I said earlier, I have been busy. Too busy to even contemplate going out and getting laid. Dare I ask if you've had any luck in the search for love whilst you angst over this horrid git that you can't stand? **_ _The search for love has ground to a screeching halt. Fortunately there have been plenty of cauldrons to stir and ingredients to store, or dry, or there's always research to be done. Despite the fact I've been terribly preoccupied, there aren't that many prospects around here. This place is just so different from Paris. Plenty of cute guys, but most are not gay, or even bi. Although there is this one twink who has been giving me the 'all knowing' eye of late. He really hasn't got the hang of being subtle. He's yet to progress to the subtle and awkward flirting stage._ _**You aren't going to torture him and let him come on to you, are you?**_

Draco thought about Damien Michaels. The boy's intentions were obvious, even though he was yet to approach Draco. He thought back on his own teen years and his own inappropriate crushes. He went a little crazy after Daphne died, trying to lay anyone that crossed his path, but there was an arrogance to Michaels that sent a shiver up Draco's spine – not the good kind of shiver, either.

_Why not let him flirt? How else is he going to learn? I'm sure you had to learn the hard way. I know I did. _ _**I guess you have a point. We were all young and inexperienced once. Are you going to shoot him down in flames immediately?**_ _Oh, I don't think so. I think it is fun to let them 'practice' for a while. _ _**You do have a wicked streak, Luc. I think I like that. Although I would probably hate you if I were the twink in question. It is cruel to lead them on. I hope you don't do it for too long. **_ _But I do have to ask you, what about your momentous search for a soul mate? You said you were going to carefully watch out for any new guys in your life. Anyone new wandered into your path these past few weeks? _

Harry had completely forgotten that feeling that overcame him a few weeks earlier. Who had come into his life? Remus? No, he was already around. One of the students? No, none of them – with the exception of that Slytherin seventh year – were even remotely interesting. He was dithering and trying ever so hard not to think about the fact that Malfoy stepped back into his life just after that feeling cropped up.

_**Sigh. There is someone who has surfaced, but I sincerely doubt he would even be remotely interested, even if I were. **_ _Oh, is he taken or is he more interested in chasing skirts?_ _**Well, yeah, I'm fairly certain he's straight. But sometimes I'm not so sure. He's got that neat thing happening – he's overly fussy and no doubt is on a first name basis with his mirror.**_ _So he's not ugly?_ _**Not ugly, more likely he could be described as striking.**_ _And you would describe him as... _ _**Unique. Thankfully. The world couldn't cope if there were two of him.**_ _Now who's indulging in being uncharitable? Hmmm? Are you sure he's totally straight? Maybe you could... enlighten him..._ _**Are you suggesting I seduce him?**_ _How else do you find out? Besides, that would kill two snidgets with the one bludger. You can find out if he obliges, and you might get to scratch that itch you keep mentioning. I doubt he'd tell you if you asked in conversation. Why not turn some of that Flash charm on him?_ _**I really don't know about that, Luc. I doubt I'm his favourite person. This guy wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire... Besides, I don't think that would help our tenuous working relationship. It feels so wrong to even think of him in such a way, even if he's been a regular player in my dreams. **_ _Oh, so this is the guy who has been in your dream? Maybe you should find out if the reality lives up to the dream. _ _**I could suggest you do the same, Luc. Is your colleague really that unbearable? **_ _I thought we weren't going to mention him any more?_ _**Sorry, Luc. He must have really upset you, I can feel your tension bleeding through to here. You have to let go of it before it consumes you, Luc. I don't know what else to say. It's like fear – don't give in to it. You have to embrace it. I think you need to make an effort to get to know this other guy. You really haven't given me a good reason why you don't like him. Your excuses are quite vague. Even the fact about what he did during the war. The war is over. Life goes on. **_ _I tried to make an effort once to get to know him, but he told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn't interested. He was quite rude about it, and I really took offence at it. I guess it all started then. I have known this guy for quite a while, actually, but I've never had to work with him before. We moved in the same circles there for a time, particularly during the war. He was always out to show me that he was better than me, and it really was uncalled for. I guess that he is one of the reasons I choose my friends and acquaintances so carefully. _ _**And you hate him for this? I admit there is someone I know who always thinks he's better than everyone else. I know for a fact he's a little insecure, just like me. Perhaps this guy was intimidated by you. **_ _I can't imagine that, but you might be on to something there. I overheard a couple of conversations this week, and it seems he is full of surprises. I did learn a few things about him I never knew before, but I can't find it in myself to forgive him. Not yet. I'm going to need some time. _ _**So why not bite the bullet and try to get to know him a little better. Pretend that you are meeting him for the first time. **_ _Bite the bullet? What sort of saying is that?_ _**A very apt Muggle saying that means you need to adjust to whatever unpleasant circumstances are around you. You can't keep going on like this, Luc. I do worry for you.**_ _I do appreciate that, Flash. I really wish you could understand more about this situation, but I guess you would need to be here to do that. It's taken a few weeks, but I realised the other day that I really am quite homesick. I thought that I could just up and come back here and things would be fine, but now this whole mess has erupted, and it's been ever so hard._ _**So there is nobody else around you that understands your situation? What about your mentor? **_ _Oh, he's fine. He understands it only too well. He's been a great help and has done as much as he can. Unfortunately, I really don't want to tell him about my dreams, for fear of the lifetime of laughter I will no doubt face. You are the only one who can see through my dilemma. It's so good that you are detached from this situation and can look at it clearly. How is your new job going? You haven't said much, and I feel as though I've really wasted most of your time tonight._ _**It's never a waste of my time listening to you, Luc. Please don't think like that. You need to pick yourself up out of the doldrums, and I think if you make a positive start, it will happen sooner, rather than later.**_ _But I guess I'm feeling a little self-centred. I don't want to be nice to this guy – it would be out of character for me, and he'd definitely notice. I'm only considering it because you want me to. _

Harry thought about the hex that Dumbledore placed on Malfoy and him. It had forced them to be somewhat civil, and things had certainly calmed down. _Of course, that could be because we are both so busy with upcoming exams, he's hiding out in his laboratory._

_**Then I'll take that as progress. You know, have you thought about using some sort of persuasive curse against this guy? I know that might seem harsh, but I understand that these curses and hexes can sometimes be used in mediation. **_ _I would give my eye teeth to hex the bastard into oblivion. But persuasive curses are quite closely related to that whole family of dark curses. It's a wonder the Ministry doesn't ban them. They are considered Unforgivables in Middle Eastern countries._ _**Really? I never knew that. **_ _Don't think I haven't thought about putting a curse on him. I tried several times when I was younger, but he always managed to get the better of me. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if the git (as I shall now refer to him) had cursed me. It was the only logical explanation for my dreams. Now that you've mentioned yours, I assume that isn't the case. I'm almost afraid to go to sleep sometimes because I know he'll be there, and I know what he'll be up to. _ _**Well then you should be thankful that he is lending a helping hand during your dreams, even if he rubs you the wrong way during work.**_ _Tsk, tsk. That was your worst pun yet. Yeah, he rubs me the wrong way all the time. Only you could see the bright side to that, Flash. I guess I haven't really had time to worry about my own sad lack of love, but there you go. I do have to get past this and bite the bullet. But just remember, Flash, if anything goes wrong, I am blaming you and I will find you and hex you._ _**I have no doubt that you would do that, Luc, but I'm sure that you'll be pleasantly surprised once you get over your preconceptions and get to know him. You should start off by being pleasant to him. Do you think you could manage that?**_ _I don't know the answer, Flash, but I can only try. I think I'll need to relax first. Every time I see him, I do get tense. I should meditate, but I think I'll just finish off this bottle of sweet Rosé and then fall asleep. I won't be any good to anyone if I don't have a real cup of coffee soon._ _**Ah, well, granted then, but I'll swap the sweet red for a dry white.**_ _Ah, so you're a Chardonnay sipper then?_ _**Oh I do appreciate a good wine of any description, but I guess a Chardonnay would have to be my first preference.**_ _Well I think we've just found our major area of disagreement, Flash. I knew it!_ _**You don't like Chardonnay?**_ _I'd rather drink dragon piss, but I admit to having had the odd Chardonnay when I was younger. Luckily, I grew up and discovered real wine._ _**Okay, so I know that my bottle of Chardonnay is safe around you. I don't mind a Rosé, but it would have to be a top quality one. None of that nasty stuff. I guess that my soul mate would have to appreciate wine also. Merlin knows I couldn't stand to be with someone else like Ollie again. I want someone who can appreciate wine with me.**_ _Yes, I couldn't imagine spending my life with anyone who couldn't appreciate a fine wine, or the finer points of haute cuisine. I find that my food choices are so limited here. My tastebuds will die of boredom soon if don't get some variety. Or some decent pastry. _ _**I think your palate must be more refined than mine. It must be a French thing. I really couldn't complain if I had fish and chips or chicken and ham pie every night of the week. I do enjoy experimenting and I like to cook different things. I think it's the comfort issue for me. After my recent trip I've taken a keen interest in some wonderful Chinese dishes. I'm itching to get into a kitchen and make some steamed salmon with black bean sauce and stir-fried Chinese vegetables.**_ _Oh? The salmon sounds wonderful, but make sure it's a good salmon. Poorly cut or oily fish can ruin a good dish. I really have to say that I'm desperately missing the multitude of wonderful restaurants and cafés from back home. No doubt if I get an opportunity to travel further afield I will find something to suit my tastes. I have been in this part of the UK before, and I have visited one or two good restaurants, but I'm not able to get away at present. Guess I'm stuck with my limited choices. Unfortunately, I'm yet to find a chicken and ham pie that I can gush about._ _**You don't like chicken and ham pie? What's not to like about it?**_ _I could live without it. It's so... pedestrian. It's as bad as shepherd's pie. It's just leftovers disguised by a crust of pastry – or something that is posing as pastry. Now the French – we know how to make pastry._ _**Well, that's it. I can't remain friends with someone who doesn't like the simple pleasures in life, like chicken and ham pie!**_ _Oh, I never said I didn't like the simple pleasures, Flash. Fresh tomatoes, lots of wonderful herbs, crusty hot bread slathered in butter, a bowl of steaming vegetable soup, and a glass of wine. Besides, I doubt any of my friends even know how to make chicken and ham pie. It is so plebeian!_ _**Fair enough. I do enjoy cooking, as I mentioned, but I could eat almost anything you put in front of me, so it has never occurred to me that others may not like certain tastes and cooking styles. I'm going to experiment with the Chinese herbs and spices I brought home with me.**_ _That sounds interesting. I hope you put them to good use. Although I find it interesting that you like cooking, yet you say you are hopeless around a cauldron._ _**I know. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that I never got the hang of potions. I added a pinch too much and I would blow up a cauldron. If I add a pinch too much salt, I add a pinch of something else to counteract the taste. I know the whole thing won't blow up and cover me with green goo. I'm planning on heading to a small market in London when I'm next in town so I can pick up some scrumptious Chinese greens. There is nowhere around here that has such a range of fresh produce. But I might overlook that if there's chicken and ham pie in the works.**_ _What I truly loathe the most about this country is the distinct lack of coffee. Why can't there be at least one decent coffee shop on this gods-forsaken island? I'd Apparate just about anywhere for a cup right now. There might be a couple of good coffee shops hidden away in Muggle London, but I can't just Apparate there every day. Curse that stupid immigration law about Apparition. I'd be eating three square meals a day in Paris if I could just pop over there as I like. I really do envy the fact that you could probably do that, purely because of your citizenship._ _**I could at that, if I honestly wanted a cup of coffee. Can't say that I would ever enjoy the taste. Definitely tea for me.**_ _You don't like coffee?_ _**I can't say that I've ever acquired a taste for it. I do think that tea is a much more versatile and genteel drink.**_ _Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Flash. I can't ever say I'd agree with you there. I think I'd have to prefer Chardonnay to tea, and that is really saying something._ _**Oh, do we agree to disagree on something?**_ _Most definitely. I've had enough tea to sink a ship, and I don't know how much more I can stand. Do you think I would be deported for just Apparating back to Paris for an espresso?_ _**I think the security wizards at the Ministry would notice that. You aren't a British citizen then?**_ _Alas, no. I was born in Paris, even though my mother was English. So those ridiculous laws preventing foreign citizens from Apparating around unfortunately apply to me._ _**If your mother was English, then you could apply for dual citizenship. The laws wouldn't apply to you then. You could Apparate around the world at your leisure.**_ _I thought about pursuing that before the war, but I never got around to it. I think I would die of thirst in the time it would take those Ministry fools to approve my application._ _**I guess you are right there. I suppose you will either have to live on Rosé or die of thirst. Or you could garner an appreciation for tea – it is quite a versatile drink.**_ _Or I could just open my own coffee shop. That would solve the problem._ _**You know, too much caffeine isn't that good for keeping you calm. I wonder if you aren't suffering a little from caffeine withdrawal. **_ _I haven't had a decent cup recently, so you could very well be right._ _**You really can't go wrong with a good cup of tea. **_ _I thought we amicably agreed to disagree about coffee and tea?_ _**We did. I was merely pointing out the disadvantages of too much coffee on your ability to keep yourself calm and centred. **_ _Okay, point taken. But I'll only agree until you can find me a perfect cup of coffee on this side of the Channel._ _**Agreed, but only if you'll promise to give this guy at work another chance.**_ _You aren't going to let me get away from this, are you?_ _**No, I don't think I will. I'm a little stubborn at times, and I think you need to do this. I've said before that I care about you, Luc. I don't want to see you wallow any further. **_ _Thank you, Flash. I promise I will give it my best try. You haven't led me astray yet. But my bottle of wine is very empty now and I am nearly out of ink. I can't believe I've gone through a whole bottle._ _**Hmm, my ink is getting low too. I don't want to leave it so long to talk to you again, Luc. I have missed this.**_ _Even if you really didn't get to tell me too much. You seem to be the one doing all of the helping tonight._ _**Don't worry, Luc. I'm sure you'll be there when I need you.**_ _I promise I will. Au revoir, Flash. See you next week._ _**Goodnight, Luc. Take care.**_

* * *

Flash had given Draco plenty to think about. Did he really want to be nice to Potter? Dumbledore's hex was forcing him to be somewhat congenial toward the former Gryffindor, but could he really try to get over his unbidden hatred? What did he really have to lose? Could he possibly lose any more face by doing so? He had no idea, but for once, Draco had successfully kept himself busy enough to avoid the git as much as possible.

For two whole days, Draco managed to keep his mouth shut and keep his distance from Harry. The habits of half a lifetime were hard to break, and he had to stop himself several times from making a snarky comment in Potter's direction. Fortunately, Severus kept him rather busy, for which he was truly grateful.

He needed the well-earned rest and was enjoying a quiet smoke down by the lake. Summer was nearly upon them and he watched as the sunset lingered over the lake and beyond the western highlands. He reluctantly admitted to himself that there were some good things about Scotland. He could rarely find such a solitary place in Paris. Draco spotted the interloper as he headed in his direction, but he quickly remembered his promise to Flash. Potter had just as much right to be there as he did. All the same, he didn't have to like it.

Harry had wandered down to the lake after classes, hoping to find a quiet place to meditate amongst the trees. He'd found that sitting in the grass and listening to the ripples on the lake and feeling the gentle breezes blow past him allowed for a very relaxing meditation, and had adopted it into his routine at least a few times a week. Most evenings he was lucky enough to find the area deserted when most students were busy with homework and various extracurricular activities. It appeared as though Harry had chosen another good time, until he saw a dark clad arm and a glint of blond hair in the fading light. As he watched the arm move, he saw the glow of a lit cigarette and the puff of smoke resulting from the inhalation. It triggered a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Ma… Draco?" He hadn't quite intended to say anything, but once he tried to speak and the blasted _Vocalisfavere_ hex took over, he knew he might as well follow through. It was only when Malfoy moved slightly in response that Harry was able to see the Muggle jeans and leather jacket he was wearing. It took him momentarily by surprise to see Malfoy dressed like a Muggle (even then he managed to wear his clothes so well), but he pushed that thought aside to pay attention to his response.

"Harry," came the quiet reply as Malfoy took another drag off the cigarette. "Aren't you supposed to be off dazzling the masses with your brilliance, or something to that effect?" It wasn't the most auspicious start to civility, Draco thought, but it wasn't a complete put down either. He was trying – he had promised Flash he would do so.

"Aren't you supposed to be snivelling at Snape's cauldron-side?" Harry countered.

Draco snorted in a half laugh, "Malfoys don't snivel, Harry."

Harry began to realise that their childish cut-downs and snide remarks were a comforting defence mechanism for both of them, and he could see that Draco was also tiring of them. He'd seen Malfoy interact with other people and knew that he wasn't truly the spoilt brat Harry had always believed him to be. It had taken a while, but that message had finally sunk in. Besides, he was a fine one to talk. One day he's telling Luc that he needs to be civil when he can't even muster the courage to do the same. _Would it really kill me to be honestly nice to Malfoy?_

After his initial scepticism, Harry fully accepted and appreciated Malfoy's role during the war. His only regret was that Malfoy carried a lasting injury that was a constant reminder of his war service. He felt personally responsible for every war injury, and seeing Malfoy plagued by that limp made him wish that things could have been very different. Malfoy could easily rub him the wrong way, but he seemed to carry a deeper animosity toward Harry – so much so, that he seemed to portray a different personality whenever he was nearby.

"Well if you don't snivel, then what do you do, Draco? Why are you doing this?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Doing what? Smoking, standing by the lake, apprenticing to Snape? What is it that you're questioning this time, _Harry_?" Draco tried to keep the bite out of his words, but he didn't expect the Spanish inquisition from Potter, either.

"Aren't you tired of acting this way toward me, Draco? I know we've had our differences, but Dumbledore is right about one thing, you know. We're not eleven anymore. I've heard about your work during the war. I've seen the way you talk to Remus. I know you're not really the git you pretend to be, so I'm wondering why you're acting like someone you're not."

For once, Draco could not think of an answer. _Why am I acting this way? I only do it because of Potter and the fact that I hate the UK. Dare I let go and try to be myself?_

"Perhaps who I am, and who you think I am aren't quite the same." Draco had a distinct sense of déjà vu as he remembered a similar conversation from years ago, and knew that he was quoting himself, but he felt the words were just as appropriate now as they had been so many years ago. _Potter thinks he knows me, but he doesn't have a clue. I don't think anyone really knows me, not even Severus._ He took another long drag and watched as the smoke swirled up from his mouth and dissipated into the brisk evening air. _Well, I take that back. Flash knows me. He knows me, and he still likes me. Flash wants me to be more tolerant of this git. I promised him I would try, but I would rather be hit repeatedly by a bludger. I did make a promise, and Malfoys don't break promises – at least, I don't. _

Harry heard a deep sigh escape Draco's lips. "Or perhaps I just don't know how to act any differently towards you, Harry. Can you say the same?" The words held no animosity, but Harry sensed a slight hint of resignation. Draco didn't wait for an answer as he flicked his cigarette butt into the lake and cast one last glance at Harry before walking back toward the castle. The squid, ever vigilant about pollutants, flailed wildly as it flicked the offending butt back out of the water, flinging it into the nearby bushes. Harry was taken completely by surprise – not by the squid – but by Draco. He pondered Draco's words as he unconsciously watched him walk away. _How is it that he can make denim look like a fashion statement,_ he wondered, his gaze unable to leave the sight of how well the denim jeans hugged Malfoy's nicely shaped arse.

* * *

**May 24 - Saturday**

Draco was pleased to escape to Hogsmeade early Saturday morning. His uncertain truce with Potter was holding, and the pair managed to maintain an uncomfortable air of civility in front of the school. Fortunately they had managed to avoid each other for the better part of the week, which couldn't please him more. Draco found things were running more smoothly – even his crazy dream had begun to abate in the absence of Potter. The dream was still enticingly erotic, but the mystery lover had morphed into someone with indistinguishable features. Draco felt that his preoccupation with Potter had led to the git's face forming during the dream.

It was the school's last scheduled Hogsmeade day before the final exams, and despite his joy at getting away from the school for a while, Draco also wanted to return before the hordes of students were allowed out. After spending quite a while chatting with Alonius Jigger, he grabbed his parcels and made his leave of the apothecary. Just as he turned the corner, a very familiar scent wafted past his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and smiled in joyful longing as he took a deeper breath. _Coffee._ He literally changed direction mid-step to head towards the source of his obsession. He had not had a decent cup in weeks, and he was beginning to think he would never taste the nectar of the gods again.

Draco had been so exasperated with Dobby and his dismal coffee making efforts, he resigned himself to going without. No coffee was better than bad coffee. Arianna was yet to comply with his begging and cajoling to send him some beans. If Emmaline had not vanished without a trace he might have asked her to send him some more of her special blend. He spotted the source of the glorious smell – it was coming from the store that once belonged to Madame Puddifoot.

_The Leaf and Bean_. Draco was surprised by the very French provincial look to the store's décor. He was also surprised by the signs over the door. 'Under New Management' and 'Opening Specials'.

As he stepped over the threshold he heard the tinkle of a very familiar bell. The shop was empty, but he felt as if he had come home – or at least back to Paris. A wonderfully recognisable coffee machine stood behind the counter, and a respectable number of bookshelves adorned the other end of the room. The sense of déjà vu was not lost on Draco as he spotted a familiarity to the haphazard stacking of the bookshelves. Before he could wonder any further, he heard someone coming from the back room. He blinked several times and his jaw dropped to the floor in complete surprise.

"Oh, môn chéri, you know that look doesn't suit you. You wouldn't want a stray Doxy to get in there, would you, hmmm?" Emmaline grinned as she made her way to the counter.

Draco stopped her. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Emmaline? Why..." his eyes narrowed, "You are Emmaline, aren't you?"

She smiled irrepressibly and laid a hand on his cheek, that ever present mischievous twinkle in her eye. "What do you think?" Emmaline bustled over to the coffee machine, her hands automatically making coffee for her thoroughly startled guest. "I decided you were right, Draco. The store in Paris was too much for me. I have, how you say - downsized. Besides, I arrived not a moment too soon. You look dreadful. You could use a good feed, môn chéri." She poked him in the ribs with her wand before flicking it in the direction of a box of books, which immediately began to empty its contents and the books flew onto the shelves.

"But... but..."

"Oh, don't act so surprised. Here," she placed a freshly brewed espresso under his nose. "Sit. Drink this, and I'll explain." Her firm hand guided him to the nearest table.

Draco did not need to be told twice. He savoured the proffered cup as she spoke.

"The store _was_ getting too big, Draco. I had everyone from Jean-Paul to my own medi-wizard telling me it was time to retire. But you know how stubborn I am; I cannot stop what I love doing. Madame Puddifoot is an old friend. She wanted to head back to Wales to spend more time with her grandchildren, so I bought out her store. I thought I could liven things up here by adding some continental pizzazz to this quaint old village. Besides, I knew you would not survive long without a little taste of Paris nearby, hmmm? You like the store name?" she asked about the sign. Another flick of her wand conjured a mouth-watering plate of brioches and small fruit tartlets. Draco grabbed one hungrily, the pastry in his mouth before the plate hit the table.

"The Leaf and Bean. Very cute. Mmmph, these are divine. Are they from Harold's Patisserie? But what about the Paris store? You haven't sold it? My studio..."

"Oh, I leased it out. Stop worrying, child. I have a whole new range of books for you to browse through here." She sighed, flicking her wand at yet another box of books.

"I'll just have to relearn your entire filing system, won't I?" he grinned heartily. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" Draco pouted petulantly, but he had already forgiven his petite mère. "Arianna knew, didn't she?"

Emmaline nodded. "I wanted to surprise you, and your friend helped me with my little secret. So, are you surprised, môn chéri?"

"Thoroughly delighted," he smiled warmly as the caffeine and delicate pastry coursed through his veins. Sometimes caffeine felt better than magic, he thought, or even sex.

"I only opened the doors this morning. Luckily I managed to collect most of these books from a deceased estate, so I don't need to bring much stock from Paris."

Draco could only nod as he continued to reacquaint his tastebuds to the joy of delicacies. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was back home. The shop was not quite as large as the one in Paris. This was only on one floor, with half the bookshelf space of the Paris store. A few sofas for reading were interspersed with the tables. The place looked extremely inviting, and Draco wouldn't put it past her to actually have cast a few charms to entice wizards into the store. He still wasn't sure if she had done that to him back in Paris all those years ago.

"I still can't believe you did all this without telling me! You're a crafty old witch. It's fantastic! It's perfect, and I think you will be more popular than you can ever imagine." His grin showed his genuine pleasure at her presence in Hogsmeade.

The chatted for a while longer, and Draco was beginning to feel more relaxed than he had in a while. He realised just how homesick he had really been. He could see now that much of his stressed state could be attributed to that fact. Things would be much better now that he had a regular supply of coffee, pastries and good company with an old friend. "But can you convince these local culinary heathens to drink coffee?" Draco thought about telling Remus of the store. He recognised that the werewolf was a well-read man with a penchant to try something new. Perhaps he could convince him of the wonders of coffee. The thought of lacing coffee into the Wolfsbane flitted through his mind, but he would have to study the effects of it later.

"But of course," she drawled. "And if they cannot see their way to drinking coffee, I've got over two hundred types of tea."

Draco could not believe that she had kept such a huge secret from him. He had no inkling that she was considering setting up a store in Hogsmeade, but for the first time in weeks he was thoroughly happy. He even had every intention of dragging Severus along before the day was out. He had already stamped his mark on the best table in the house – down in the back corner. It was secluded, yet afforded a view of the entire store. He had no doubt that he would find himself down here at every available opportunity.

As he pushed away the empty plate, his thoughts turned to Flash, and how this would be a wonderful place to sit in peace and write in the journal. This small piece of home was going to help him cope with all the craziness in his life. Somehow, dealing with Potter didn't seem so hard now that he was 'home'. Draco scrapped his earlier plans to return to the castle as he relaxed in the comforting atmosphere and caught up with Emmaline's gossip. Lighting a cigarette, he could not help but smile as a familiar ball of fur rubbed lovingly against his leg.

"Petite Amie," he didn't know whether to scold or cuddle her. "Where _did_ you run off to? I thought you had abandoned me, you fickle floozy." He scratched the errant tabby under the chin, the cat lapping up the attention.

"I think she missed you, Draco. She was very keen to follow me when I told her where I was going," Emmaline stood and smiled. "Of course, I don't think I spoil her nearly half as much as you do. And what is this?" Emmaline frowned and pulled the cigarette out of Draco's mouth, vanishing it with a quick spell. "I thought we agreed years ago that you would not be smoking again. I can see I came here just in the nick of time."

He was suitably admonished. It had taken quite a while for him to give up on his old habit, but Emmaline had been most adamant. He nodded to acknowledge her chastisement. He had given up once; he could do it again – when the time was right. Petite Amie was quite satisfied to sit in Draco's lap and she did not protest the attention he lavished upon her.

"I think she wants to go up to the castle with you, Draco."

"Old Mrs Norris might not be too happy with a new face, but I'm sure she can hold her own against that mangy old bag of bones." He realised he had never asked about having a pet other than an owl, but he really couldn't see any problem, not when there were dozens of student pets roaming the halls.

"But of course, if you can't, I'm sure she won't mind staying here. You might come down and visit me more often, then," she smiled.

He stood and kissed her on the cheek, "I don't need an excuse to visit you, you old witch."

She slapped him playfully. He had other errands to attend to and reluctantly made plans to head back to the castle. He decided to take a box of pastries back with him - Severus would enjoy them during their afternoon meeting. He turned as he heard the first horde of students make their way down the high street. Many were curious about the new store, and he spotted Damien Michaels at the same time the boy looked through the window. He knew that was his cue to leave.

"Draco," Michaels nodded in his direction as he entered the store, alone. "What is this place?" he asked conversationally.

"It's a coffee shop, Michaels. You'll do well to be nice to the proprietor. If anyone gives her grief, I'll be the first to know, so just watch yourself."

"Oh sure thing. Can I interest you in sharing a pot of tea then, Draco? We could talk – catch up on things..." Draco could sense where this was heading, and knew this was neither the time nor place for it.

"Sorry, Michaels, but I've just finished here and Professor Snape is expecting me. Perhaps another day?" He nodded and left with his parcels, not waiting to hear the answer. The disappointment was plain on the young man's face. He felt really bad, but wondered if it was because Flash told him it was mean to string Michaels along. The young man consumed his thoughts as he wandered back to school. He would have to tell the boy sooner, rather than later, that he was not interested. It was flattering to be the object of his infatuation, but the quicker he could move on, the better. In his haste to leave the store, he forgot all about Petite Amie.

Before he could chastise himself for leaving the cat behind, he was thoroughly surprised to find her waiting patiently at the school gates. He didn't fail to see the reproving look on her face as he stubbed out the cigarette he had enjoyed on the way back. _So now I'll have Emmaline and the cat both telling me what to do. Is it any wonder why I prefer to be with men?_

* * *

**May 25 - Sunday**

The changing seasons were truly becoming obvious as Harry and Remus strolled down the path toward Hogsmeade on Sunday morning. It was just after ten o'clock, but already the sun was shining brightly and warmly enough for Harry to take off his jacket as they walked.

Remus had been somewhat preoccupied during breakfast, but he dragged Harry away before he could eat more than a slice of toast. The werewolf seemed anxious about something, but it wasn't anything grim – Harry could sense an air of excited anticipation from the expression on Remus' face. It made him look years younger. It wasn't the first time that Harry noticed such a change in his old friend. The improvements to the Wolfsbane were certainly helping Remus to regain a semblance of youthful vitality, if Harry's observations were anything to go by.

He was looking forward to a day of relaxation and window shopping in the small village shops. He'd been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't noticed how tired he had become. It was that good sort of weariness that comes from doing a thoroughly satisfying day's work that you enjoy. As they strolled, he rambled excitedly about his students.

"...And Dominique seems to be doing much better lately. I swear when I first got here, I had trouble believing she'd ever been on a broom before, but she's finally getting the hang of it. She does really well in your class. I think she could be a great curse breaker or something when she finishes school. She seems to have a natural instinct for the little quirks behind certain hexes and curses. Oh, but I've been meaning to ask you about Silas Staggerton, you know, the quiet, moody Ravenclaw? Does he seem okay to you? I mean, has he always been so anti-social and introverted? It doesn't seem healthy for a fourteen year old to be so mature yet such a loner."

"Yes," Remus replied. "I have noticed that he's gotten a little quieter this year. The first couple years I was here, he seemed fairly quiet and he's definitely a bit of a loner, but I'll keep an eye on him and see how things go. I seem to recall another student of mine that was quite mature and alone at fourteen." Remus glanced sideways at Harry and noted the nod of agreement and the mildly nostalgic expression. "It's good of you to noticed things like that, Harry," he continued. "That's the mark of a good teacher, and I know that you'll find just the right niche to make use of those talents one day."

Harry seemed to be on an unconscious path to Honeyduke's, but Remus stopped and redirected his steps. "Where are we headed, Remus?" Harry wondered at the silently pleased look on Remus' face.

"I thought you might be interested in some tea – and a fresh pastry or two. Actually, there's someone I'd like you to meet, Harry," he replied cryptically.

"Oh?" Harry was curious now. For a split second, he thought Remus might be trying to set him up with someone, or introduce him to someone that he was interested in dating. He shook such nonsensical thoughts away quickly. He would soon know why Remus was being so mysterious. As they wandered past the Three Broomsticks, Harry thought about what Remus would be like without his curse. It was a futile thought, but he couldn't help but wonder if his friend would have been the same if he had not been under the influence of the moon for most of his life.

He was surprised to find Remus leading him to the new store – the Leaf and Bean. The dark green door and the bevelled glass window panes only hinted at the treasures within. A sign in the window boasted that fresh pastries were available daily. Remus looked from the storefront to Harry with a questioning quirk of the eyebrow. "Shall we?"

Harry indicated that Remus should enter first. The distinct aroma of coffee assaulted his nose as he opened the door. Harry was immediately drawn to the cosy and inviting atmosphere of the shop. He seemed a little puzzled to find that the back half of the store looked like a library – or was it a bookstore – Harry wasn't too sure. The arrangements of tables and chairs seemed to mirror the haphazard layout of the books on the shelves. The books were stacked as high as the ceiling and despite the apparent disorganisation, Harry got the distinct impression that nothing was out of place. This included the hundreds of different jars of all shapes and sizes that adorned the wall behind the counter. They were filled with more varieties of tea than Harry had ever seen in one place. A shiny copper coffee machine took pride of place on the counter, its shiny surface reflecting the bright sunlight as it streamed through the open window.

As promised, there was a case full of fresh pastries. Some were covered in chocolate or sticky icing; others were topped with glazed fruit slices, whilst others burst with lashings of whipped cream and custard. Harry immediately knew that this place was definitely better than Honeydukes. As he looked around further, he realised that this store was once Madame Puddifoot's. _The source of all my greatest triumphs with the women, _he thought wryly. The new decorations made the place seem more inviting and less cloying than he remembered. He felt welcome here, unlike Madame Puddifoot with her oppressive curtains and stuffy chintzes.

"Remus? Remus Lupin?" An elderly witch enquired in disbelief as she popped her head up from behind the counter. Her eyes sparkled in delight at the sight of Remus, and Harry saw the werewolf return the wide smile with his own grin.

"Enchante, Emmaline," Remus grabbed her hand and kissed it lovingly before enveloping her in a warm hug. "Que vous apporte à Hogsmeade, petite mère?"

_Since when does Remus speak French_, Harry wondered as he looked on in disbelief. _At least, I'm fairly certain it's French._ He was suddenly mesmerised as he stood quietly and patiently whilst Remus became reacquainted with someone he obviously knew. _Who is she?_ He wondered with morbid curiosity.

They carried on in their own private conversation for quite some time. Harry didn't mind. Listening to him speaking in that foreign language was quite... stimulating. He was not following the conversation at all, but he quickly realised that listening to Remus speaking in the foreign tongue was the most stimulating thing he had heard in quite some time. He found himself suddenly aroused as he listened to his friend conversing with the old woman. _Is it the language, or is it just Remus? _Harry closed his eyes to try and shake the image, but realised he could still hear them talking.

He quickly chastised himself for thinking of Remus in such a way. It was difficult, but Remus had made it abundantly clear he wasn't interested in Harry's sexual advances. Feeling the overwhelming sexual urge as it began to build, Harry quickly took a deep breath and began to practice his control techniques.

If it wasn't one thing that made Harry's power begin to waver, it was another. Firstly it was the Neo Death Eaters, then Malfoy and his ever-present smirk. Now he was finding it hard to control his urges when it came to Remus. At times like this he was glad he was doing everything he could to keep his power under control.

As he closed his eyes, he attempted to block all sensory input. He was unable to stop their conversation from entering into his mind, and he found the meaningless words quite soothing. The comforting smells of the tea and coffee and old books helped Harry to clear his thoughts and bury deep those unwanted sexual urges. A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his reverie.

He opened his eyes to find the old witch staring straight at him. At first glance Emmaline, as Remus introduced her, reminded him somewhat of a much older and grey haired Molly Weasley, but with a slightly more worldly glint in her eye.

"Emmaline," Remus returned to speaking in English, "I'd like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Harry. Harry, this is Emmaline."

Harry shook hands with the old witch, but sensed her piercing gaze was doing more than just assessing his physical attributes.

Remus continued, "Emmaline and I met in Paris many, many years ago. She was kind enough to take me under her wing when I first arrived in the big city."

"I never knew you were in Paris, Remus," Harry was genuinely surprised.

"It's true. I was there. I found the pace of life there quite different after leaving school. I had hoped that my affliction would be more accepted over there, but unfortunately, I was mistaken. Luckily, Emmaline took me under her wing and helped me make it through my studies."

Emmaline smiled as she continued his story, "Unfortunately for my young friend here, he had been given bad advice. Paris and indeed the rest of Europe hold no special love for those victims of the darkest of curses." Emmaline's voice dropped to a whisper as she spoke about the last. Remus nodded.

"Luckily she took pity on me, because I lived in a studio above her shop for quite a while."

"And you left without saying goodbye, I still haven't forgiven you." Emmaline's gaze returned to Harry, who found it interesting to hear stories about Remus' past. "Look, Remus, you make me forget my manners. You must both sit down and I will make you coffee, hmmm?" she herded them to the nearest table.

"Er, actually," Harry interrupted, "could I have some tea instead?" he lingered over the hundreds of different varieties before settling on a pot of Orange Pekoe.

"So what do you think of this place, Harry?" Remus seemed eager.

"It's unusual, that's for sure. Hermione would have a field day in this place. Mind you, she'd probably want to reorganise everything and set up some cataloguing system for the books." Remus nodded in agreement with Harry. "How'd you know that your old friend was here?"

"Oh, I was chatting to Draco, and he mentioned this place. It only took a few minutes to realise that Emmaline was the one in charge. She is a one of a kind, Harry, and I know she's taken a liking to you."

Harry sighed. "Everyone takes a liking to me, Remus. I'm the saviour of the wizarding world – what's not to like?" he offered with faint sarcasm.

"Harry, she has no idea who you are. I just introduced you as Harry. Emmaline is a wonderful judge of character. Does she remind you of anyone?" Remus asked knowingly. Harry nodded. "Yeah, Ron's mum." Remus agreed.

Emmaline returned to the table as a tray laden with tea and coffee supplies landed on the table next to them. A selection of pastries from the counter had also accompanied their drinks, and Harry realised why Remus dragged him away before he could eat a hearty breakfast. Harry could never say no to a fine fruit pastry, nor could he deny that a chocolate croissant was complete decadence.

The store was still quiet, with most people still in their beds. Emmaline brought over her own tiny coffee cup and joined them. "So, 'Arry," she patted his hand, "how do you know young Remus here?"

"Oh, I've known him for a very long time. He was a friend of my father's, actually. He was one of my teachers after that, and now, well now we're friends and colleagues." _But I wouldn't say no to something more,_ he mentally added.

Emmaline raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Honestly, Remus. You let someone this 'andsome get away and be just _friends_? I am surprised in you." Remus had the decency to blush at her forthright comments, and Harry tried not to snigger into his teacup. _Had she read my thoughts?_

It was quite an eye opener for Harry to see Remus embarrassed by Emmaline and her suggestive comments. He liked her – a lot. He didn't think on it at first, but he had easily allowed her to mother him. It took him a good half hour before he realised that he had let her do so as she had been plying him with a constant stream of pastries.

"Emmaline, I am full. If I eat another one I'll burst like a puffapod." He patted his stomach.

"What is it with young men these days? You forget to eat – you are too skinny, by half, young 'Arry."

"I'm not skinny," he pouted. "I'm just lean. This is all muscle, Emmaline. I work hard to keep in shape."

"And a good shape it is, môn chéri. Don't you dare stop doing whatever it is you do, but it wouldn't hurt to eat a little more." She pouted. He couldn't help repress the grin as he realised the old witch was flirting with him.

He took the opportunity to wander through the bookshelves, his interest piqued by a number of extremely old and rare tomes. On more than one occasion he found his arms filled with books he wanted to buy but forced himself to put most of them back. He wanted to buy the entire store, if the truth be known, but he doubted that the store would be going anywhere in the near future.

Remus and Emmaline had returned to their private conversation, again spoken in French. Harry was curious about what they were discussing, but he assumed that Remus had reverted to Emmaline's native tongue as a measure of politeness. Had he the foresight to listen in with a translation charm, he would have discovered a most interesting conversation. He mentally returned to his meditation, lest the unwanted feelings return as he listened to Remus' voice.

* * *

Remus had a completely different reason for visiting Emmaline that morning. He could not have been more surprised to learn of Emmaline's presence in Hogsmeade. Draco had given Remus a thorough description of the store, and the proprietor that left no doubt in his mind that this was the same witch who had helped him during a rather bleak period in his past.

He wasn't sure if her presence was coincidence, but having her show up here at this time seemed a little too contrived. If he were to be honest, though, Emmaline was the most mysterious witch he had ever met. Since the moment he found out she was in Hogsmeade, he had been champing at the bit to ask her one simple question.

"He is rather taken with you, Remus," Emmaline gazed over at Harry.

"There's nothing between us, Emmaline. You of all people should know why." Remus didn't know whether to be cross, but she could feign innocence with the best of them.

"Whatever do you mean, Remus?"

"Who did you give my journal to?" He hadn't planned on being so demanding, but she had forced him to ask.

Emmaline paused for just a moment as she looked over at the young wizard perusing the shelves. "I don't know what journal you are talking about, Remus. You left a number of books with me when you returned to London. Whatever book you're talking about could have been sold a dozen times over by now."

Remus wasn't letting her get away with it. "I know you gave my _Journal Intime Partagé_ to someone, Emmaline. I want to know who it was. Harry is not one to have his affections toyed with."

Emmaline raised an eyebrow, "Oh, so he's the one with the other journal now, is he?" she seemed to pay a little more attention to Harry now, but Remus sensed she already knew. Remus was frustrated at her hedging.

"Yes, and I want to know who you gave my journal to."

"So he is using it already, is he? Hmmm." The twinkle in her eye brightened for a split second.

"Emmaline, this is not one of your silly matchmaking games. I will not have you messing with Harry. He means too much to me," Remus admitted.

"Really?" she turned her gaze fully to Remus and he swallowed his guilt. He was no longer the young man easily cowed by this formidable witch, and he was ready to let her know. "Whatever happened to your soul mate, Remus? Why are you not here with him?" She raised an eyebrow in query.

Remus looked away. "He died, Em. I barely had five years with him – on and off – with the war and everything else..." His words faltered as he brought himself to think about Sirius.

The smile died on her lips for just a moment. "Oh, I am so sorry, Remus. Forgive me for being an old fool. Of course you would be with him if you could." She glanced back at Harry. "And this young man is now toying with your affections?"

He nodded, "Yes, I care for Harry. I care enough to reject him outright, especially when he wants nothing more at present than to be with me. I know it, Emmaline, I can smell the desire that's constantly dripping from him, but I can't have it, can I?" For just a moment, Remus sneered. "Of course, now that the journals have reared their heads again, I know that in the long term I wouldn't make Harry happy. I still think it is fairly early days with whomever he's talking to in the journal, but we both know what is going to happen next. I just don't want to see him hurt."

"He won't be," she said confidently.

"So why won't you tell me who you gave the journal to?" Remus was now conversing in circles. He knew she had no intention of telling him.

Emmaline patted the back of his hand, "Remus, môn chéri. Have the journals ever been wrong before?" Remus had repressed all the memories of his own time writing to Sirius. He gave in to the emotions and the thoughts and feelings and memories. He could see their words and relive their conversations as if they happened only yesterday, not twenty five years earlier. Those piercing blue eyes were still waiting for him to answer.

He merely shook his head and sighed, "No, Emmaline, they weren't wrong. But I do worry for Harry. He has no idea about the significance of..."

"I'm sure he'll know soon enough, if he hasn't already discovered it for himself." She spoke knowingly. "Relax, Remus. Let him find out what he truly wants in life. He will be all the more better for having done so. He will know. When the time is right, he will know."

Remus nodded and admitted defeat. "Alright, petite mère. You win. I won't ask you again. But if he hurts Harry in any way, I'll be down here personally to show my displeasure."

"Why Remus, whatever happened to the mild mannered boy I once knew? You wouldn't dare threaten your old petite mère, would you?"

"I might not, but then again, I know a wolf that might disagree." She raised an eyebrow at his obvious threat. Just as they finished, Harry returned with a couple of books he planned on buying. Emmaline changed the subject, and quickly reverted back to English.

"So 'Arry, you must come and visit me again. Come closer, môn chéri. My eyes are not as good as they once were. I get so lonely at times, and I am so far from my old home right now." She indicated for Harry to move closer so she could see him.

"Emmaline," Remus looked incredulous. "There's nothing wrong with your eyesight. Stop flirting with him – he's not used to outspoken old witches trying to take advantage of his youth."

"Oh?" Harry seemed rather embarrassed, but soon laughed at Emmaline's blushing pout.

"Ah, you know me too well, Remus." She pouted further, but quickly vanished their now dirty plates and cups.

"So, I take it you don't hold to reading tea leaves, Emmaline," Harry was curious about the old witch. She seemed to know an awful lot about Remus, and she seemed so nice. It was nice to be around someone who wasn't intimidated by his name.

Emmaline laughed, "Don't be ridiculous, 'Arry. Tasseography is for amateurs, darling. I prefer books," she offered emphatically.

"You sound like someone I know," he rolled his eyes at the thought of Hermione ending up like this old witch. She could do worse, he thought.

"No, I mean you can learn a lot about a man by the books he reads."

"Oh?" Harry was curious. Was this some other obscure form of Divination?

"Don't listen to her, Harry," Remus interrupted. "She's a thorough busybody and will want to know every piece of gossip she can lay her hands on." Remus' words were good natured, and it indicated to Harry that she was most likely trustworthy.

"Well, I'll have to be careful what I read, won't I?" he smiled warmly. He found this old witch quite intriguing, and he would certainly be coming back to visit her in the future. He was again reminded of Molly when she began to unconsciously brush a few non existent hairs from his robes.

He was surprised to find that they had wiled away the better part of the morning with Emmaline, heading out into the bright midday glare. He had enjoyed the relaxing time with Remus, and with the captivating old woman. He had such a good time, he almost forgot that it was Draco who mentioned the quaint shop to Remus. As they wandered slowly back through the high street, it suddenly occurred to Harry why he felt so comfortable around Emmaline. She didn't mention his fame, or his scar – not once. Remus had only introduced him as Harry. She didn't seem awed by his deeds, as many people did when they met him in person. Either she knew, and chose to ignore it, or things like that really didn't impress her.

It was at that moment that Harry decided he would be spending a lot more time with the enigmatic Emmaline and her charming shop.

Even though they had eaten their fill of pastries that morning, Harry felt the need for a more substantial meal. The scent of something hearty wafted from the windows of the Three Broomsticks. Remus wanted to join him, but reluctantly headed back to the castle and a rather large pile of marking that he had been putting off. Harry offered to help him with the marking, but Remus waved him away.

He didn't plan on wasting his afternoon either; the weather was too good to pass up an opportunity to take his Firebolt for a fling down the lake and across the Highlands. With the amount of daylight lengthening, the opportunity to head out for a long flight was promising.

As he wandered into the quiet pub, he noticed the shock of blond hair as its owner skulked in the corner of the bar. He was again reminded of the fact that Draco told Remus about Emmaline's shop, and pondered yet again the closeness of his relationship with Remus. His good mood faltered somewhat at that thought. He frowned as he noticed the young man talking to Draco. _It's not a Hogsmeade weekend – what's he doing down here?_ As he slid into a booth alongside the bar, he noticed the student was Damien Michaels, the Slytherin prefect and probably one of the most talented seekers Harry had ever seen. The boy would do well in the professional league. He had all the arrogance the professional players loved.

The pair of Slytherins were having a quiet discussion, but Harry didn't fail to notice the distaste on Malfoy's face as he shook his head frantically. Michaels hand gestures became more frantic, but Malfoy was firm in denying whatever the student wanted. "Please, Draco," Michael's voice became a little louder and Harry heard the desperation in the tone.

"You know I can't, Damien. Now please, why don't you head back to school," Draco's words hinted at the finality of their conversation. Damien pursed his lips and was ready to start another plea, but Draco stared him down. The boy slammed his butterbeer down on the bar and stormed out of the pub in a flurry of robes. Malfoy didn't seem at all perturbed at the scene.

_What on earth was that all about?_ Harry wondered, but kept himself hidden behind the menu. He could sense Malfoy's bad mood, but didn't really think their cursed civility could hold up under the strain. _Better to avoid him than end up on the receiving end of a hex,_ he thought. He saw Malfoy finish his drink and stub out the remainder of his cigarette before donning his gloves and leaving nonchalantly.

For his part, Draco was somewhat bemused. Granted, he had not needed Damien Michaels to choose that morning to make his move and force Draco to reject his now blatant sexual offers.

"You've been avoiding me, Draco," Damien Michaels slid up alongside him as he sat at the bar of the Three Broomsticks. Draco had woken up with a gut feeling that something was going to go wrong that day. As soon as he spotted the obvious smirk on the prefect's face, he knew exactly what it would be.

"No, not really, Damien. I do have work that keeps me busy."

Michaels ordered a butterbeer from the cheerful barmaid. "You promised we could catch up at some stage." His tone was petulant, but Draco knew better.

"Well, you've caught me now; what is it you want to catch up on? I've got some time to chat before I have to head back to the castle," Draco replied casually.

Michael's hand crept closer to Draco's and he leaned it to whisper, "I was hoping to find somewhere a little more... private. What I want to catch up on usually doesn't require an audience... unless..." The teen's smirk reminded Draco of his own. Did it really quirk up in the corner when he was trying to be suggestive, he wondered.

Draco closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and answering. "Look, Michaels..."

"Please, call me Damien."

"...Damien, I know what you are after, but I'm sorry, I can't help you. I'm afraid you may have misread the signs. I'm not interested in you... not in that sense, anyway."

All joy fell from the teen's face at the realisation Draco was rejecting him, "But Draco, I thought... but we used to..."

Draco didn't want to drag this out into some long winded confrontation. "What happened in the past is best left in the past. Besides, I'm on staff. I don't fraternise with students, and I have no intentions of jeopardising my career because you're horny and you think I'd make a grand notch on your bedpost."

The boy took another sip of his butterbeer, seemingly to gather his courage for further pleading. "Please, Draco," Michael's voice became a little louder and Draco wondered if any of the other patrons could overhear them. Naturally, just when he least wanted it, Potter was lurking in a corner of the pub, no doubt overhearing this embarrassing moment.

"You know I can't, Damien. Now please, why don't you head back to school," Draco's words were final. _There, I let him down, and I really tried not to be too nasty to him. He probably hates me now and is already plotting some way to ambush me. I know that's what I would have done if I had been similarly infatuated. _Damien gave him one look that only hinted at resentment, but he slammed his empty butterbeer glass on the bar before storming out of the pub in a thorough sulk.

As Draco recalled the words on his slow amble back to the castle, he wondered why that bad feeling didn't go away. Even though he knew he did the right thing by stopping Damien Michaels and his misplaced infatuation, why did it feel like he had made things worse? He shrugged off his unease at the thought of talking to Flash. He knew his friend would be proud. Now that his mind didn't turn to misplaced thoughts about Potter every five minutes, Draco again found himself wondering about his pen pal, and resolved to find out more that evening.

* * *

_I don't want to talk about serious things tonight, Flash._ _**You're not trying to avoid something, are you?**_ _No, it just feels that all we've talked about lately is stuff that is quite serious. I had to do something rotten and rather distasteful today, and I feel like being frivolous. I need a diversion._ _**Well, I can do that. I can be frivolous. But before we do that, would you care to share what it was that you had to do?**_ _Oh that twink finally made his move, and I ended up having to reject him outright. He's not terribly happy about it._ _**Hmmm, most young men don't take well to rejection, if I recall. How young is he?**_ _He's only just turned eighteen._ _**That's barely out of school!**_ _I know. I'm not comfortable with that – that's why I turned him down. Of course, that stupid appendage between my legs thinks otherwise._ _**Yes, we always know that that stupid appendage has a mind of its own and makes shocking decisions when left to think for itself... well, sometimes it does. Mine, on occasion has been known to have some fantastic ideas.**_ _See, you're making me laugh already. Thanks, Flash. But I just wonder when I grew the moral conscience that determined that having sex with this young man would not be a good idea. Once upon a time I would have been shagging him up against the nearest surface within minutes of his proposition._ _**We were all like that at one stage, weren't we? It's only human nature to find someone attractive physically. Even if you know that getting involved with them is not a good idea. I guess that's why I am finding my friendship with you so different. I find each week that I like you more and more, yet I've never met you in the flesh. Even so, I admit that the thought of us getting together has crossed my mind... on more than one occasion. **_ _You know, we must have some strange mental link. I was only thinking the same thing. You are my closest friend at present. I can tell you things I wouldn't dream of telling other guys. I have always found the flesh attractive, and I've rarely had a relationship with someone who is unattractive. In the end I've always found that the person didn't live up expectations in other areas. Antonio was gorgeous, witty and funny, but he lacked the ability to talk about things on an intellectual level. Jean-Paul... well, let's not revisit his sins so soon._ _**I can't pick them either, but you know all there is to know about Ollie and my foolish notions.**_ _It's not foolish to want certain things in life, Flash. I am still only discovering what I want. It's taken a few events that are out of my control, but I'm learning. Why just this week I learned that I miss you when I'm not talking to you. _ _**So what are you saying, Luc?**_ _You're not going to trick me into writing something that I don't mean, Flash. I know that this book will drag stuff out of me if I try holding it back. I just told you upfront so that I didn't let anything accidentally slip and make it sound foolish that it's actually you I envisage when I imagine being with a future life partner. Merde. This bloody journal. If it wasn't the only way I could talk with you, I would have got rid of it ages ago. _ _**I feel the same way, Luc, but I told you that a while ago. It seemed odd at first that I could imagine sharing things with you, when I don't even know you. I mean, I don't know you, but yet I know you so well. Does that make sense?**_ _Perfect sense, Flash. At least once a day I think about something I want to tell you about, and you don't want to know how miserable I truly was when I couldn't chat with you. I think that's why I got myself so worked up and so stressed. _ _**I admit that I was worried the whole time that I might have scared you off with my terribly unsubtle suggestions. That's been getting me into quite a bit of trouble lately. It would not have surprised me to find that I had alienated you with it as well.**_ _Who else have you been suggestively whispering to, Flash? I'm thoroughly jealous. You don't want to mess with me when I'm jealous, either. I can be quite nasty. Let me at him and I'll send off some nasty hexes that will make him wish he were never born._ _**Oh, relax, but remind me never to get on your bad side. I can only begin to imagine what sort of hexes you are talking about, but I'm squirming uncomfortably at the thought. I was merely referring to the time that I flirted quite heavily with my dear old friend - you remember me telling you about that? That action has been so hard to live with because I'm working with him now. We seem to have moved past it, but I'm still living in denial. I don't know if he'll ever come around to my way of thinking. I can accept his decision, of course, and I can't imagine it would be more than a good time, but I certainly wouldn't say no if he changed his mind.**_ _Yes, I remember. That's okay, then. I was beginning to think you had other journals stashed around and were writing sweet nothings to other strange men, or women that I know nothing about. Now see... I have no idea what made me think that, but it is definitely some little insecurity that has just leapt out onto the page. Actually, I doubt there are dozens of these journals around. I was told that they are fairly common in old pureblood wizarding families, but I never saw any in our family library. Mother said her cousin had the one that belonged to her family, and I have no idea whether or not father had one. However, visiting the family estate and checking over the library is not on my list of things to do in the next few years._ _**I would actually love to know exactly what spells are in this book. I had a curse breaker look it over and she told me it was harmless, but now I'm not so sure. There's more magic in here than appears at first glance. I'm remiss in actually investigating it further. I would hate to lose this link to you Luc, and I couldn't live with myself it I lost contact with you because of my insatiable curiosity.**_ _I would hate that too..._ _**So when are you going to tell me your Floo address so we can shag and get this over with?**_ _You're incorrigible, Flash. That's one of your best features._ _**And your ability to completely ignore my suggestive tone is a little frustrating at times, but I still love you for it. I wish my friend had been able to brush it off so easily. **_

Harry paused a moment, glancing over his words. "_I still love you for it._" His heart sped up a bit, contemplating the possible weight of those words; the type of reaction they might trigger in Luc. He really didn't want to lose this connection, and was beginning to feel quite nervous that he would do just that if he continued to allow things like that to come out in their chats. But internally, that begged a deeper question… did he feel something that strong for Luc? Was there truly that much emotion, that deep a connection? He shook his head in frustration and focused instead on Luc's reply.

_I thought we weren't going to talk about deep and meaningful stuff this evening, Flash. We've managed to fall into the trap again, and I think it's the journal's fault._ _**Yes, let's blame the inanimate magical object. So what sort of frivolity did you feel like talking about? There's knitting or perhaps shagging. I know that if we start to talk about wine we'll never come to an agreement, because we don't agree on that.**_ _Knitting or shagging? I'm not surprised at the shagging reference, you seem to have a one track mind, but you're crazy if you think I'll waste good ink discussing knitting. I think I'd rather find out something more interesting about you. I found out the other day that you drink swill wine, so I hope to goodness your taste in men is a hell of a lot better. Tell me, how do you like your men?_ _**Preferably naked and extremely willing is always a good start. **_ _You know, I was expecting some sort of answer like that. I guess, since you said you do fall into the trap of going for good looking guys, just what physical type attracts you the most. Do you like your men strong, submissive, muscular, thin, tall, short..._ _**I knew what you meant. I couldn't miss the opportunity for the joke. Actually, there is no one physical type that I prefer. I guess I've never really thought about it. I'm trying to think about my past conquests, and from what I can gather, they were a bit of a mixed bag. I think I sometimes just took what was on offer that didn't look like a troll. I definitely draw the line at trolls. Charlie is a strong and muscular type, but Ollie was not so big. As for my dream guy... I have no idea.**_ _So what about your first? What was he like? What did you fancy when you were a nervous and horny twink? I'm just curious about dredging up old and horrible memories. Goodness knows I've had to deal with a few of those lately. _ _**Ooh, my first? Hmm, let me think. That was so long ago. It was at school – oh yeah, I remember him now. Nothing terribly much to tell – he was a year younger, and gay, and at the time we were both horny, and that was all that mattered. **_

Harry had long forgotten about his foolish dalliance with the obnoxious Zacharias Smith. That was so long ago, and Smith had, at the time, been the only one interested in the Boy Who Lived. Despite their initial fumblings, and the embarassingly awful sex, it had made him feel wanted, if for a brief moment. Unfortunately for Harry, Smith had really only been interested in going public with Harry's preferences, which taught him a valuable lesson about life.

_**It certainly wasn't a grand passion, that's for certain. Despite the horror that is first time sex, it ended in the usual teenage mess. Even worse than my first kiss with a girl. That was certainly another event in my past that is best left forgotten. Now, your turn. I remember you telling me about your fiancée, but when did you first realise that you should test things on the other side of the fence?**_ _Well, I had partaken of both the pleasures of males and females. Again for me, it was at school. It was in the showers after a Quidditch match that I first became aware of the fact that I might be turned on by the male form._

Draco thought back to that time. It had been the Quidditch match in his fifth year – the one where Potter punched him. He really didn't care for the pain that was caused – all he could remember was that the bastard had been banned from the team for his efforts. That had been the happiest he had ever felt after a game.

_I'd just been in a stand-up Muggle type brawl with an opponent. He was the one who started it, and I copped a low punch._ _**So that was when you discovered you liked the down and dirty tactics of Quidditch? All those brooms and the polish and the slightly modified 'cushioning charms'?**_ _Yes, you could say that. Those public showers don't leave much to the imagination, and I managed to find myself quite aroused by the sight of two of my fellow team members a they did their own little after game celebration. I was then invited to join in. The rest, as you say, is history. They were an amazing pair._

Draco could still remember the sight of Miles Bletchley and Christian Warrington as he caught them celebrating the removal of Potter and the Weasley twins from Gryffindor's team. Christian was a well built young man who was popular in Slytherin house. As he entered the showers after the game, Draco could see exactly why he was so popular. It wasn't long before he realised he wanted to be a part of the action as he watched in aroused fascination.

Ten minutes later the virginal Draco found himself indoctrinated into the Slytherin Quidditch team in a completely different way. Moments later, he realised that this was something that he would definitely try again.

Of course, he followed that up much later by making love to Daphne. It had been good, but was nowhere near the same level of arousal that he felt from that first time with Warrington and Bletchley. He loved Daphne, at least, he thought he did at the time, but if he were being totally honest with himself, he knew that if Daphne had not died, things might not have been the same now.

He sighed to himself, swallowing down the dregs from his wineglass in the process. _That's all water under the bridge now. Daphne is long gone, and I'm here talking to one man who seems to understand._

_**So your first time was a threesome? Wow... I'm guessing that you, like me, would rather forget your first time?**_ _Not so much forget (how can you forget that first time ... Is there any other feeling like it?) Sorry... what was I saying? _ _I don't know, but whatever it was, I will agree with you completely. There is definitely no other feeling like that in the world. _ _I doubt I'll ever get a chance to have a go with them again. They both died in the war._

_One of them was a Death Eater and died at my own hand_, Draco remembered Bletchley's betrayal. Of course, that was right after Bletchley had killed Warrington – right before Draco's eyes. Somehow Bletchley knew that Draco was not completely loyal to the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, killing Bletchley had not been the most distasteful thing Draco had to do during the war.

_**Oh, I'm sorry.**_ _Don't be – one of them turned out to be a Death Eater, and I killed him at the end of my own wand._ _**Oh shit, now I really am sorry. I didn't mean to dredge up any horrible memories. **_ _It's fine, Flash. I'm not sorry. It is long forgotten. Anyway, now we both know the dimmest and darkest secrets of our first time. But what I'm interested in knowing now is exactly what do you find that turns you on immediately. Is there one thing that makes you rock hard in an instant?_ _**Ooh, you know, sometimes that stupid appendage between my legs doesn't need much of a reason to become rock hard, but there is something that I've only recently discovered. You might get a laugh out of this. I was listening to someone speaking French. His voice sounded totally different, and it was an immediate turn on. I've heard other languages before, so I know it's not the fact it's a foreign language, but it is the idea of listening to French.**_ _Ahh, le français, la langue de l'amour. Je pense que c'est totalement compréhensible d'être excité par quelqu'un parlant les mots doux d'amour dans la plus belle langue parlée par tous. Je suis étonné que vous n'avez pas fait un charme de traduction et n'avez pas écouté à leur conversation. Mais je suis curieux pour savoir si lisant la langue écrite vous tourne aussi sur._ _**Okay Luc, now you're just messing with my head. I just tried a translation charm on the page, and it did nothing. I have no idea if you are teasing me, cursing me or trying to turn me on, but the written French word does nothing. I think I can recognise about one in every five or six words. **_ _Sorry, Flash. I just had to know. I didn't realise that a translation charm would not work. All I said was 'Ahh, French, the language of love. I think that is totally understandable to be aroused by someone speaking soft words of love in the most beautiful spoken language of them all. I'm surprised you didn't do a translation charm and listen in to their conversation. But I am curious to know if reading the written language also turns you on.'_ _**So now I know it's only spoken French. I would be interested to hear you speak what you just wrote, actually. So what has been turning you on lately? Apart from things that we won't mention, such as dreams and the like.**_ _Well, I have to confess that since my time in Marrakesh, I've come to appreciate hands. Long fingers that know what they are doing. I find myself watching other men's hands and wondering whether or not they would be controlling or submissive hands. Would the fingers feel soft, or light, or calloused and rough. _ _**Oh, yes! Hands are definitely something I notice (actually, it was after you mentioned Jean-Paul's that I first started to notice). Of course, mine are just wonderful at present, if not a little stained by purple ink. I can assure you that they certainly are confident enough to know their way around a firm body. Although, with all the physical work I've been doing, they could use some softening lotion.**_ _Oh, you should try to get your hands on some Sprouting globutonius gel._ _**Some what? I have no idea what that is.**_ _The sprouting globutonius is a succulent that likes the colder climates – there are plenty over here in the forests – you just have to know where to look. Be careful of their spines – they like to poke you. But if you can harvest their gel, you can make a wonderful hand lotion. You have to mix it with a flobberworm base that's simmered..._ _**I'll take your word for it, Luc. Is there anywhere I can buy that stuff? I doubt I'll be making my own. **_ _Oh, sorry, I suddenly went into lecture mode, didn't I? Yes, you can buy it over the counter in Diagon Alley, but make sure you go to Slug & Jiggers, not Clawthorn & Hoges. What you get from them is not exactly what is listed on their potions labels. I just thought you should know._ _**I'll keep that in mind, thanks for the advice. I really am tired now, I think I should head to bed. I hope we were frivolous enough to keep your mind away from the serious stuff. I know I'm going to have plenty of images to keep me going for the rest of this week.**_ _Yes, thanks, Flash. I am sufficiently distracted, I won't go and think about anything I'm trying to forget. I think I might read a novel before bed. I discovered a Muggle bookstore, and I've a stack of Muggle fantasy novels that are rather intriguing._ _**Yes, some of those novels are, aren't they? You did know that some of the authors are actually wizards?**_ _I did. I'm reading a book called 'Magician'. It's a terribly interesting read. _ _**Oh, I think I might have read that one. That's the guy who is the Magician's apprentice – Pug?**_ _That's him. You like reading Muggle literature?_ _**Yes, actually, I must confess that I have read more of that than wizarding fiction, actually. I never had much chance to read a lot when I was growing up. By the time I was interested in reading books for pleasure, I was surrounded by Muggle novels. I do enjoy a series by Robert Jordan – the Wheel of Time books.**_ _Oh, I started to read those. I'm sure that guy knows about the wizarding world. I gave up after the third book – not because it was bad, but because it seemed like he was trying to glorify that lead character. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was trying to take Harry Potter's deeds and embellish them, turning them into a fictitious book. I really don't need to read books like that. I had enough of the war without some git trying to glorify it._ _**I never thought of them in that way. I just enjoy the action.**_ _But the books are so slow, and very little gets resolved quickly._ _**A bit like real life, isn't it?**_ _I suppose so. I might read them again one day, but for now I'm immersed in the fictitious land of Midkemia._ _**Excellent. I won't tell you then about the dozens of sequels that follow that book... **_ _Flash! I don't need to know that... I'd curse you, but you already read Robert Jordan's books. That's a curse enough!_

Draco was startled by a firm knock on the door.

_Could you hold on for a moment, there's someone at the door._ _**Okay, Luc.**_

Draco hopped out of his comfortable chair and was surprised to find Remus standing there.

"Remus? Is everything all right? Come in," Draco saw a concerned look on the werewolf's face.

"Oh, it's nothing dreadful, Draco, and I'm sure it's not the Wolfsbane, but I just thought you should know that I've been itchy all day, and I seem to have broken out in a rather ghastly rash." He turned up the sleeve of his robe to display the unpleasant looking rash. "It only came up this evening, but I didn't know if it was something that might help or hinder you..."

Draco stopped his concerned babbling. "Relax, Remus. I'll have a look and see what it is. Would you care for a glass of wine?" Draco offered a seat to Remus as he cast a spell to increase the light in the room.

"Thanks," Remus sat at the table as he waited for Draco. He was impressed at the quality furnishings in Draco's room. They were not lavish, but he could not help but think that this was probably quite primitive for Draco. But the more he got to know Draco, the more he realised the young man was not necessarily as flashy as his father, and rarely gave in to excessive displays of wealth. He had obviously inherited his style and grace from his mother who – despite her poor marriage – was always understated and quite stylish.

He noticed the eclectic mix of books on the shelf, but smiled as he saw the well thumbed Muggle novel beside the chair. He would have to talk to Draco about that later.

Draco came back and offered him a glass of wine. "I guess we really should go through what you've been doing the last couple of days, but I'll just head into my office and get my notes. There's a possibility you might be allergic to some of the flower bases I included in this month's batch. We'll get to the bottom of this. I've just got to let a friend know what I'm doing, then I'm all yours." The smile was genuine and Remus saw that the apprentice took his work seriously.

"Oh shit. Sorry, did I interrupt you?" Remus looked toward the fireplace, but didn't see anyone there.

Draco waved him away as he sat at his desk. "It's fine. He understands these things. Give me a couple of minutes."

_Duty calls, Flash. I've got someone here I need to assist. A possible allergy to one of my potions. I'd better get onto it. Thanks for keeping me so cheerful tonight. I really needed it. _ _**Sure thing, Luc. I should be the one thanking you. Actually, I am really tired, so I might just cover my hands in stinksap, or whatever you mentioned, then head to bed. I'll talk to you next week, Luc. Hope things are better for you this week. Cheers, Flash.**_ _Sleep well, mon ami. Adieu, Luc_

Remus frowned at first as he wondered just who Draco could be talking to. _Surely he hasn't got a telephone – they don't work here in Hogwarts._ It came as a thunderous shock when he realised that Draco was writing in a book. Remus' heart thumped in his chest and he stood up to take a closer look.

Surely it was just coincidence that Draco was writing in a book – to another person. He glanced casually towards Draco's book, and his thundering heart skipped a beat when Draco closed the book. Remus closed his eyes as he realised what it was.

He knew every inch of that book – had carried it around for the better part of two years. It was his journal – his old journal. Emmaline had given his old journal to Draco.

And Draco was writing in it.

To Harry.

Draco Malfoy was writing to Harry Potter.

And they were soul mates.

Remus stood silently and pondered the enormous ramifications of that fact.

Draco was puzzled. Remus was standing there staring at his journal. "Remus?"

The werewolf snapped out of his thoughts as Draco spoke to him, "Oh, sorry. I was just noticing your _Journal Intime Partagé_. It reminds me of one I once had."

Draco's eyes lit up. "Really! How interesting. I never knew a lot about them until this one came into my hands. It came as quite a surprise to discover I was actually talking to another wizard. He's quite an interesting fellow, actually."

Remus felt conflicted. Should he say something to Draco? Should he tell Harry? "So you, er, haven't met your mysterious correspondent?" Remus already knew the answer.

"No, not yet." Draco seemed quite disappointed at that. "So you had one of these? Who did you talk to? Was it someone you knew - I'm really curious."

Remus really didn't want to answer all the questions, but he reverently touched the mottled tapestry on the cover. He felt the imbued magic and for just one moment, he felt as if he could open it up and talk to Sirius. A lump formed in his throat at the thought. _Cursed magical artefacts. Why did they choose Harry to torment? How will he react when he finds out he has been talking to someone he despises? For that matter, how will Draco cope?_

"Oh, I lost my journal many years ago, but it wouldn't matter now. Padfoot is dead."

Draco was suddenly upset by Remus' sullen tone. "Oh, I'm sorry I brought it up. I get so excited when I learn stuff about this journal – actually so does Flash..."

"Oh, so you are writing to someone named Flash?" Remus could not believe Harry was using his old nickname.

Draco nodded, "He seems to think that there is something in the journals that make us forget. I'm never forgetful, but I always manage to forget to investigate the journal magic. What do you know about it?" He seemed genuinely curious.

Remus shrugged. "It's been a long time, Draco. But there are generations of spells in there – I know for a fact that each witch or wizard can add their own spells to the journals. Depending on how old they are – they could contain a multitude of magics." He saw the look of comprehension on Draco's face.

"That makes perfect sense. I'll tell Flash. Oh, sorry, now I'm being distracted again – you came here to see me about an allergy. I am sorry."

"It's fine, Draco. I think it could be just an allergy, come to think of it. I was helping Professor Sprout to move some _Aggreva Aggrevolious_ yesterday, so I wonder if that has anything to do with it."

"Could be. But I've got my notes here – we could go through them now." Draco stifled a yawn.

"Actually," Remus found it hard not to yawn as well, "I really should not have disrupted you so late. I'm sorry, Draco. I guess I am overreacting. We could talk about this after breakfast, if you like. I don't think it's going to cause me any grief."

"If you're sure."

Remus nodded, "Quite. Sorry again for disturbing you. Thanks for the drink." He put his barely touched glass of wine aside before seeing himself out.

Draco thought Remus seemed somewhat abrupt, but as he yawned again, he realised that he was probably too tired to help him.

* * *

As Remus passed Harry's rooms, he paused. He wasn't sure if he should go in and check on his young friend. It had been quite startling to discover that Harry was using Sirius' journal. It was something quite different to learn the identity of the other wizard – someone who would become markedly important in Harry's life.

He paused with his hand ready to knock, but changed his mind. A flood of memories returned, and he recalled many of his own chats with his own soul mate. He was choked with the emotion and the intensity of the memories. Seeing and touching the journal had triggered them. He was in no fit state to talk to Harry right now.

Remus quietly returned to his own rooms. _Harry has to learn about this on his own. I can't interfere. Just like nobody could interfere between Sirius and I._

_But what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when they discover the truth. _

* * *

**May 26 - Monday**

Harry sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. "Ow!" he flinched as Madame Pomfrey tended to his wrist. _Yes, I'd definitely say it's broken. _

"I'm sorry, Harry, your collarbone was just dislocated, but you've broken this wrist," the medi-witch tutted her way through her diagnosis of his injuries. "What possessed you to get out there on such a dangerous old broom?" Harry didn't fail to note the disapproval in her voice.

He shrugged, wincing in discomfort at the stiffness in his shoulder. "Well someone has to test the old brooms, Madame Pomfrey." Harry had taken the old Cleansweeps out for a test ride to determine just how dangerous the ancient brooms were. Nobody else had been reckless enough to determine their flying capability, but Harry thought a short flight at only a few feet would not be dangerous. He had been sadly mistaken. The charms on the oldest broom backfired spectacularly and Harry was shot from the broom like a cannon ball, landing hard against the stone wall of the courtyard.

"I suppose I should be grateful that it was you and not one of the students." She held Harry's wrist out and frowned in puzzlement. She aimed a number of healing spells at the wrist, but Harry couldn't sense any difference in the level of pain.

"That's always me," he commented wryly, "always looking out for everyone else but myself. Ouch – why does it still hurt so much? I thought you could mend broken bones in a flash." His collarbone already felt better, and the bruising on his ribs was already fading, but his wrist was beginning to worry him.

Madame Pomfrey thought for a moment and quickly referred back to a fairly hefty folder on her desk. Harry recognised it as his own medical file. Had he really visited her that often during his schooling that he had an inch thick file? _I bet it's not as big as the file Filch kept about me._ Her memory was jogged and she nodded in recollection. "Oh dear. I'm afraid, Harry, that this wrist won't mend with the traditional spells. That's the arm that we regrew when you were twelve years old. Skele-Grown bones are finicky and don't respond well to the usual healing spells. We've really only got two choices."

"And they are?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, we could either dose you up with Skele-Mend, which will fix it up now, but it's as painful as regrowing your arm, and it will still be weak for a few days. You'll need to spend the night here so that I can keep an eye on you."

"Or we could vanish the entire bone again and regrow it with another dose of Skele-Grow." Harry was about to suggest that he didn't really want to do that again. He could still vividly remember the horrific pain from all those years ago. Poppy pre-empted his protests. "The problem with that treatment is that it won't be as effective as the last time you had a bone regrown. It could take twice as long, and the bone will never be as strong. I doubt you would be able to fly in that condition." Harry guessed from her tone that it was not her preferred choice of treatment. "Seeing that it is your wand arm, I would not recommend that course of action."

"What if I do something dreadfully radical – like wait for it to mend the Muggle way?" he suggested.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "You really want to go around for three weeks with a cast and have me ban you from flying or casting any spells?"

"What do you mean? It's just a broken wrist." Harry was a little confused.

"I'd like to see you try a few charms with a broken wrist that's all bandaged up. Your swish and flick technique will be a shambles. I could not guarantee that any spells would work properly."

"Oh." Sometimes, Harry was still amazed by the small nuances of the wizarding world. Things he took for granted. Ron could have probably told him that, but only now did he realise how lucky he was to have made it through the war unscathed. He had never really considered that a physical injury could disrupt his magical ability. It was a sobering thought – one that made him – yet again- ponder how much some wizards had lost during the war.

"I suppose my luck had to run out sometime," Harry muttered and sighed heavily. "I guess it will be the Skele-Mend, then?" Madame Pomfrey had already gone to the cabinet and produced a bottle and goblet. Strangely, just seeing the bottle made Harry vividly recall the ghastly taste of Skele-Grow from all those years ago.

"I don't suppose I could wash it down with a bottle of firewhisky, could I?" he asked hopefully.

Madame Pomfrey laughed. "I'm sure that you can have a glass or two tomorrow, at the earliest." Harry downed the goblet quickly, trying hard to think of anything but the disgusting taste. It wasn't any better than the other potion. Why did most potions taste like shit? _I'll have to ask Luc why that is so._ The pain of the broken wrist vanished suddenly, but a new prickling sensation replaced it. It seemed bearable at first, but soon felt like his wrist was being held over an open flame. It was going to be an unpleasant night.

"Here, this might help. It's not firewhisky, but the acid in this orange juice might help burn the taste out of your mouth." Harry was grateful for something to take his mind off the pain. The medi-witch continued to minister to his wrist, carefully strapping it up in a bandage. Harry seemed a little puzzled by what she was doing.

"Skele-Mend takes a while longer to work, Harry. I don't recommend that you do anything more strenuous than sleeping on it tonight, and try to avoid any wand work that requires lots of movement. I really don't want you flying, Harry, but if you must, then I suggest you use your left hand to steer. Rest up tonight and you should be okay to continue with the classes for the rest of this week."

Harry nodded. "I can probably stay on the ground for the rest of this week's lessons – barring any emergencies."

"Yes, you have been quite good with the students, Harry. I commend you. Yours is the only broom related injury I've dealt with since you've been in the job."

"I must be doing something right then," he shrugged, still stiff from his fall. He was feeling weary and the thoughts of the war were beginning to play at the corners of his mind.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him fondly. "Harry, I've known you, and tended to your injuries since you were eleven. I have never known you to sit back when someone was in danger. I'm surprised that for the number of battles you've been in you haven't got any more lasting injuries. Most Aurors have some battle wounds."

Harry snorted in mock laughter. "Yes, well most Aurors manage to be out in the field, and not behind a desk. I got lucky during the war – I honestly don't know how I ended up uninjured."

"Not all scars are physical, Harry. I seem to recall a young man who had his fair share of control problems, and other power struggles. That must have taken quite a toll on you mentally." Madame Pomfrey was also surprised that Harry made it through the war physically unscathed. But after many years in the job, she could recognise signs of mental fatigue. Harry had not made it through completely unscathed. Something was bothering him, she could tell.

"Still, it isn't fair that so many died and were injured during the war," Harry felt his long repressed guilt suddenly overwhelm him. A sense of weariness accompanied it. "What did you put in that orange juice, Poppy?" he asked accusingly.

"Just something that will help you to sleep. I'm sorry if it makes you feel a little maudlin, but it will help with the pain. You're not going anywhere tonight."

"You're a sneaky woman, Poppy. You would have done well to get Voldemort on your own," he could feel the sedative attacking his mind, and he wanted to sleep. The burning pain in his wrist was becoming worse, but the idea of sleep was one he wanted to fight.

"But you got him in the end, Harry. You did what you set out to do, and in the process you saved the entire wizarding world – not to mention the Muggle world."

Harry snorted. "But I couldn't save everyone. It's not fair. Why did they have to die? The entire conflict came from one stupid prophecy. It was always between Voldemort and me. Nobody else should have been involved. I may as well have killed them, for all that it was worth." Harry could feel the weight of guilt on his shoulders. He could not help his depressing feelings.

Poppy plumped up a pillow as she led Harry to one of the infirmary beds. "Nobody wanted to see Voldemort gain power, Harry. Everyone wanted to help. Nobody, apart from yourself was forced into the conflict. They didn't die in vain. Don't blame yourself. It's all over now. Everyone can get on with their lives." Poppy's words were intended to help the now drugged young man to rest, but something was nagging at him and he became quite vocal.

"No!" he cried as he fought the potion in his system. "Not everyone has it as lucky as I do, Poppy. How do you think it makes me feel when I see those who carry war injuries – Do you know how much guilt I feel when I see those like Draco, who carry around some injury because they were in a war that wasn't any of their business? I hate it, Poppy. I hate seeing it. It's not right. They shouldn't have been injured – it should be me in their place. If I could take back every death, every war injury I would. It was all my fault... I should have killed Voldemort sooner. I should never have let him get so powerful..." Harry's words quietened as the sedative finally kicked in and sleep overcame him.

The medi-witch was not surprised at Harry's fairly morbid thoughts. Most sedative potions would bring out such feelings, but Poppy could thoroughly understand Harry's depth of feeling. He cared too much about others sometimes, which was usually at the detriment to his own condition. She carefully laid his broken and strapped wrist on his chest, and then placed his glasses on the bedside table.

Fortunately, he would be able to sleep through the pain of that recovery. _As for his feelings of guilt,_ she thought, _what will it take to make him see that nobody blames him?_

A sudden rattle and the tell tale tinkle of glass bottles alerted her to the fact someone was in her office. She bustled in quickly to find Draco standing by the potions cabinet, looking quite pale and shaken. He was sitting back against the desk, a spilled potion bottle at his feet.

"Draco? Are you well? Do you need my assistance? You look quite pale."

He seemed somewhat lost for words for a moment, but quickly regained his equilibrium as he recalled where he was. "I... I'm fine. I was just checking your stores and taking stock of what needed replenishing. I must have lost my balance and slipped. Terribly sorry." A little bit of colour returned to his cheeks, but something had seriously disturbed him. He quickly cleaned up the spilled potion with a quick spell. "I've got what I needed, thank you. I had better get back and start working on some replacements." He made quickly to leave.

"There's no hurry, Draco. You don't need to start now. It can wait a couple of days," she offered, but he had already left her office without looking back.

* * *

Draco took his time returning to his rooms. He had come into Poppy's office whilst she was tending to Potter, and turned his ear to listen to their conversation. Unfortunately, he overheard more than he anticipated. Much more.

_He actually apologised. Apologised!_ Draco's mind could not move past that one thought. He had lost count of the number of times he wished and hoped that Potter would realise that his cursed knee was entirely his fault. He was the one who mistimed the Dark Lord's demise, causing Draco to blow his cover. He may as well have been the one to cast the bloody _Aboleo_ _Adesum_ curse on him.

But now Potter had apologised. He honestly did regret the war. He wasn't one to seek fame and glory, as Draco had thought. He apparently hated the war.

Of course, Draco had no idea why his breath came in short gasps, or why his chest felt tight. He only knew that he had to get back to his room and have a long, stiff drink. _Potter apologised._ He always suspected that if that ever happened, he would be dancing around and saying 'I told you so'. Why then, did he feel so horrid? Why did he actually feel pity for Potter?

Why did he feel like he had thoroughly misjudged the other man? _Could I have been completely wrong? How could I manage to do something like that?_

It was a long time before Draco realised he had returned to his rooms and was sitting in front of a cold hearth. The long, stiff drink was still in the bottle, but Draco didn't notice.

_Have I really misjudged Potter all along? Is that why everyone else loves him whilst I loathe him?_

A veil had lifted from his eyes, and he suddenly recognised it, having felt this only once before. It was the sudden awakening after a paradigm shift. He felt it once before, when he realised that he didn't want to follow his father's cause. This felt the same, only it cut deeper into his spirit. _I have been blind when it comes to Potter. Perhaps he is a completely different man than the boy I once knew. _

_Flash was right. _He wondered how he could have misjudged Potter, and how he could not see the truth. _He apologised. He blames himself for my injury. It's all I've ever wanted. So what happens now?_

Draco had no idea what was supposed to happen now, but thoughts and words in purple ink coalesced in his mind. He would have to make amends. Somehow.

Draco would have to apologise to Potter. And that was going to be the hardest thing imaginable.

So caught up in his thoughts, he never noticed when Petite Amie curled up in his lap. He fell asleep in his chair with one thought at the forefront of his mind. _I have to bite the bullet and apologise to Potter. _

He waited for the dream, and when it came – when Potter's face formed on the body of his mystery lover – he found that he could not say the words. How do I apologise for being so very wrong?

* * *

**May 28 - Wednesday**

Harry heartily tucked in to the extremely decadent _Pain au Chocolat_ from the patisserie case in the _Leaf and Bean_. Emmaline could not convince him to try any of her coffees, but he was thoroughly enjoying the thick and smooth taste of a pot of Lapsang Souchong with his chocolate filled croissant. It seemed that his feet always led him into the store every time he tried to pass by. It could have been the decidedly decadent pastries and fine tea, but he wondered if she hadn't put some sort of compulsion on the passing customers. It was an intriguing shop, and he would have visited, compulsion or not. It would take quite a while for him to sample all the teas she had available – much longer than the time he had left at Hogwarts. Whatever his future, he would undoubtedly be returning to Hogsmeade to sample her full range of teas.

He thought it was a novel concept to sell books and food in the one store – at least he had never before seen it in a wizarding bookstore. He loved the fact that he could browse through the books whilst enjoying a cup of tea, and a treat. The books might not be new, but that didn't matter to Harry. There was so much history to the wizarding world that Harry knew nothing about. Seeing books and stores like this just reminded him again of how hard he fought to retain such a quaint culture. Emmaline's regular anecdotes made for interesting listening, and he was sure that she had a story to tell about each of the books in the store.

He could get lost for hours just perusing the wide variety of books currently on her shelves. He was enjoying flicking through the assortment of titles on a myriad of subjects and made a note to keep this place secret from Hermione – Ron would find himself terribly alone if Hermione discovered the place! A shelf laden with a few extremely old and delicate titles caught his eye. Emmaline mentioned that she had taken delivery a large number of books from a deceased estate, and there were some rare finds amongst the stock. Quite a few were written in other languages, but one book in particular caught his eye. The leather binding was undoubtedly snakeskin, yet it felt smooth to the touch. The binding seemed quite delicate and the parchment within had yellowed with age.

As he handled the delicate book with care, he though it must have been written in some obscure ancient runes. It took a longer glance for him to realise that this was definitely not the case.

"I have no idea what language that one is in. I do not even know what it is about, 'Arry." Emmaline shrugged when he asked her about the old green leather book. He stared at the runes for some time before comprehension dawned. The runes had morphed into something else – and he hissed, dropping the book on the counter as a very familiar yet long forgotten feeling overcame him.

"'Arry?" Emmaline looked concerned.

Harry looked up at her, his green eyes wide in surprise. He hissed something incomprehensible, and Emmaline just shook her head in confusion. He put the book down and looked at her directly. He took a deep breath and swallowed before speaking. "It's in Parseltongue." He muttered quietly, still in shock at the revelation.

"Oh," she smiled in relief. "Is it really? How interesting. You had me worried for a moment. I thought it might have tried to bite you – or poison you."

"Wherever did you get it?" Harry frowned. He had never seen Parseltongue written down before, but the moment he touched the book again, the incomprehensible runes transformed into something Harry could readily comprehend.

Emmaline shrugged. "It was a part of a deceased estate that I recently purchased. I dare say that if it is written in Parseltongue, then you should probably take it. I doubt anyone else will be buying it in the near future. But now you have piqued my curiosity, 'Arry. What is the book about?"

He dared to pick up the book again, scanning through the well thumbed pages. Despite the book's age, the words were clear and there appeared to be no missing pages. _Who could have owned this,_ he wondered. As far as he knew, he and Voldemort were the only two Parselmouths of the current generation. He soon recognised much of the book's content, but put it down before talking to Emmaline.

"It's a retelling of a series of ancient curses from the Middle East." He saw the name at the bottom of the last page, but was not surprised. "It was written by Salazar Slytherin." _Of course, who else would think to write in Parseltongue?_ He gave the book a reluctant look, not wanting to relive memories of his freakish language ability. He had not used the language since the war. He pushed the book away.

Emmaline could see his resistance, "I'm sure it won't bite – or it would have done so by now. I insist that you take it, 'Arry." She pushed the book back towards him.

Harry was still hesitant, but nodded reluctantly. Before she could question him further, he insisted on another pot of tea, and he could not say no to another chocolate croissantHis eye wandered toward the book time and time again. Eventually curiosity got the better of him, and he began reading.

It was a grim tome, full of terrifyingly destructive curses, from a time when wizards used their magic to overwhelm and conquer. Even with his own extensive knowledge of the dark arts, this book was full of things Harry had only ever heard of. From what he could see, there were dozens of variations on the Imperius curse alone. He noted, ironically, the _Vocalisfavere _curse was explained in extreme detail. _So Albus thinks that we were as bad as feuding warlords. Interesting. _

It was a good thing that he was the only person who could read the book, for in the wrong hands, it could be exceedingly dangerous. He reluctantly acknowledged that a few of the most dangerous curses might have helped him out of a sticky situation during the war, but he was mostly curious as to how this book could have slipped the notice of the previous owner. _Of course he would have had no idea what it was about unless he were a Parselmouth as wel. _If he was still an active Auror, he would have immediately translated the book and presented the team with a full list of the curses and potions contained within.

As it were, he had no idea of what to do with the book. Harry toyed with the thought of just leaving it sit on his shelves forever, but realised it would probably help if he translated it. It was written by Slytherin himself, which meant that some people would be interested in the book for that reason alone. He smirked at the irony. _A book by Slytherin – translated by a Gryffindor. Still, it would be something to keep me busy for a bit after this job is finished._ He put the book down and got back to the important business of finishing his tea.

Emmaline chatted with Harry a while longer, mothering him unconsciously in the same way Molly Weasley did. Harry admitted that the eccentric witch and her homely shop made him feel so warm and comfortable. The French décor made him think of Luc, and whether he was from a similar place. For some unknown reason, he felt a strange connection to his friend whenever he was in the store. He pictured himself sitting there with his journal and spending hours writing to Luc. They would have to arrange a chat at a different time if that were the case, for Emmaline did not leave the store open late enough on a Sunday evening.

The tinkling of the bell alerted Harry to the new customer. A dull thud followed and he turned sharply. He was surprised to see Dobby sprawled across the doorway, looking terribly displaced. A few parcels had flown from his arms, but were now hovering – suspended mere inches from the floor. The elf looked terribly embarrassed, but was yet to spot Harry. Draco suddenly entered the store, scowling as he nearly tripped over the house elf standing in the doorway.

For a mere second, Harry recalled a long forgotten memory of Dobby with Lucius Malfoy. Harry didn't see Dobby fall – had Draco been treating the elf the same way as his father? He was about to get up and help Dobby when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. Draco stopped and offered his arm to help the elf get up off the floor.

_Well, there's something I never thought I'd see,_ he admitted reluctantly, _a Malfoy helping a house elf._ "Are you okay, Dobby?" Draco asked with genuine concern. Harry suspected that Malfoy was not as dispassionate as he usually appeared. Dobby dusted himself off and Harry began to studiously stare into the depth of his tea cup. It seemed that Malfoy was just full of surprises. It didn't help that he was somewhat like his father. The sight of Lucius during the war had been enough to send any wizard scrambling for his wand. Seeing Draco every day was not helping him to overcome the unconscious urge to go for his wand.

_I suppose he can't help the fact that he looks like his father, but does he have to dress up in that full regalia every time? _Malfoy was always resplendent in his full robes, taking particular care with every lacing and button. _He must spend hours getting dressed every morning. Perhaps it's a pureblood thing – all those full robes. _Harry knew he would become all thumbs when trying to put on his most formal of robes – the traditional ones with the dozens of buttons. _No doubt there's some trick spell I don't know about that makes the robes look perfect all the time. _

He tried to stop thinking about Draco and clothing and buttons in the one thought, as an image of him in jeans fought with an image of him in black silk pyjamas. Harry shook his head. He gave up wondering about Malfoy's dress style – but he couldn't help but question why he chose to wear such fiddly clothing when Harry knew perfectly well that he owned some quite nice Muggle gear. He shrugged the thoughts away as he turned his interest to Dobby. The elf was wide eyed as he stared at the dozens of jars of tea and coffee lined up along the wall behind the counter.

Emmaline came bustling out from the back of the store. Upon seeing Draco, she smiled warmly and began babbling in excitable French. Draco seemed animated as he spotted the old witch, and enveloped her in a loving hug as he answered her in perfectly flawless French.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Malfoy was just full of surprises today. _Although, it would seem logical that he understands French,_ Harry thought as he listened to Draco's dulcet tones speaking in the unfamiliar tongue. Somehow it softened his voice, and the drawl was gone. Malfoy's voice tugged at him in a way like never before as it flowed rich and deep, sending a shiver down Harry's back. He recalled the same reaction to hearing Remus talking to Emmaline the week before. As he adjusted himself to quell the pleasurable response to the words he dismissed a fleeting thought. _This is how Luc must sound when he speaks in his native tongue. Merlin that language is a turn-on._

Draco laughed heartily and broke the spell. Harry was surprised at the unmasked joy on Draco's face. He had never seen him so casual, so relaxed in his demeanour. He wondered what they could be discussing with the old witch to bring out that side of Draco. Had he not been so distracted by the flowing lilt of the language, he might have had the presence of mind to cast a translation charm and find out what they were talking about.

Dobby spotted Harry and quietly crept over to talk to him. Harry put his finger to his lips to tell the elf to keep quiet.

"Hello, Dobby. What brings you to Hogsmeade, and what are you doing here with him?" Harry jerked his thumb in Draco's direction.

"It's good to see you, Harry Potter sir! Professor Snape asked me to pick up his parcels and accompany Master Draco. Master Draco has asked a favour of me, and we are here now!" There was no hint of cowering fear or coercion in Dobby's tone.

"Is he treating you okay?" Harry still could not help his concern. Seeing Malfoy with the elf brought back a few unwanted memories and he wanted to be sure that Dobby was completely fine with the situation.

Draco turned to talk to Dobby, only to spot the errant elf chatting casually with Potter. _Oh bloody hell, why does he have to be here? I was looking forward to a quiet cup of coffee. I... I'm not ready to apologise to him – Shit, this is awkward. _Pulling off his gloves he sauntered over to where Harry was sitting. _And he's sitting at my table. _He sighed inwardly. No matter how much he tried to avoid this, it wasn't going to be easy. No doubt Potter would laugh in his face and make him feel even smaller than he did right now, but it was a risk he would have to take.

Even Flash told him it was unhealthy to hate Potter so much, but changing his behaviour wasn't going to happen overnight. _Is it really worth it to continue hating Potter so much? Is it worth it to let a thing like that ruin everything that I have left? Is he worth all that effort? Flash wants me to try. I promised him I would try. He apologised for the war. The least I can do is forgive him. _Draco knew something like that wasn't going to be easy. Potter would be suspicious, of course.

"Dobby!" Draco yelled sternly. Harry saw no flicker of fear on the house elf's face, but he frowned at Malfoy for talking so harshly. Draco suddenly noticed Harry's presence and the scowl had immediately replaced the smile on his face. Draco turned and gave Dobby some quiet instructions, the elf nodding in understanding as he went with Emmaline.

Potter seemed quite comfortable in Draco's favourite seat, something that irked him no end. It was not as easy as he thought it would be. _He doesn't make it any easier by coming in here and making himself at home. The one place I have around here that I thoroughly love, and he seems to be invading my space. How can I have the home advantage if he's here? _Draco surprised Harry by casually sitting down at the table with him. _I can't let him get the upper hand. Merlin, it's always a competition with him. Perhaps I should just start off by keeping civil and actually being nice. He'll be suspicious about that as it is. I spent years telling half-truths and putting up with what the Dark Lord wanted from me. Surely this can't be any worse?_

Harry was surprised that Malfoy joined him willingly, although in his usual arrogance he just sat down uninvited. "Should I be concerned that you are dragging your old house elf around town, Draco?"

"Not that it's any of your concern, _Harry_, but we are in town on school business for Severus. It's purely coincidental that he was the elf that was assigned to come with me. I'm actually surprised that Dobby isn't bowing and scraping at your heels like everyone else. He never fails to mention how grateful he is for what you did for him." He couldn't help but let the barb escape his lips, despite his good intentions. The sight of the half eaten pastry on Harry's plate distracted him. "Ooh, the Pain au Chocolat _is_ good, isn't it? You really should try the almond brioche – you won't regret it."

Draco seemed on the verge of asking for some, or taking it for himself. Harry responded by quickly eating the rest. It was good, and even though it was his second croissant, Harry had no intention of sharing. "Oh yeah, very good."

Draco seemed to be waiting patiently for something, but made no further move to converse with Harry. As he waited, his fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the top of his cane. Harry had seen that nervous habit in a number of smokers when they were desperate for a cigarette. He soon saw a look of relief on Draco's face as Dobby came over carrying a tray. Draco graciously accepted the proffered cup of thick, dark liquid. Harry smelled the coffee and was surprised as the Potions apprentice took a cautious sip before nodding eagerly. He smiled briefly and nodded to the elf. "Thank you, Dobby. Do you understand what to do now?"

Dobby nodded furiously. "Oh yes, Master Draco! I do! I'll explain to the other elves back in the kitchen! I knows how to make coffee now!" Dobby grinned widely at Harry, who began to understand why Draco had brought him here.

"You brought him here to make your coffee?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I was sick of coffee flavoured tea, Harry. Dobby has been trying to make it for me every morning, but Emmaline makes a perfect brew. She also has more patience to explain the process to him than I do." _He seems almost pleasant, for a change,_ Harry thought. _Perhaps it's the coffee. He's suddenly quite different – like he has dropped his mask. Is it the presence of Emmaline, I wonder._

"What? You seem surprised, Harry. Dobby was the one who wanted to come in here today." Draco couldn't help but notice the glance Harry made between himself and the house elf, and he understood what was going through the other man's mind. "Despite what you might think, I am not Lucius. I have never treated Dobby, or any house elf the way he did." Harry looked at him sceptically. "You can ask him if you like."

Harry shook his head, but wasn't quick enough in his protests. _I really don't want to cause trouble. I know that Malfoy isn't his father, but I can't help that occasional thought from coming through._

Draco called out to the elf, "Dobby! Could you please come here for a moment?"

The house elf happily wandered over, "Is there something else I can get for you? Would Harry Potter like a coffee? I can make one for him too! It would be an honour."

"_Harry_ was just asking about your life at Malfoy Manor, Dobby. He seems to think that it was all dungeons and torture for all of the elves."

Dobby's eyes widened and he shook his head, "Oh no, Harry Potter sir. I was Master Lucius' personal valet elf," Harry watched Dobby cringe and his ears wilt in remembrance. "Master Lucius was not pleasant, but I was the one who would receive punishment for anything the other elves did to displease him. Mistress Narcissa and Master Draco were always polite and treated us house elves with respect. Don't be thinking poorly of them, Harry Potter sir. But I was a bad elf. I only ever wanted to be free."

Harry sighed heavily, "I wasn't saying you were like your father, Draco."

"But you were thinking it, Harry. I know." Harry didn't deny the statement as he became interested in licking a few stray crumbs from his plate. Harry was actually wondering if this is what the real Draco Malfoy was like. Had Harry been so wrong to reject Malfoy's hand of friendship all those years ago? He shrugged. It was a bit pointless to think of that now. They were being civil, which was certainly progress. Dumbledore would be pleased. It was hard work maintaining the rage now that he realised that the man he was angry with was only some mask that Malfoy hid behind. He was curious about the real Malfoy – the one who seemed determined to hide from Harry.

"So, you seem rather chummy with Emmaline – when did you two meet?" he asked, changing the subject.

"We've known each other for years. She is an old friend." Draco said curtly. Emmaline was his petite mère and he wasn't willing to share her with anyone, especially not Potter. The old book on the table next to Harry looked intriguing. Before Harry could protest, Draco picked up the snakeskin covered book. Turning it over in his hands, he frowned as he tried to decipher the runes on the cover. "I don't recognise these runes. Since when have you studied runes, Harry... wait a minute..." Draco faltered as his fingers traced a very familiar crest on the back cover. He knew that symbol on sight after having been surrounded by it for seven years in the dungeons. "That's Salazar Slytherin's mark. What are you doing with a book of his written in indecipherable runes?" As he spoke, he realised the significance of the abstract squiggles on the page. Harry let out a small hiss as he looked at the book.

Harry didn't want to make a big deal out of the book, but he could see the look of intense curiosity in Draco's face. "Yes, it's written in Parseltongue, and if the title is correct, then it was written by Slytherin himself. Emmaline's got a whole heap of new books from this deceased estate. This has got curses I haven't even heard of..."

"How the hell..." Draco's eyes widened. How on earth did a book written by Salazar Slytherin – an original at that – end up here, of all places? Who had been the previous owner of that book? "Whose estate? It wasn't a Death Eater sympathiser, was it?"

Harry shook his head, "I don't think so. The Aurors went through every known sympathiser's home after the war – as you well know. It would have been picked up then. Whoever owned this was most likely totally oblivious to its significance. Thank Merlin that Voldemort never got his hands on it..." he murmured the last.

"Oh?" Draco was interested now. What did the book have to say? Draco had always hated not knowing something. Seeing that book there was taunting his desire for knowledge, especially when he knew Slytherin wrote it. He would not admit the jealousy that poured from him at the thought he would have to ask Potter to translate it. Could he trust Potter to actually tell him the truth of what it contained?

Harry saw Draco's determined look, and shrugged. No doubt the Slytherin poster boy was eager to hear exactly what his old idol had written about. Harry opened the book to a random page and read quietly.

"What does it say? What does it say?" Malfoy was sitting eagerly on the edge of his chair.

"I can't read it aloud, Draco, or I'll be talking in Parseltongue." Draco looked a little disappointed. He put the book down and then looked at Draco. "The book is full of very detailed descriptions of ancient curses – quite nasty ones, really. I'm glad that Voldemort never got his hands on it. From the few snatches I've read today, this book contains dozens of curses that should really fall under the unforgivable category. That page I just read was about something called the _aboleo... _the _aboleo_ _ade-_whatever curse, and how it can be countered. I'll have to study it more. I've never seen written Parseltongue before," he admitted.

All the blood rushed from Draco's face and a severe line replaced his mouth as he silently pondered Harry's words, "Was it the _Aboleo_ _Adesum _curse, perhaps?" he asked tentatively – almost choking on the words. Harry noticed as Draco began gripping the head of his cane tighter.

Harry went back and re-read the page before nodding in assent. "Yes, that's the one. This page is talking about a potion that will purge the curse and regenerate the effects of the curse." Harry watched the play of emotions across Draco's face. "Have you heard of that curse before?" Draco didn't respond, but suddenly stood up to leave.

"I have to go," Malfoy spoke abruptly, shaking visibly as he rushed to leave. Harry stared after him as he hastily departed. He didn't even say goodbye to Emmaline. Dobby spotted Draco's retreating form and made a mad dash after him, absently remembering the parcels as they were levitated and whisked out the door behind him.

"Ah," Emmaline sighed, cleaning up the dirty crockery from the table with a quick charm. She saw the confused look on Harry's face. "That boy is too sensitive at times. You mustn't let him upset you, 'Arry."

"But I didn't say anything... for once." Harry added. "I was just telling him about this curse... oh," Harry paused as he reread the entire passage about the curse. It all started to make perfect sense. Malfoy's injury. The fact it wasn't cured. The fact he seemed to be a somewhat different person.

"What is it, 'Arry?" Emmaline asked curiously.

Harry reread the page once more – just to be sure. "I think I've just stumbled across something."

"Oh, what could that be?" Emmaline was curious.

"Emmaline, Draco said you're an old friend. Did he ever tell you how he injured his knee?"

The old witch shrugged, "He said it happened during the war. A curse struck it. He spent months trying to remove it, but it is degenerative. He is not happy about that."

"Oh." Harry sat quietly, fully realising the depth of Draco's anguish.

"'Arry, what is it? What doesn't he know?" Harry saw the distress in the old witch's face.

"I think I may have just stumbled across the fact that there is, in fact, a cure for whatever curse struck him." Harry sat there just staring at the page, still stunned at Malfoy's reaction.

"Well?" Emmaline asked eagerly.

"Well what, Emmaline?"

"Well, you had better go after him - tell him exactly what you've found!" she exclaimed eagerly.

Harry seemed a little reluctant. "Do you really think so? Draco wouldn't want my help. I'm fairly certain of that."

"'Arry, I can tell you one thing about Draco. He might be a dreadfully private person, but when it comes to that injury, he would do almost anything to find a way to remove that curse. I know for a fact he's spent a lot of time and money seeking out a cure. I doubt he would turn any offer of help away."

Harry still looked sceptical. This was Malfoy they were talking about.

"Go, 'Arry. Help him. He won't turn you away. I give you my word. Honestly, what do you have to lose?"

Harry thought for a moment longer before nodding. He was still torn between his desire to help, and the fact it was Malfoy. He was out the door and on his way back to the castle, walking briskly to catch up with Draco. _Yes, really. What do I have to lose? _

* * *

TBC in Chapter 15...

**Thank You:** Thank you to **SeparatriX**, **C Dumbledore, **Syranthil, Kifty (and everyone else for the Frenchpicking) - all for extra beta-ing above and beyond the call of duty, and for last minute French picking.

**Review Replies:**  
We just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to reply here, and over at our yahoo group. It means a lot just to know you are reading and enjoying the story. We do have a lot of fun writing (and clapping our hands in glee at your thoughts).

To answer a couple of simple questions, it has been taking somewhere between a month and 6 weeks between posts, simply due to the fact that both of us live full, real lives, and we would both certainly love the leisure time to be able to devote ourselves to writing full time. Thank you for your patience between chapters.

So thank you to: **all4Dyna, An3maePhreek, Awe, BlahnessMucho, Bluebellfairy, BrokenInside , Chloe , dan-rad, Dr. Colleen, dracos41, dracoz-sexc-hunni, Dragenphly, dreamerdoll, driven to insanity, duchesscarml, Dyers-Eve, eladnarra, Em , ephi , fifespice, fowler Nsow, futago akuma-tenshi02, Heather , ilovepocky , It'sJustMe , Lady Lynn, Lea , Lelimo, louise4, Ludra, Ludra, Menecarkawan, Mosrael, Nanami, Nichalia, Night Walker1, OccupiedNeptune, OxBeachFlirtxO1, saFire flamE, sakoi-kai, Shena, SilverDragon161, silver-sunn101, skimmie, Sky , Starlight Soul, Starrarose, swtjemz, tangledhair, The Chaotic Ones, theodyssey, Thranx, Trinity Vida-Malfoy, twighlightshadow, ura-hd, Web-of-Knots, WhyteRoze-, yay**

And in specific response to some comments:

**Theodyssey** - thanks for pointing out those things. They had all been fixed on our master copy, but not yet uploaded here, although how one stray mention of the word 'Dollar' slipped through, I have no idea. We thought we were so pedantic about that.

**Heather** - Your words were so wonderful. Thanks for everything you said. We try our best to avoid mistakes from canon or of the grammatical type, but a few do slip through the cracks. We have fun writing the conversations, as most of them usually take place over IM chat.

**Mosrael **- They mentioned they were gay way back in about their second or third entries. They may not have said the word 'gay' exactly, but they knew what they meant.

**Dreamerdoll **- thank you for thanking us when we should be thanking you for reading! It takes time to write a review, I think it only fair to offer our thanks for what you say!

**Dr Colleen **- Hope you and your tea cosy are dancing around nicely at this update.

**Starrarose** - Your words were exactly expressing what we want to say. Life isn't always perfect and soul mates don't always meet and fall into bed straight away. Although it does help when magical artefacts can help them to realise these things before it is too late. People often forget films like When Harry met Sally and You've Got Mail where they always have someone else, but end up together. Thanks for agreeing with us.

**It'sJustMe** - Yes, Draco does still seem a little narky and somewhat immature, but sometimes people hold a grudge and leave it at that. They don't think beyond that grudge and it takes a lot of work to get around it (speaking from personal experience here). Draco was never one for the fine art of forgiveness, and hopefully some of the events in this chapter will help him to come to terms with the reality of Harry Potter, and not the grudge he's been nursing for quite some time.

**Shena** - Yes, the plot twists are all thought out well in advance... there are dozens more we just don't have time to fit into the fic, so you're only seeing the cream of the crop ones. But there are still a few more to come. As for Hooch, well, yes, the actress was a little older, but if wizards can live longer lives, why can't witches have children later? Hmmm?

**LadyLynn** - yes, it's definitely written by two people. We try, where possible, to stick to the plan that Wintermoon writes for Harry, and Azhure writes for Draco. It doesn't always end up that way, but essentially we try to give each character their own voice, which hopefully prevents choppy and sloppy characterisation.

Tangledhair - here you are ma'am, another chapter for your reading pleasure. We hope it lives up to your discerning tastes! It's not so much that they are purposely avoiding finding out - all I can say is that the journal is doing its job. You'll find out exactly what magic the journal has been performing in a couple of chapters. It might be totally obvious to us, but they are still blissfully oblivious. For now... er, I shouldn'ta said tha'

**saFire flame** - we don't update on a regular schedule, but we try to keep it on a monthly basis (this chapter was almost ready a while ago, but RL stepped in and delayed it yet again) Neither of us like schedules - we have enough of those in our real lives. However, we are hoping to have the story wrapped up by the time Half-Blood Prince is published in July!

**Louise4** - Yes, yes, yes. Rest assured that Remus will be out of the romantic picture soon. Although we have plans for our yummy werewolf... mwahahaha. And Charlie/Severus? I think the red-head will have his work cut out for him trying to woo the reluctant Potions master.

**Swtjemz** - thank you! Yes, the chapters are quite long and intricate. They weren't originally, but Azhure has a tendency to waffle on a bit (it's the Aussie yarn telling gene) and so we now have long chapters. We try to end them on a high note, so certain things must happen to get to that point. I think this chapter is about 5,000 words shorter than the last (but most of chapter 15 was slated to be in this chapter... that's going to be a doozy of a chapter, but don't tell anyone else)

**Ludra** - Okay, you can stop your impatient dance now. Well, at least for a bit. It's amazing to think that other people take the time to think about our characters. I must confess that they take up a lot of our own time, but they are kinda hot guys, so that's understandable.

**Driven to insanity **- your name says it all... Yes, things will be hotting up soon enough. Not this chapter, unfortunately, but this was the chapter that had to happen before other events could happen...

**SilverDragon161** - You want to hit Harry over the head? I have been trying to slap Draco into shape for a few chapters now... you'll like chapter 15, I promise.


	15. Something Stupid

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 15: Something Stupid**

_...and then I go and spoil it all  
by saying something stupid  
like I love you.  
_**Frank and Nancy Sinatra**

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams, Letters, or Diary entries from Luc.  
Underlined Text: Suggestive comments in the diaries.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

* * *

**June 2, Monday**

_He knew when the dream began, for it was the same every night. But now it was evolving. As it replayed, yet again, Draco noticed that the voice of Jean-Paul was different, and the feel of those magical hands was changing. They felt strong and confident in what they were doing and his body responded to their touch. He knew quite soon that this mysterious lover would wear Harry Potter's face, but there was a sense of trepidation invading his overwhelmingly intense pleasure. Draco grasped the fact that he needed to say something to Harry. He needed to apologise, but the words would not come out._

_Naturally, Draco's subconscious erotic journey was unfolding yet again and he was helpless to control its destination. His need to apologise to Harry was becoming more urgent, but no matter how hard he tried to speak to his dream lover, he would find he was speechless from burning desire. _

_But something did change. Draco looked down into the endless fire of lust in Harry's eyes, awaiting the inevitable leap over the edge of oblivion. Harry stopped – his green eyes sparkling mischievously as his mouth and tongue moved away to kiss a trail down to lave at the star shaped scars on his knee. _

_Always conscious of his infirmity, Draco flinched at the intimate touch, but Harry was insistent in his ministrations. "Don't..." he mumbled._

_Dream Harry stopped and looked down at the knee, his hand still stroking lightly over the scarred skin. "Why? I gave you the cure. Why haven't you used it yet?" As Harry brought his mouth down to kiss the knee again, Draco felt a distinct difference in the touch. The tongue that now darted and flicked across his skin felt cold and clammy. He heard a sibilant hiss and looked back down to see his lover hissing words in Parseltongue. Draco felt the touch of magic and watched in awe as the scars began to fade and the misshapen kneecap returned to normal. The hissing continued as the forked tongue flicked its way back up his thigh and returned to its earlier task. Draco's yearning from the touch left him thoroughly incoherent as he arched back into the pillows._

_The serpentine tongue flickered in teasing touches over and over again and Draco found himself quickly incoherent. "Draco, wake up." A foreign voice interrupted him as he reached completion, but he ignored the incessant call of his name. He heard his own voice cry out 'Flash', but he could no longer make out the features on his lover's face as he returned to wakefulness. _

Draco stretched languidly as he roused, wincing at the stiffness in his neck and back. He reluctantly opened one eye, puzzled by the fact he wasn't sleeping in his plush and comfortable bed. He didn't fail to notice the overwhelming smell of coffee and wondered why Severus' voice invaded the end of the dream. Blinking rapidly as he woke, he spotted a full mug of coffee placed carefully between the piles of books stacked precariously on the desk. He sat up slowly in an attempt to release the uncomfortable crick in his neck. A pile of parchments was no substitute for a plump pillow. He had fallen asleep as he worked – again. A shadow fell across the desk and he looked up to see Severus standing there with his arms folded, a steaming mug of coffee in his own hand. The expression on his face was a cross between concern and amusement.

Only then did Draco remember the end of his dream. "Sev'rus," he stifled another yawn, "I wasn't talking in my sleep, was I?" Judging from the angle of the sun, it was early morning. How long had Draco been doing his research?

A wry smile crossed Severus' face. "I can assure you, Draco, that if you had, I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of telling you." He wasn't going to tell Draco about the coy smile and rather intimate murmuring he had overheard as he came in to check on him that morning. No matter how hard Draco worked, he deserved a little bit of happiness. If that were only happening in his dreams, then who was Severus to interrupt him? He was dreadfully concerned for his young charge. He would work himself to death if someone didn't look after him. Judging from what he could see strewn around his desk, Draco had buried himself in his work for the past few days. It wasn't healthy. It had been the weekend, after all.

"I wouldn't normally impinge on you this early in the day, Draco, but I need your assistance in getting those petrifying potions bottled and down to the classroom for this morning's exams."

Draco was still trying to wake up, his mind still trying to come down from the high of the dream. He recalled that Severus needed the petrifying potions, and nodded absently. That had been the least of his concerns. He groaned inwardly as he remembered why he was still scouring ancient texts and obscure parchments. _The cure._ That bloody potion that was going to remove the curse from his knee and return his mobility.

With his single-minded determination, he wasn't going to let anyone, even Severus, stop him from completing such an important task. This potion was going to change his life.

If only he could make it work.

He had not expected it to be so difficult – not after reading the details of the potion. Even Potter could have brewed it in his sleep. Unfortunately, he came across an impassable brick wall not long after he started. Gathering all the ingredients was proving to be somewhat of a challenge.

Draco felt the first stirrings of a dull headache as it attempted to take a hold. Staring at the stack of parchments, he was faced with the possibility that this current cure, like all the others, was going to be out of his reach. It had been too good to be true. He really should have gone with his first instinct and ignored everything he had heard from Potter back in the _Leaf and Bean_.

* * *

_Harry finally caught up with Draco outside their rooms. He had Apparated back to the school gates so quickly, he was lucky he had not splinched himself. Draco had no idea why he practically ran away from Emmaline's when he heard Harry mention a cure for the curse, but he didn't have any time to think about it as the dogged Gryffindor was hot on his heels._

"_Draco..." Harry began._

"_What is it you want?" Draco sounded terse and tired._

"_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. I guess from your reaction that this curse," Harry held up the ancient book written by Slytherin, "that this is what caused that." He looked down at Draco's knee, which was hidden beneath the folds of his robes._

"_Five points to Gryffindor for observation, Harry." Draco wanted to get into his room, but Harry stopped him._

"_Emmaline said you've tried everything to cure it, but nothing's worked."_

"_Emmaline has a propensity to talk – too much."_

"_I suppose you'll try to fight me if I offer to translate this cure for you."_

_Draco shrugged. "Somehow, I'm not surprised that you, of all people, would offer to do that. What do you want? I can pay you, of course."_

_Harry seemed confused. "What? Why would I want you to pay me?"_

"_Well I'm sure you aren't offering to do this out of the goodness of your heart. But then again, you are the consummate Gryffindor, so perhaps you were planning on doing just that." Draco couldn't help the hint of sarcasm in his voice._

_Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Draco. You'll damn me if I do help, and you'll damn me if I choose to throw this book on the fire and then you'll never know. It's your call." Draco took a deep breath, not speaking, but eventually nodding to Harry that he would like him to translate the cure._

_Eight hours later, Harry rapped on his door. He handed a parchment scroll to Draco, but quickly pulled it back as Draco was about to take it. "Actually, I do want something in return," he quipped. _

_Draco smirked. He had been expecting something like this. Nobody would do something for nothing. Harry continued. "Once upon a time I would have thought you were incapable of feeling compassion. But I was wrong. I see how well Remus is from taking the Wolfsbane that you are constantly improving. It must make you feel good to know that you are helping someone." Draco nodded, not really understanding what Potter was trying to say. "Perhaps I'm doing this for that same reason – the knowledge that this will help you in some way. That's payment enough, Draco." _

_Draco was still dumbfounded as Harry was apparently offering him a chance to return to a normal life – with absolutely no strings attached. It seemed too incredibly perfect to be true. _

"_Of course," Harry added as an afterthought, "I have to admit that the thought of proving our last Quidditch match was a complete fluke has crossed my mind on more than one occasion. I'd like a chance for a rematch, Draco."_

_Not expecting an answer, Harry was nearly out the door when he thought he heard Draco whisper an almost inaudible 'thank you'._

* * *

"Draco, is everything alright?" Severus was concerned. "I take it from your lack of enthusiasm that you are not experiencing the success you expected? What's wrong with it? Was Potter merely toying with you by offering you an 'unconditional cure'?" Severus was highly sceptical of Potter's rather convenient discovery of an extremely rare tome written in Parseltongue. The fact that it just happened to contain the original counter-potion to the _Aboleo Adesum_ curse seemed incredible. He was even more sceptical of Potter's motives in offering the translated cure to Draco. It was apparently unconditional. Even though Severus held his doubts, he knew Draco was not one to pass up any opportunity that was freely given. He only hoped it would never come back to haunt.

Draco ran a hand through his hair as he downed another large gulp of coffee before answering. "I knew it was too good to be true, Severus. There's one ingredient – well - either Harry has got it horribly mixed up in translation, or it's even rarer than Albanian trunk-snouted hen's teeth. I've spent ages trying to come up with viable alternatives, but I can't seem to see anything that contains the exact same properties without counteracting other ingredients."

Severus didn't miss the quiet desperation in Draco's tone. "Maybe he didn't make a mistake, Draco. Have you considered the possibility that Potter is playing some cruel joke on you?"

"Of course I have, Severus. He doesn't have enough of a grasp of potions to make up something this elaborate – it _has_ to be genuine. I doubt he would try something like this on me, unless he's in the mood to be cursed to the Channel and back." Draco had not mentioned to Severus that he had overheard Harry's confessional apology to Madame Pomfrey. He could barely believe it himself, but try as he might, he could not stop thinking about what he heard. He could only assume that Harry was helping him as a way of easing his own guilt.

"You haven't left this room in over three days, Draco." Severus was concerned. "You can't pin all your hopes on this. I remember the last time you thought you had found a cure." He really didn't want Draco to relive that sort of pain again.

Draco nodded, absently flicking his wand at the coffee pot, which hovered over and refilled Severus' cup before refilling his own. Now that he was fully awake, the craving for a cigarette was strong, and he suddenly realised he had not had one in a couple of days. He didn't exactly want to relive past failures, but he was beginning to think that this latest glimmer of hope was going to turn out to be just as futile as all his previous attempts.

"I know, I know. I just wanted to be thoroughly sure that it will work. I daren't risk any substitute ingredients, so now I have to just sit back and hope that they aren't extinct." Draco really didn't want to entertain that thought, but he knew it would be just one other thing that could throw a bludger at his plans. Rubbing at the day old stubble on his face, he pulled his fob watch from his pocket and seemed surprised as he realised the time. He looked out the window to confirm it, noticing Potter as he did his usual early morning forms in the courtyard. Severus' words finally crept into his consciousness and he realised it was _Monday_ morning. He could have sworn it was only Sunday. _Have I been working on it that long?_ He frowned, knowing he had forgotten something, but unable to put his finger on just what it was.

"I suspected that something was amiss, Draco. You usually only lock yourself away like that when things aren't going your way. You work yourself into the ground." Severus could read Draco's moods easily, and he really didn't think he would cope with another disappointment on top of all the others he had experienced in recent months. He had been through so many in such a short time. To come so close to a cure, only to find yet another barrier was painful. "What's the ingredient?" he asked curiously, coming around the desk to refer to Draco's notes.

Draco sighed heavily as he picked up the translation, pointing to one line in particular. "Have you ever heard of Pegasus Wingtips before?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. They were an extremely rare commodity. "Ah, yes. I can see where you would have a problem with that. Such a magical item. Is there anything I can do to help?" Severus didn't like Draco's chances of finding any. He remembered an extremely difficult search in trying to find some during the war. Voldemort had been most keen to locate some in his never-ending quest for immortality. Pegasus Wingtips weren't extinct, but they might as well be.

"Actually, I was going to ask you yesterday, but I must have fallen asleep as I worked on the potion base. I know your ingredients inventory inside out, and I know you only have Cornish pixie Wingtips, so I didn't bother to ask. Goodness knows where you got so many basilisk scales, but I wanted to double check that none of them were somehow mislabelled. But I have written to all the apothecaries I know, hoping someone might know where we can source some. I don't know if you know anyone else, but certainly a letter from you might encourage them to search a little harder. I can only begin to imagine how much something like that would cost..." That had been a huge concern for Draco. Money. Once upon a time, the price of something would not have entered his mind. It was highly likely that if they did find some, the cost would be so prohibitive that he would need to beg Weasley and the Fiscal Investigative Goblins for a loan against the frozen estate. He knew his chances of approval were slim.

Severus knew exactly what was churning through his apprentice's mind. "It's no problem, Draco. I can handle that side for you, and before you work yourself up into a state, I am perfectly capable of arranging payment when we come across the ingredients."

Draco seemed surprised at the offer. "I am not working myself up into a state!" Severus just glared, and he knew he was right. "But..."

Severus waved him away with a hand. "But... nothing. I'm not going to get into this argument with you." He had learned early in life never to argue with a Malfoy about money. "Consider it a gift. For once in your life, Draco, don't think, just accept."

He wanted to argue with Severus further, but the Potions master gave him a glare that brooked no argument. Draco nodded, but wasn't happy about it. If he were lucky, they would find the curious ingredient in some back alley apothecary that would be glad to be rid of the stock for a nominal price. He drank his second cup of coffee and started to feel somewhat human.

There was one thing that Severus had been exceedingly curious about. "Did your French lady friend say where she got that book?" he asked. It had been a shock to learn of the book's existence not from Draco, but from that upstart Potter himself. He had not expected the young hero to come knocking on his door (voluntarily) to explain the existence of this book and what he intended to do with it. Of course, Severus was insanely curious in regard to its contents, but he could not help but wonder exactly where the book had come from, and why it suddenly landed in Potter's lap.

"She mentioned something about a deceased estate, Severus. Did Harry come and talk to you about the book? I have to say I find it quite ironic that something that you and I would dearly love to get our hands on can only be read by a bloody Gryffindor." Draco shrugged.

"That's the second time you've referred to the illustrious Mr Potter by his first name. Why am I sensing that something is amiss with that?" Severus raised his own eyebrow. "You haven't been taking tea with the headmaster by any chance, have you?"

Draco rolled his eyes and nodded. "How ever did you guess? I take it he has done this before." Severus nodded. "Who?"

Severus snorted. "He seemed to think that I was being rather uncharitable to the illustrious Sirius Black. His interference really didn't help. It only made us more furious, in the end."

Draco nodded again. "Yes, I don't like being hexed behind my back. If he wanted us to be friends then he should have done it when we were children."

"Oh, Dumbledore would never hex a student. It's against his rather warped sense of ethics." The veiled sarcasm was not lost on Draco, who raised an eyebrow higher than usual. Taking another long sip of coffee, he couldn't help but feel that something was slightly off with his mentor. Severus looked over at the cauldron full of petrifying potion and the still empty jars. They would have to work quickly to get them bottled before class.

Severus looked tired as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Draco frowned in concern. "What's wrong, Severus?"

"Oh nothing that you need concern yourself with, Draco," Severus sighed wearily. He was always this tired at the end of the school year, and it just seemed to get worse as he got older.

Draco saw the lines around Severus' eyes and the bags below had deepened recently. Even with Draco's assistance, Severus was running himself ragged. Realising that he had, rather selfishly spent the better part of the past few days absorbed in his own work, he felt suddenly quite guilty.

"You need to slow down, Severus." Draco spoke plainly as he began to bottle the potions. He had to be careful or the sticky solution would petrify his own hand if he spilled any.

"I'll slow down when I'm dead."

"Which you will be if you don't relax. Merlin, Severus. Look, I'll handle this cure – it's my problem after all. I'll let you know if there's anything else I need from you besides a couple of letters."

"I still can't believe Dumbledore put that _Vocalisfavere _spell on you."

"He cursed _both of us, _Severus."

Severus was surprised at that and shook his head. "I've given up ever wondering about what goes on in that man's head. To be honest, I really wonder if he isn't already a few knuts short of a sickle." Severus downed the remainder of his coffee, still rubbing at the tension in his neck.

Draco was concerned. It was unusual for Severus to readily show his fatigue. "Is there anything else can I do to help you now, Severus? I could take over some of your marking..."

Severus waved him away, "Unless you can spirit me away to somewhere I don't have to deal with imbeciles, or our notorious headmaster, there's not much you can do. It's always like this near the end of the school year. Only two more weeks and they will all be gone."

Draco tapped his finger against his lip, thinking. "When was the last time you took a holiday, Severus?"

"Last summer of course – you know the school schedule."

"No, I mean when did you go _away_ for a holiday? I know you spend your summers locked away and doing all your catch up work. You won't need to do that this year – that's why you've got me. Why not go away and rest – really rest? Even better, go off and shag someone. It might do you the world of good," he smirked at the last. Severus was more uptight that he was, and Draco knew that a few good hard shags might soften Severus' demeanour dramatically. He toyed with a stray thought of sending Severus in Jean-Paul's direction, but changed his mind.

"Cheeky monkey," Severus retorted with a half-smile.

"Look, my chateau at Roussillon is vacant – I'm sure you'd love the place." Draco offered freely. He had planted the seed of an idea. All he had to do was water it daily until Severus realised he was free to do as he pleased during his holidays.

Severus had been correct. It did take them quite a while to bottle the petrifying potions and take them down to the dungeon by hand. Some things were just too volatile or dangerous to trust to a hovering charm.

After returning to his rooms, Draco flopped down into the armchair beside the cold hearth, deep in thought. _Am I every going to find those Pegasus Wingtips? I don't think the potion will work with any substitutions. Am I just kidding myself in thinking that I'll get full use of my knee and be able to live a normal existence? _Draco stopped his flights of fancy just as quickly as the thoughts came. _No use in daydreaming just yet. _It was with a sense of impending reality that he dragged himself off to the bathroom.

"AAARRGHH!" Draco turned sharply at the scream, only to discover his mirror had made the unearthly sound.

"What?" he asked huffily.

"You look dreadful, darling! You go away and hide in that room for days on end – you look a right mess! Please tell me you aren't going to end up letting yourself go like Mr tall, dark and mysterious who was here earlier." The mirror sounded horrified at the thought Draco might be letting himself go.

"I should never have brought you with me," he muttered under his breath and scowling at the melodramatic mirror. "Although, I am in the market for a new litter tray for Petite Amie. Perhaps I should do a little creative transfiguration after, hmmm?"

"Oh!" the mirror gasped in despair, "you wouldn't dare!"

"Try me." He promptly ignored the mirror and made his way to the shower. The refreshing stream of water renewed and revitalised him. As he turned sharply, the naggingly familiar pain shot up and down his leg, and he wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to live pain free. Some days he could barely remember what it was like to be without the aches and constant twinges. Whatever Jean-Paul had done to it in Marrakesh had made it somewhat duller, but he sensed the pain travelling up familiar pathways and he resigned himself to the fact that he was hanging on to the last scrap of hope.

Why had this cure suddenly come to light now? Only after spending months scouring every library in search of a cure did one suddenly fall into his lap. Was Harry really trying to help him, or was Harry doing it purely to overcome his own feelings of guilt? Draco doubted it had anything to do with their enforced friendship – surely Harry wasn't that obliging. Only a few weeks ago he would have thought that Harry would not piss on him if he were on fire. That phrase of Flash's seemed thoroughly apt when describing Potter.

It was then that he realised what had been niggling at the back of his mind. As he stepped out of the shower, he half dried and hurriedly made his way over to his desk, dressing quickly. There it was – the journal, wide open with a few lines from Flash. Draco had been so busy in his workroom that he completely forgot their scheduled chat. _Damn! I really wanted to talk to him._

He felt dreadful for completely forgetting. Reading Flash's words, the guilt unfolded.

_**Dear Luc,**_

_**Hey, are you around? How are things?**_

_**Luc? Anyone home?**_

_**Seems I'm talking to myself. Which is quite common, people tell me.**_

_**I hope everything is fine, and that you're just indisposed. Of course, if you're indisposed with someone tall, dark and handsome, I'll thoroughly understand, but you know the rules - I want details!**_

_**Okay then, either you definitely are indisposed, or you're not talking to me, which I certainly hope is not the case.**_

_**Ciao for now. Might catch up with you during the week.**_

_**Cheers, Flash**_

Draco was about to grab a quill and scribble a short reply when he heard the fire flare behind him.

"Quick, Draco, I need you down here." Severus seemed unable to hold in some barely concealed anger. "It seems I overestimated this lot of third year Gryffindors, and one has just petrified himself, and it's splashed onto me." Before Draco could answer, he saw Severus turn slightly grey. He was through the Floo instantly and found the rest of his day taken up with supervision of exams.

Severus was actually fine, as was the student, but Poppy took the opportunity to keep Severus in the infirmary for a few hours. Some of the students seemed surprised to see Draco administering the day's exams, with the third, fourth and sixth years all taking some form of test that day. A few seemed pleased that their loathed Professor Snape was not hovering disapprovingly over their cauldrons as they brewed, but they had not counted on Draco having the same short temper as their professor when it came to incompetency.

* * *

Draco was thoroughly exhausted by the end of the day. Severus returned not long after the first years were dismissed. They were not actually due for a test, but Draco quickly had them under control with a surprise quiz of his own design. Severus grinned as he watched Draco yawn wildly as he sorted through the first years' answers, shaking his head and occasionally raising an eyebrow at their attempts.

"So, I gather you don't have any designs on taking over from me any time soon?" Severus still looked weary, but Draco knew that Poppy probably kept him in the infirmary to ensure he had an enforced rest, which he probably resented.

"Not in the near future, Severus. But more importantly, how are you?"

Severus looked at his bandage wrapped hand, and seemed hesitant to speak. "I think you're right, Draco. Perhaps I do need to go away these holidays." That explained the hesitancy; Severus had never been quick to admit his weaknesses.

Draco nodded. Did it really take a near accident to make him see that? "As I said earlier, the chateau..."

"No, that's fine, Draco. I have had more than enough time to think about it today, I'll probably just head down to London or something. I'll think about it later. But you look exhausted too, Draco. Why don't you go back to your rooms? I'll sort this out. And don't worry, I'll have a few letters written to everyone I know in the search for Pegasus Wingtips."

"Thank you, Severus." Draco was truly thankful for everything that Severus did. From offering him the apprenticeship to now helping him to find rare ingredients, he appreciated his deep connection to the man who was more a father than Lucius ever was.

* * *

Upon realising that his time at Hogwarts was coming to a close much more quickly than he wanted it to, Harry spent a melancholy but disjointed weekend as he busied himself translating Salazar Slytherin's old book. He had spoken to both Remus and Snape about it, and decided to translate the entire book for whatever help it may offer to the world of Potions studies and medi-wizard research. He had been determined to translate the potion for the _Aboleo Adesum_ curse first, and never even noticed his lack of concern as to what drove him to provide that cure to Draco.

Harry remembered the first time he saw Draco after the war, that day in London when he lost his temper. In the midst of everything else going on that day, he had instantly noticed Draco's cane and wondered briefly if he was falling back on his old tricks, playing up a minor injury in an attempt to garner sympathy or get revenge. Harry had quickly discounted that idea, admonishing himself for thinking such uncharitable thoughts, and after reading about the curse in this book, he felt even worse for it. It was obvious from the details in Slytherin's book that Draco was bearing up incredibly well, and in fact it was a testament to his determination that he was still walking under the strain of such a destructive curse.

He was beginning to get concerned that he had not seen or heard from Draco since he offered up the translation. He hadn't noticed any light coming from under the door when he walked past Malfoy's room, but he saw a light burning low coming from the lab that was attached to the room. He considered knocking on the lab door to check on Draco's progress with the cure, but decided against it when he imagined Draco with Snape's bad temper and his typical response at being interrupted during brewing.

The stray tabby cat that had taken to wandering the halls began to follow Harry back to his rooms, and he found he could not resist the pathetic looks she gave him when he wanted to close his door on her. Sighing, he let her in and was surprised to realise hours later that he had been mindlessly petting her as he read. She was comfortably curled in his lap and seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself in his company. The next day when he left his room, she went to scratch at Draco's door. He guessed that she might belong to him and wondered if Draco would hear her and let her in.

Sunday morning, Harry took note of Draco's continued absence in the courtyard during his morning T'ai Chi forms, as well as his failure to show up yet again for breakfast in the Great Hall. A horrifying thought crossed his mind. _What if the cure didn't work? Bloody hell, I've probably only made things worse._ That thought haunted him all day as he began to think about his future. In two weeks he would be gone from the castle – his tenure completed. Everything about being at Hogwarts seemed so right. He spent most of Sunday wandering around the castle, his camera strapped around his neck. He wanted plenty of memories of this place if he were to leave soon.

Harry was convinced the castle contained some sentience, which made him feel that the actual place belonged in his Anam Cara – his soul group. He had been giving that a lot of thought lately. He sensed that things were coming to a head, but despite the fact he wasn't in a physical relationship, he was wondering more often about those people who belonged in his soul group. Ron and Hermione were definitely there, as were Professor Dumbledore and Remus as his mentors. He felt strongly that Sirius should have been there, and he found himself suddenly missing his godfather. There were many who he considered as close, but were not part of that core group of people that he wanted to share his life with. He didn't know if Ron and Hermione's impending wedding was making him feel so maudlin, or if it was the fact he was at another crossroad in his life. His friends had agreed to put him up at their place after he left Hogwarts, at least until after the wedding.

Of course, there was one very important member of his soul group. One he wanted to talk to, but Luc was not there late on Sunday evening when Harry sat down and pulled out his journal to talk. It was completely out of character for Luc to completely miss a chat, and Harry worried. Even as he waited for his friend to write back, he knew that he was probably overreacting and being silly.

Luc had a life as well, and he probably got caught up in it. Perhaps Sunday evening was no longer the best time for them to chat. Besides, had he really thought it through, he would have realised just how difficult it was writing whilst his injured wrist was still healing. Harry had followed Poppy's instructions carefully and had avoided any unnecessary wand work. He used a dicta-quill when he translated the Parseltongue potion for Draco, but when he tried it on the journal, it felt quite wrong. The journal's magic didn't seem to flow terribly well when he wasn't directly connected to it.

Not for the first time, he wondered if perhaps Luc hadn't actually seen the words because they weren't written by hand, as if it gave them an impersonal quality. Harry sipped quietly on a bottle of Chardonnay he had picked up in Hogsmeade as he waited for Luc. After a while, he took the opportunity to meditate, finding the quiet evening extremely conducive to finding his centre.

A furry bundle quietly leapt in from the window ledge, and Harry was startled when the ball of tabby fluff leapt into his lap during the depth of his meditation. Harry nearly leapt straight out of the chair, but the cat's heavy weight stopped him momentarily.

"So, you found another way to get in here, huh?" he asked her carefully. In answer, she began to sniff the air haughtily before turning around three times and sitting firmly in his lap. As she made herself completely comfortable, she turned one eye on him as if to say that he should just continue with what he was doing. He shrugged, not used to a cat that was so congenial. Crookshanks was never really one for allowing complete strangers to give him a cuddle, but this self-assured feline was quite happy to jump into a strange lap and take whatever affection was on offer.

She looked thoroughly loved and spoiled, which seemed like the sort of cat that someone like Draco might own, but unlike her prickly owner, she was quite willing to accept any affection, no matter where it was given. The cat's presence helped him to meditate as he let her purring deliver him to sleep. When he woke on Monday morning, she was gone, but he had managed to have a deep and restful slumber in his armchair by the fire.

Monday morning dawned and there was still no response in the journal. Harry was so distracted by his concern for Luc that he had trouble concentrating on his forms that morning and barely noticed that Draco was still not in the courtyard for his morning cigarette. Though he was still reluctant to cross the barrier of anonymity with Luc, Harry recognised that he had begun to rely heavily on their frequent contact, and he knew that he wanted Luc to play a bigger part in his life. Luc was definitely a member of his Anam Cara – a very important part of it, and he found himself wanting to know more and more about the intriguing Frenchman. As he thought on Luc's absence, he could hear Snape's voice wafting down from Draco's window. He heard a muted reply and knew that Malfoy was at least still there.

At the thought of Malfoy and his Anam Cara in the same thought, he remembered the fact that enemies might make up members of your soul group. He snorted at that, and had to admit that if there was one rival who probably deserved to be there, then Malfoy was certainly the man to fill that role.

Harry found his thoughts wandering back to Luc for most of the day. Rushing back to his room at lunch, he had hoped to find some small note to explain away his absence, but Harry found nothing after his own entry from the night before. Quickly grabbing his quill, he added a short note to let Luc know he was worried.

_**Hey Luc, **_ _**I know you are probably not around, but I can't help but worry that something bad has happened. I'm sorry if I've done anything that's made you keep your silence, but I'm hoping you've merely gotten caught up in day to day life. I only hope it's a happy distraction and that nothing is wrong. I find myself spending a great deal of time worrying about you – honestly, Luc. Please tell me if there's something wrong. I'll be checking back every night in case you do get a chance to chat. I miss you! **_ _**Cheers,  
Flash**_

Even his regular afternoon tea with Remus felt somewhat stilted. Remus mentioned that the Muggle Studies teacher resigned that morning. Harry immediately brightened, and headed straight up to the headmaster's office to apply for the job. Surely it was a sign that he was destined to stay at the castle. He certainly felt highly qualified to teach Muggle Studies.

But he came away thoroughly dejected and a little angry, if truth be known. Dumbledore wouldn't even consider him for the job, and told him that he should seek a position that was more suited to his abilities. He felt rather affronted that he wasn't going to be taken seriously. Dumbledore had dismissed him before he could even form a well-countered argument. The dream of staying on at Hogwarts was drifting further and further away especially since the confirmation that Madame Hooch was definitely returning in September.

Harry missed dinner and kept company with a bottle of wine and the cat, who, strangely enough, decided to spend an inordinate amount of time in Harry's rooms. She somehow sensed his dejection and hung around to keep an eye on him. Just as he was settling in with the bottle of wine, Remus knocked on the door.

He seemed surprised that Harry was in such a depressed mood, but understood perfectly when Harry explained Dumbledore's reaction to the offer of teaching Muggle Studies.

"Well, Harry, he does have a point," Remus offered honestly.

"You don't think I'd make a good Muggle Studies teacher?" he bit back a little harshly, but Remus just shook his head.

"No, I think you will make a brilliant teacher, Harry, but I know that Muggle Studies is not your forte. You'd hate it in a few months."

"But there are some wonderful things about the Muggle world. Like television, and movies, and books. Not to mention what they seem to be doing with computers..." Harry was ready to defend his decision, but Remus stopped him.

"I don't doubt your knowledge of the Muggle world one bit, Harry. If only more wizards had such an understanding, things might not be so difficult. But that's not the focus of the classes here at Hogwarts. Because of the Statute of Secrecy, it's mostly a theory-based course. You have to teach most of it from a book. The fact that the Muggle technology doesn't work around here also hampers you. How can you expect to teach them about television if you can't even run the eckltricity?"

"Electricity, Remus."

"Right. But I know that would only frustrate you, Harry. Besides, if you really had a look at the whole curriculum, it mostly deals with things like the structure of British Parliament and the Monarchy. Harry, I know how much you hate the whole theory and research side of things. You should face the fact it isn't one of your best traits." Harry sat staring into the fire in a petulant sulk. He didn't want to hear Remus defend the headmaster's decision.

Remus saw that he was yet to convince Harry that it wasn't a great idea. "Look, how many times have you told me how frustrated you get when Arthur asks you questions about the Muggle stuff he collects? I don't think you've got the right sort of patience to teach that, Harry. Stick to your strengths. Yours are practical, and physical. Leave the theoretical side of teaching to those who belong with their noses in a book."

Harry nodded, reluctantly agreeing with Remus. He didn't really like teaching theory – not without a certain amount of practical work to back it up, but he was still affronted by the unfairness of Dumbledore's quick dismissal. _Remus has a point. Didn't I just leave a job because there wasn't enough action – because I was underappreciated? Why did I want to do this? Why do I feel it's more important to stay at Hogwarts than it is to have an enjoyable career?_

"What else is bothering you, Harry?" Remus was worried about him. There was more to Harry's sulk than just Dumbledore's rejection. He knew the reasons for the headmaster's decision, but he wasn't at liberty to say anything right now.

"Oh," Harry waved his hand around, "just a little bit of everything, Remus. I suppose it could be the fact that I was due to talk to someone, and he wasn't there for our meeting. He hasn't done that before, not without a good reason."

Remus suddenly realised what this was all about. "You're talking about that fellow you've been writing to in Sirius' old journal, aren't you?" Remus was torn, but wanted to hear what Harry needed to say. Had he fought with Draco, or had the blond discovered who he was writing to?

"Yeah, I'm still writing to him, actually. He's..." Harry didn't really know how to tell Remus what he was feeling. "He's become rather special, Remus. We talk all the time, and we're becoming quite close. At least, I think we are."

Remus had no doubt they were. He hadn't missed the wistful smile that crossed Harry's face as he mentioned his mystery friend. "So what's wrong then, Harry? What has happened?"

"Oh, well Luc missed our chat last night, and I haven't heard from him at all." His tone was definitely worried.

"He's probably quite busy, Harry. Don't worry yourself. If he's as special to you as you think, then he obviously has a very good reason for missing a talk with you."

Harry nodded. Remus was making sense. "You're right, of course, Remus. I'm just being an overly paranoid prat, as usual."

"It's fairly obvious that he means a lot to you. It's normal to feel concern for those who you love."

"_Love?_"

Remus wondered for a moment if he had perhaps said too much. Judging from the surprise in Harry's eyes, he probably had. He quickly backtracked his words, hoping to explain them away. "Well you missed dinner and you're the better part of the way through your bottle of wine, Harry. If I didn't know you as well as I do, I'd say you were pining after a lover."

Harry snorted, but cocked his head as he thought about Remus' words. _How do I really feel about Luc? I've said on many occasions that I want to get to know him better._

"You seem to be quite enamoured by this guy you're writing to – what did you say his name was – Luc?" Remus could see comprehension dawning on Harry's face.

"I do find him... intriguing, Remus, and I admit that I might have made a few suggestive comments his way. That's what's got me most worried. Sometimes I wonder if I've gone too far, and now I've scared him off."

"If he's worthy of being your friend, Harry, he won't be scared off by your suggestive comments. He'll most likely find them thoroughly flattering." Harry's eyes widened as he understood the double meaning of Remus' words. Remus laughed, putting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "You have to stop these incessant recriminations. I can't believe you're still beating yourself up over the fact you made a pass at me."

"But it made you uncomfortable..." Harry could not believe he was discussing this with Remus.

"Harry, I admit that you are a bloody sexy young man, and I am flattered that you think of me in such a way. Anyone would be lucky to have you – that's the honest truth, but even you know that if we started anything, it would always be tinged with awkwardness. Your godfather was my soul mate, and I was a friend to your parents. I admit that there's a small amount of doubt in my mind about all that, but Harry, you deserve someone better than me."

"Wouldn't it be up to me to make that choice?" Harry asked bitterly.

Remus chose to ignore the accusation. "And now you're concerned for your friend, Luc. Tell me, Harry. Do you want to dance around with innocent conversations with this man for the rest of your life, or do you want to tell him how you feel? I know you're not one to bottle up your feelings."

* * *

Remus left Harry to ponder his own feelings. He felt absolutely terrible for leading Harry to conclusions he hadn't yet made. He was so certain that Harry already knew he was in love with this 'Luc', but judging from Harry's reaction, he had been mistaken. _Why am I the one always playing devil's advocate?_ Remus knew the journals were going to cause more trouble than they were worth, despite the ultimate joy of their outcome. Remus realised it was going to be a long, hard road before Harry and Draco got there, but he was beginning to feel the strain of being caught in the middle.

* * *

Harry was still sitting in quiet contemplation long after Remus left. His mind was in too much turmoil to meditate. It was only sheer luck that he had finished the bottle of wine and was heading over to the table when he caught the journal pages opening and the green text appearing. It was an overwhelming sense of relief that accompanied him as he reached for his own quill and ink. He wasn't going to rely on any dicta-quills tonight. He was going to write and hopefully his broken wrist would hold up under the strain._Monday night_ _Bonjour Flash,_ _I can only hope that you can see your way to forgiving me. I feel like the biggest bastard in the world. I have no excuse for missing last night's chat and standing you up. _ _I fell asleep over a cauldron (well, next to it, and don't worry, it wasn't in danger of bubbling over). I've been thoroughly busy, and something cropped up during the week that got me quite excited (work related, I won't bore you with the intricate details). Do you remember how I told you that I tend to get carried away by my work? I was going to write to you this morning, but there literally was an emergency and I had to drop 'everything'. _ _**Everything, including your trousers?**_ _Oh, thank goodness you are there! I feel bloody terrible. It's been playing on my mind all day, but I could not get away to reply. And no, I didn't have to drop my trousers, although they were lucky I had only just got dressed. I barely finished incanting my Amici Vestiro charm!_ _**I'm going to pretend I actually know that charm. I confess that I'm hopeless with some of the more subtle, older spells, but if my Latin isn't as bad as I think, I'm guessing it's one of those charms to help you get dressed in a hurry.**_ _Oh, yes it is. You've never used it? It was one of the first spells mother taught me when I got my wand. She was a huge fan of all those proper spells that helped you look your best. It takes a bit of finesse to get it to work properly, and I guess I just use it because I can't be arsed to do up the buttons on my robes. But I'm really glad you're there, Flash. I feel like a shit for sleeping through our meeting last night._ _**Don't beat yourself up, Luc. It's just a chat, and you're here now. I admit that I've been more than a little worried today, but I thought it was probably something like that. I know you'd never stand me up without a bloody good reason. At least I hope not.**_ _I promise. I won't do it again. And no, I wouldn't do that to you. Your friendship means too much to me. I'll set an alarm on the journal to wake me up next time._ _**I was only just talking about you to a friend, and I came to the realisation that I worry about you so much because you are so important to me. **_ _I take that as a wonderful complement. Thanks, Flash. I promise I won't do that to you again. I was working through some tricky research, and I was just so absorbed in my work, I forgot what day it was. When I finally woke up, I thought it was Sunday morning. Turns out it was Monday!_ _**But I wouldn't have wanted you to stop working just for me. I understand that you do have to do these other things, Luc. It's fine.**_ _No, it's not fine. I feel like a real cad, Flash. The fact that you've been worried about me all day means so much, but you shouldn't have had to do that. You've now been officially stood up for a cauldron. Not terribly exciting, I know, but I suppose in way of apology, I should grant you a boon._ _**Luc, stop already! You really shouldn't be beating yourself up like this. It was life; it happens. I'm just glad to know things are okay. Now, if you really feel the need to offer me something to make up for it… hmmmm… Oh, this could get interesting. What about giving me your Floo address? **_ _If that's what you honestly want, then yes. Probably wouldn't work though, I think Floo access is restricted here._ _**You're serious? I was joking actually, Luc. **_ _I really don't think you are, Flash._ _**No, you're right. I'm not joking, but I've just finished a bottle of wine, so don't listen to a single thing that I say tonight. I've already forgiven you for missing our chat. I do mean that. Think no more on that.**_ _But I still feel rotten. How about I let you ask me anything you like, and I promise to answer you truthfully._

Draco realised as he wrote that he was offering quite a lot. He had no idea what Flash would ask. He really didn't want to lose their casual and close rapport, but if Flash asked the wrong sort of question, he could very well end up telling him things that might put a wedge into their friendship. He would not be able to lie in the journal, of that he was certain. He realised that if he had managed to write that offer into the journal, then he knew that he trusted Flash implicitly. Flash wouldn't abuse that trust. It had been a big step to trust someone else, but Draco felt it was right to give that trust to his friend.

_**Anything?**_ _Yes, anything, Flash. I want to let you know I trust you. I trust you enough to know that you won't abuse our relationship by asking me something like my name. Although the idea of offering you my Floo address is starting to sound appealing. I might just relent. No, I think you can ask me anything._ _**Well, if you're sure. But you've put me on the spot. I wouldn't want to waste such a juicy opportunity. I'll have to think it over. I can ask you anything? I promise I won't ask for your name, or your Floo address. **_ _You don't have to ask straight away, Flash. _ _**Give me until Sunday. I'll think of something suitable to ask you... something that will be worthy of what you've asked. I really shouldn't have drunk that whole bottle of wine.**_ _Please tell me you aren't drinking alone because you were worried about me. On a more important note, I hope it wasn't a Chardonnay._ _**Well, no, it wasn't a Chardonnay. It was the last bottle I picked up from my trip to France. A fine Rosé. **_ _Oh, well there might be hope for you yet if you can appreciate such a good drop._ _**I'm ignoring your blatant barbs at my taste in wine. I'll pretend you didn't say that, and then I'll let you know that it wasn't just your mysterious silence that had me drinking alone. I had some disappointing news tonight. **_ _Nothing tragic, I hope. _ _**No, not really. I mentioned that this job was only a short-term position. It ends in a couple of weeks. I found out there was another position available, and I went straight to the top and offered myself for the position, but they turned me down. He didn't even want to interview me properly!**_ _This lot sound a little bit like your last employers. Are you sure you want to stay there?_ _**Oh, no, they really aren't. A friend just came by and he made me see some sense. I only wanted to apply because I want to stay here. This place feels like home. There's a sense of belonging here that I've not had anywhere else. Well, there are a few places I've visited that felt right, but there's something about to happen here – I can sense it. I can't put my finger on what, but I really don't want to leave.**_ _I think I know what you mean. I didn't want to leave Paris. I do feel right being there. I must say that the moment I'm no longer needed here, I'll be on the first Floo out of the UK. I have to admit, though, that the animosity I was expecting hasn't quite been as bad as I thought it would be. What did your friend say that made you rethink your application?_ _**Oh, he's known me practically forever, and he made me see that I'd probably hate the job after a while. It would most likely be like my last position. I couldn't bear the paperwork, and I would be stuck behind a desk all day. I realise now that it isn't for me. I had hoped that the woman I've replaced wasn't going to come back, but she is. Worst luck.**_ _I remember how unhappy you were behind a desk. Perhaps you need to step away and see if you really do want to stay in that place. Sometimes you have to step out of a situation to realise just how much you belong there. I know for certain now that Paris will be my home once I leave here. I wasn't really sure at first, as I was only there to study, but I see that it is my spiritual home. At least there, or my home in the south of France. What part of the UK would you call your home?_ _**Oh, I really don't know. Certainly not Surrey, where I grew up. I was in Somerset for quite a while. It's nice and quiet and out of the way, which suits me fine. I honestly don't know exactly where else except where I am now. I'll be staying with friends in London for a while after work finishes. I'll probably stay with them until I find my feet. You are right, Luc. I guess being back here has made me feel a little nostalgic, but I do want a job that fits my skills, and the one I applied for really wasn't for me. I have a lot of knowledge about it, but I would hate the limitations placed on me. I guess you could say I'm not terribly good at following rules and regulations.**_ _So you're a closet rebel? Who would have thought it? But perhaps you need to move on so that you can find your soul mate. You seem to have stalled in the search for your grand passion. He's obviously not there, so it might be good to move on. _

Harry took a moment to think about this. Luc's reminder meshed in his head with Remus' casual words of pining for a lover. He thought again of the dream he'd had of a mystery man who felt like Luc, the dreams he'd had involving Remus and Draco, the thoughts he'd had when worrying about Luc's unresponsiveness, the way his view on the world had altered in recent months. He felt a rush, almost as if reality shifted around him, as the thoughts and statements and feelings and dreams all came together. He'd found his soul mate. He was in love with Luc!

_**I think you are right again, Luc. You know me so well. Sometimes I wonder if I'm that transparent.**_ _No, not transparent, just that I feel I do know you almost as well as myself after all these months. I have no idea who my soul mate might be. I've been getting so many mixed and confused messages, particularly since Beltane. I know that something important is going to happen soon. I guess I will just have to wait. No use trying to force fate, is there?_ _**No, you're right. Fate hates being pushed. But I was thinking about my Anam Cara the other day – my soul group. Remember what I said about that?**_ _I think so. That's the group of people that surround you in life – family, friends and such._ _**That's the one. I can't help but think that I already know who my soul mate is – that he's already in my soul group. The problem is that I really don't know who everyone is in my soul group.**_ _Are you sure, or is it some subconscious wishful thinking on your part?_ _**Oh, I honestly don't know. Look, I think now that it's just the wine talking. Don't listen to me, Luc. I admit I've had a few maudlin moments recently, but nothing that hasn't passed when I am fully awake.**_ _You know I do worry about you too, Flash. I think I might have felt the same if you didn't show up for a scheduled chat. I'd probably turn it into some raving melodrama that involved me calling in the Aurors to send out a search party. 'Missing: one wizard, lovely penmanship with purple ink. Has a tendency to flirt with other wizards. Answers to the name Flash.'_ _**I really needed that laugh, Luc. Thank you. I feel heaps better, but so tired now. Why does wine make you sleepy when you haven't eaten?**_ _You haven't eaten dinner? Ooh, no wonder you're sleepy. I think you should stop right now and have something filling to eat. Try some toasted sandwiches, if nothing else. That should help ease the headache tomorrow morning. Do you have anyone who can help with a hangover?_ _**I should be fine. It was only one bottle of wine.**_ _If you're sure, Flash. I hope you don't have an early start tomorrow._ _**Are you mothering me, Luc? **_ _Sorry. I do worry, but I'll shut up now. Tell you what, why don't we make our chat earlier next week. _ _**Do we have to wait until Sunday, Luc? **_ _Doesn't Sunday suit you any more?_ _**Sorry, that's just me feeling quite lonely all of a sudden. I guess I'm just wishing I could talk to you more often. I admit that I think about talking to you nearly every day. I'm sorry, I'll stop pushing.**_ _No, you're not pushing, Flash. I admit that I've wanted to chat to you a few times these past few weeks. I guess I just look so forward to this time every Sunday (when I'm not stupidly working myself into the ground). The only problem at the moment is that I'm so busy over the next fortnight..._ _**It's fine, Luc. Honestly. I will just have to be patient and wait until Sunday again. I am not upset, don't worry. **_ _Well, I'm definitely free Sunday afternoon. I know I'll be busy on Sunday night getting ready for Monday morning, so it's likely I might get caught up in work again. Besides, I found this wonderful place where I feel like I could sit and write for hours. And they serve coffee. REAL coffee! I know I won't sleep through our chat if I'm there!_ _**Oh, congratulations! I guess that's why you seem to be in a slightly better mood. Actually, Sunday afternoon is perfect. I just remembered a nice place I could go mid-afternoon! It's a date. And no standing me up for a cauldron. Now you've given me all week to consider what I'll ask you. **_ _Why am I suddenly worried?_ _**Don't be, Luc. Thank you. Thanks for being honest. That means so much to me. I do worry about you.**_ _You take care this week, Flash. No more bottles of wine without a decent dinner. _ _**It's a promise. Take care, **_ _**love Flash.**_ _Au revoir,  
love Luc._

* * *

By the time Tuesday's classes were completed, Harry was utterly exhausted. It had been a long day. Most students were busy concentrating on their exams, and as a result, their concentration wavered as they flew, causing a few near mishaps. Unable to heed Madame Pomfrey's warnings, Harry had spent most of the day on his broom and his wrist and arm ached thoroughly.

It had ached all morning, along with his head. Luc had been correct in his assessment that he should not have drunk a whole bottle of wine without food. Actually, as he tried to do his T'ai Chi that morning (the hangover wasn't helping in any way), he realised he felt a little better knowing that Luc was all right. He had not realised that his worry and concern for his friend had caused him so much stress. It had been silly of him to think that Luc had been avoiding him. He laughed at the idea of being stood up for a cauldron, and tried hard not to think of being stood up at all by his friend. He definitely would hold Luc to that promise of asking any question, and began to ponder the questions he would like to ask of Luc. He felt he knew him so well, but he was still rather mysterious. He would definitely give this some thought. He would hate to waste the question on something frivolous. _But was Remus right? How do I really feel about Luc? _It was that question that stayed at the forefront of his mind all day.

* * *

A sharp knock at the door made Draco look up from his reading on Thursday evening. His calculations for the next batch of Wolfsbane were looking promising (anything to keep his mind off the fruitless search for practically non existent ingredients), and he was ready to try something a little different. He was expecting Remus, and merely unlocked his door with his wand. The door opened, but Draco was surprised to see Petite Amie poke her head around the corner, meowing casually as she looked up at him.

"Since when have you learned to knock, hmmm?" he asked her, but she studiously ignored him as she headed toward her food bowl.

"Er, she didn't," Harry popped his head around the door, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Oh. Hello, Harry," Draco had barely spoken a half dozen words to Potter during the past week. In his desire to work on the curse cure, and with his Wolfsbane research, he had managed to avoid the other wizard. He had not been heading down to have a cigarette every morning, so his usual skulking as Harry did his T'ai Chi had not happened. He realised he had not seen or spoken to Harry since the night he gave him the translation from Slytherin's book. Had it nearly been a week? Unfortunately, the fact he had yet to apologise to Harry leapt out and confronted him. Why couldn't he just say he was sorry?

"I was wondering who she belonged to," Harry indicated toward the cat as he shut the door. "She has taken to coming in to my room through the window – I don't know why she does it, but she seems enamoured with the rug next to my fireplace – and my lap. I just caught her scratching at your door. You're probably busy, so I'll just..." Harry was ready to leave, but he saw a contented smile brighten Draco's face.

Draco frowned at the cat that had now leapt into his lap. "Have you been slumming it with a Gryffindor, Petite Amie? Tsk, shame on you." He chastised the animal, but Harry knew that it was only for show. He suddenly realised Harry was talking to him, "No," he said congenially, "I'm not really busy right now. Thanks. Thanks for bringing her in." _Good one, Draco. Can't you even apologise properly? Stupid prat you are. Just tell him you're sorry for misjudging him all these years!_ Draco didn't want to spoil the moment, but felt that he needed to get that apology out before it took over his life.

"I decided to bring her back when she started to take an interest in my dinner – I didn't think it wise to feed her – goodness knows she might decide that it is better in my rooms after all." Harry smiled as the tabby leapt from Draco's lap and rubbed up against his legs.

Petite Amie looked suitably guilty for all of about three seconds before pouncing onto the cushions in the corner of the sofa. Both men smiled at the cat's antics. Harry ran his hand nervously through his hair as he took the opportunity to look around Malfoy's rooms. He vaguely remembered how nice everything looked the night he had first visited them by accident, but now his infernal curiosity took hold.

"Would you like a drink, Harry?" Draco asked.

Harry blinked several times in honest surprise before nodding. "That would be nice."

He didn't fail to notice the comfortable chairs around the fire with their invitingly plump cushions. As he looked at them, Petite Amie winked at him before sharpening her claws on the silk. She looked at Draco defiantly as he headed over to the wine rack, and he scowled at her in response.

"She is sometimes the most infuriating animal... Comes in here and sharpens her claws on the same cushion every time. Why can't you sharpen your claws on a tree like a normal cat? Perhaps I should get Professor McGonagall in here to talk to you." In her usual disdain, Petite Amie completely ignored Draco's threats and turned around three times before sitting on that same cushion, her paws curled up under her legs.

Harry smirked at the exchange. It seemed the cat had the measure of her owner and knew how to make Malfoy do her bidding. _As opposed to everyone doing their bidding for Draco._ A familiar song came on the radio and Harry looked over at the Wizarding wireless. It suddenly occurred to him why it seemed odd to be listening to BBC1 in the middle of Hogwarts.

"Red or white?" Draco asked.

"Pardon?"

"Would you like a glass of red wine, or white wine? I'm just about to open a bottle. I wondered what you would prefer." Draco's hand hovered over a bottle in the rack by the door. Harry noticed that he was still leaning heavily on his walking cane, and wondered about the progress of that potion. If he were truly honest, that was the main reason why he decided to knock on Draco's door at such a late hour. Handing a possible cure to Malfoy and not hearing from him in nearly a week piqued his curiosity more than anything.

"I'm sure whatever you choose will be fine, Draco." Draco pulled out a bottle. Harry was surprised that Malfoy popped the cork with a manual corkscrew.

"What? No _Refringero_ charm to open it?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Draco snorted. "Contrary to popular belief, _Harry_, not everything works best with magic. Sometimes magic can ruin a good bottle of wine."

"Oh, I realise that. But I must say, I'm just a little curious. Once upon a time I would never have thought you to ever do anything without magic. Just looking around your room here, it seems you have an awful lot of Mugglish things. Your books," Harry pointed to the haphazard pile of novels on the top of the bookcase, "and that station you have tuned on your wizarding wireless. I haven't heard BBC1 blaring for a while. I didn't think it would be your style," he admitted as Draco poured a glass of what looked to be a Rosé. Harry gratefully accepted the glass and sniffed the bouquet carefully.

"It's not poisonous, Harry."

Harry smirked. "I know." He took a tentative sip, savouring the spicy, full taste of the wine. It tasted rather familiar. "That's a Provencal Rosé." He seemed surprised; after all, he only finished his last bottle the night before.

Draco seemed surprised. "You know your wines. I'm impressed. I was sure you would not be able to pick that one." Even now, as they were walking tentatively on the edge of an uneasy friendship, Draco still wanted to gather the upper hand.

"Well I'm not really one for a red wine, but I don't mind a Rosé, and one of this calibre is one that I can appreciate. I only recently finished my last bottle." Harry looked at the label. "Hey, this is the same label as the one I had. Now I'm impressed, Draco. This is a bloody good label. Their wines are some of the best in France. I understand it's a wizarding winery as well." Draco failed to suppress a snort and could not help but grin widely.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, affronted by Draco's humour.

"Oh, nothing." But his grin widened even further. "I might just have to tell them back at _my_ winery that we now have the official approval of the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World."

Harry was lucky he had already swallowed his wine. He coughed uncomfortably as Draco pointed out the very small, but visible Malfoy crest at the bottom of the label. "Well, I don't recall seeing that on the label before." He honestly couldn't, but he never admitted to paying attention to wine labels. Beyond the name and the year, he was much more interested in what was inside the bottle.

"Well, you must have bought it over in France. Labelling laws are a little different over there. Or perhaps you picked up one of the Muggle bottles."

"It's labelled differently for Muggles?" Harry seemed surprised.

"Of course, Harry. Statute of Secrecy and all that. Wouldn't want them to see the galloping horses on the label, would we? At least, not until they have drunk most of the bottle. I understand a few wizarding labels slip out into the Muggle world on occasion."

"But you _sell _wine to Muggles? Are you sure you are Draco Malfoy? I would never expect that of you. It just doesn't seem to be your style. None of this – the books, the wireless, the... the smoking. I'm still trying to come to terms with that. So forgive me if I have trouble believing you would sell wine to Muggles."

Draco seemed a little affronted, but wasn't angry. He had no right to be angry with Harry, and he raised some valid points. "What did you think my style would be, Harry?"

Harry thought for a few moments, noticing that very little in the room seemed like it could have exclusively belonged to Draco Malfoy. The furniture was well appointed, but it wasn't all green and black and silver. There weren't snakes on every visible surface. In fact, he was surprised at the sheer number of books in Draco's room, and the casual way they seemed to lend a homely atmosphere to the decor. He avoided letting his eye wander to the extremely large bed in the corner of the room. It seemed to be the only extravagance that Malfoy had in his possession.

He ended up shrugging. "I honestly don't know, Draco. I guess I still have difficulty trying to reconcile you with the uppity prat who mentioned the word 'Mudblood' more times than I care to remember. I'm sorry, I should not have said that." Harry really didn't want to bring up old battles. There was really no point. He honestly had no idea why he was still in Draco's rooms.

"No, it's okay." Draco thought now was a good time to apologise to Harry. "I was a little shit sometimes. But I guess I have had ample opportunity to discover the finer things about Muggle culture. Although I honestly don't care too much for some of the so-called music on BBC1, I just didn't want to have to hear the wizarding wireless mention your name every five minutes."

Harry laughed. "You're not the only one who's sick of that. I would love to know how you got it to pick up the station. You'll have to tell me how you did it." Harry thought he could apply the same charms to his television, but figured he could wait another couple of weeks, and then it wouldn't matter. He would be away from Hogwarts and he could watch television at any time.

For just a moment, both men realised the level of casual conversation, and it struck them at the same time. Draco coughed uncomfortably, and Harry stared down into his nearly empty glass. Draco knew the moment had come, but found, yet again, he could not get out the apology.

"Of course we sell wine to Muggles, Harry. No self respecting businessman would purposely avoid such a lucrative market." Why was he avoiding the bloody apology? Draco was furious at himself, and his anger seemed to show on his face.

Harry stood up to leave. "I should be heading out. Thanks for the wine," he said abruptly.

Draco knew why Harry had lingered so long, but knew he could salvage some of the evening's conversation. "I guess you're wondering about the potion you translated?"

Harry turned back as Draco walked slowly back over to his desk. "The thought had crossed my mind, yes."

Draco snorted again. "You're a terrible liar, Harry. You've been busting to know."

"Okay, you're right. I am more than insatiably curious. Why haven't you used it yet? It didn't seem all that complicated to brew. If I could follow the instructions, surely it shouldn't be so difficult."

"I'm having difficulty... acquiring one of the ingredients. I suppose it's to be expected with any ancient potion."

"Oh, I didn't realise... Is there anything I can do to help?" Harry asked quickly.

"No, you've done quite enough." Draco's words didn't come out exactly as he planned, and he saw the honest disappointment in Harry's face. "No, that wasn't what I meant."

"What did you mean, Draco?" Harry sounded hurt by the words, and Draco knew that any attempt to apologise now would fail miserably.

"I meant that you have done more than enough by translating the potion. I didn't mean to sound harsh. I can't ask you to do any more. But thank you for offering."

Harry seemed to understand Draco's frustration. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry..."

"Knock, knock," Remus poked his head around the door, which Harry had forgotten to close.

"Remus!" Draco smiled. Harry smiled and nodded as well. He was getting better at pushing away those feelings of jealousy, but they still wanted to come bubbling to the surface.

"Hey Remus."

"Oh, Harry. I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?" Remus certainly had not expected to see Harry in Draco's quarters, but he quickly hid the look of surprise.

"No, actually, I was just leaving. Thanks again for the wine, Draco." Harry nodded before tapping Remus on the shoulder as he made his way out. Petite Amie offered a timid meow as he closed the door.

* * *

"How are things, Remus? I forgot to ask you about that rash last week. Did it go away on its own?" Draco seemed distracted. Remus didn't fail to notice the fact he was still watching the door as Harry left.

"Everything's fine, Draco. The rash did go away – nothing to worry about – I was just wondering how _you _were. Was Harry here for a _social _visit?" Remus wasn't sure what was going on between the pair – at least not when they interacted as themselves. He had some idea of what was going on between them in the journals. Remus had been a little concerned when Draco didn't show up for meals in the Great Hall. Ever since he discovered that Draco had his old journal, he could not stop thinking about the young man. He needed to come to terms with the fact that he was Harry's soul mate. He had overheard them talking as he walked past Draco's rooms.

"Glad to hear it was only temporary, Remus. And yes, Harry was here for a social visit." Draco said, somewhat guiltily.

"You've been rather quiet these last few days." With the knowledge he had about Harry and Draco's impending future, he felt somewhat obligated to the pair. He knew it was no use telling them the truth, but he could possibly try to make them see the worth in each other. It was the least he could do. For Harry, and for Draco. He realised he had plenty of interests in common with Draco, and they were slowly building a firm friendship. He would hate to lose that. Just as he would hate to lose Harry's trust.

He was definitely sitting in the middle of the rock and the hard place. He had been worried by Harry's depressed thoughts the day before, and he wondered what could have caused Draco to not talk to him in the journal. Remus could not help but sense the confused scents that pervaded the room. Both young men were in such turmoil, but there was still something between them that was stopping them from seeing the truth. That much was certain.

"Sorry, Remus. I've have been a little preoccupied with a potion." It was then that Draco wanted to share the details of the potion with Remus. Perhaps he knew of someone with Pegasus Wingtips. So far the search was futile, and he was ready to ask almost anyone. He nearly asked Harry, but couldn't quite bring himself to do so.

As he showed the translation to Remus, he accidentally brushed up against him. The touch of Remus' hand against his arm was unexpected, and Draco felt a sudden surge of desire. He shivered involuntarily from the touch, but quickly regained his composure. It had been too long since he had touched anyone. Those constant dreams were enough to take the edge off his desire, but as he thought back, he realised it had been quite some time since he had been with Jean-Paul.

_I really do have to get out and have a shag. If accidentally touching Remus is making me feel like this, Merlin knows what will happen next._ Remus had seemed unconscious of Draco's reaction – either that – or he was thoroughly disinterested. A petulant thought that he was losing his touch crossed his mind, but he swept it away before he could become distracted. It was just an accidental touch, for Merlins' sake.

"I don't know anyone off the top of my head who could help you, Draco, but I certainly have some contacts who might know. I can write some letters, if you think it might help." Remus also sensed Draco's quiet desperation about this curse cure. He had seen it too many times in himself. Every time there was a mention of a new cure for lycanthropy, he would eagerly weigh up the new claims.

Of course, Remus didn't fail to notice the sudden scent of desire that wafted from Draco as they accidentally bumped. _Curse those bloody journals,_ he thought, remembering all too well the feelings and desires that accompanied stewardship of the magical artefacts. _I hope that they realise soon what's happening – before it's too late!_ He coughed uncomfortably before concentrating on the parchment in Draco's hands.

"But you should be prepared for the worst. There's no use pinning all your hopes on this cure, Draco. I should know. I could tell you one or two stories about miracle cures."

"I don't doubt that you could, Remus. I just..." he had a sudden urge to blurt out all his frustration to his friend, but found a supportive hand now rested on his shoulder. "... I just get so excited about the possibility." he pointed to his knee as Remus nodded in understanding.

"Ah, possibilities – aren't they grand?" Remus smiled. "I must admit, it's healthy to dream about the possibility you could one day walk – or run down the street, but you can't rely on that sort of dream. You still have to live in the here and now." Remus reminisced about seeing the full moon with his own eyes, not those of the wolf. "I dream about it every day, Draco. Of course, I don't ever expect it to happen, and I continue to live each day as if that is but a pipedream. I dare not think about it any other way." Draco noticed the shine in his eyes at the prospect.

"Are you suggesting my Wolfsbane research is one of these pipedreams?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I am grateful for any assistance that you can offer. I know your motives for doing this, Draco, and I know you aren't trying to dupe me into any false sense of security. It's just nice to wake up after the moon and feel little more than hung over."

"Oh I doubt my research will ever extend to anything remotely like a cure. I just want to be able to make Wolfsbane easier and more cost effective to make, with fewer side effects... Did you just say hung over?"

"Yes, but before you ask, a Sobrietus charm does nothing. I've tried."

"Oh..." but Draco was already thinking of something he could do to next improve the Wolfsbane. If he tried a late release infusion of Sobrietus potion ingredients, it might make it even better.

Remus could see that Draco was now thinking ahead to his next project. It did no good for him to wallow over his own loss – Remus knew that better than anyone.

"But if there is one thing that I've learned, it's that you have to not only live with your injury and the curse – you have to _accept_ it."

"What do you mean?" Remus' statement puzzled him.

"You live a very fulfilling life, Draco, and you have so much to offer – at least I think so. Don't let that injury rule your life – don't let the curse take over. Embrace it and accept it, then continue to live your life as if it never happened."

Draco looked at Remus strangely. What on earth was he talking about? Remus smiled.

"Look, I don't expect you to understand what I'm saying, but just don't let your injury stop you from doing what you want. Granted, there might be a few things that you will have difficulty with, but you will learn to get around them. Trust me. I have learned to work around those few days a month that I am somewhat indisposed."

Draco was silent, and Remus knew he had planted a seed.

"Perhaps there's someone you could talk to. What about that friend in your journal? He might help you to understand."

Draco smiled warmly at the mention of Flash. "Oh, he would. I don't doubt it."

"Or Harry. If he's here for a social visit, then perhaps you might talk to him about it. If you can just get that bug out of your arse about him."

"I do _not_ have a bug in my arse, Remus! What on earth gave you such an idea?" Draco was affronted, almost angered.

Remus tapped his nose knowingly. "Look, Draco. I've been around for quite a while. I remember a pair of my former students. I also know that you have one trait that is inherent in your family line. I saw it in Sirius more times than I care to remember. You certainly inherited it from the Black family."

"How do you know Sirius Black?" he asked accusingly.

"I met Sirius when we were eleven and sorted into the same dorm room. I knew him _quite_ intimately a number of years later." Remus didn't want to elaborate, or talk more about Sirius, but seeing Draco's unresolved blame towards Harry, it seemed like he was watching something of Sirius in his lover's younger cousin.

Comprehension dawned as Draco realised just how well Remus had known Sirius Black. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry. But what trait is it that makes you think I've got something to say to Harry." Draco didn't realise he had just confirmed Remus' speculation.

"You're suddenly all congenial towards Harry, and now he's making social visits?" Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Remus continued. "Don't worry, I know about Dumbledore's sideline in illicit charms. Sirius certainly gave me an earful when he was similarly afflicted. So you want to say something to Harry, but you think your pride will take a fall if you do."

Draco thought for a moment. Was it really his pride? Why couldn't he just apologise? It had been days now, and he was no closer than before. He nodded reluctantly.

"I seem to recall a former student of mine who always hated to admit he was wrong. Nobody likes to admit they are wrong, Draco. Sirius was very good at blaming others, yet awfully good at trying too hard to prove he was right, even though he was dreadfully wrong." Remus' voice softened at the memory. "His pride was one of his biggest downfalls."

Draco didn't know what to say to Remus. On one hand, he wanted to deny what Remus was saying, but on the other, he knew that he was totally right. It was hard to admit, but the way he described Sirius Black was exactly how Draco felt oft times.

"I don't know what's gone on between you and Harry, Draco. But it doesn't take a genius to see that you want to say something to him, but you're having difficulty. You can't change the past. Whatever it is, you have to accept it and move on."

Draco had been struggling for days, but just listening to Remus explain it all so very clearly, it began to make sense. "You're right, Remus. I was a prat, and did something really stupid. I'm trying to apologise to Harry, but how do you find the right moment?"

Remus shrugged. He was beginning to think he had meddled too much for one evening. "I admit that I am probably way too close to this situation, Draco. Have you thought about talking it through with someone who doesn't know Harry? What about your friend, Flash?"

Draco smiled again. "He would understand."

Remus smiled back. "Well then, no use telling me. You'll have to write it down. I'm sure he'll give you some very sound advice."

Remus certainly left Draco with plenty to think about that night.

* * *

**June 6, Friday**

Harry stumbled into breakfast quite late on Friday morning. He had barely slept a wink the night before, thanks to the Neo Death Eater's activities and their uncommon connection to his own magical power. His scar was still throbbing from the aftermath, leaving him with a pounding headache that no standard potion could counter. Skipping out on the morning's T'ai Chi, he regretted the fact he had been a little lax in his evening Occlumency in the past few evenings. He didn't need to read the morning paper to know the headlines.

"Harry, you look awful!" Remus put the paper down as Harry slid into his chair. The scrape of the chair against the stone floor sounded infinitely louder than usual. The Hall seemed quieter than normal as the students poured over their copies of the Daily Prophet with looks of grave concern. There was a sense of heightened anticipation across the room and the rest of the staff had grim looks as they also read the newspaper.

"How bad was it?" He murmured quietly as he shakily went for a cup of tea.

"You obviously have some idea, Harry." Remus replied, pushing the folded paper across to Harry. He saw the enormous headline splayed across the page, with a photo of a hovering Dark Mark above a popular Muggle cinema. He didn't really want to read all the gory details, not after having felt the intensity of their attack. He felt somewhat at a loss for having felt the attacks, particularly after having kept his power under control for so long.

"Just tell me the damage," he sighed wearily as he held his head in his hands.

Draco interrupted as he rattled his own paper. "It was completely random. There seemed to be no logical target, nor was there any apparent pattern to the attacks. They struck from Inverness all the way down to Lands End and across to Canterbury. The Dark Mark was spotted across Ireland as well. There are hundreds of Muggles dead across the country." He sounded grave.

Harry just sat and stared at the table. He knew it had been bad, but the entire country? How could they have managed to let it get so far out of hand? He frowned in disappointment.

"Harry?" Remus asked in concern.

He shrugged. "How did it get so bad? Surely someone must have known they were planning something."

"But normally you can tell..." Remus was quickly interrupted.

"Yes, but I've been working so hard on my control that I no longer feel them. I've managed to practically block them. I haven't felt them since before I left the Aurors! This could be all my fault." Harry snorted at the irony. "So now my control regime is working, and these Death Eater wannabes are out of control!" Harry seemed to think he was to blame, but before Remus could make Harry see reason, Draco interrupted.

"You can sense when they strike?" he asked curiously. He could not help but overhear their conversation.

Harry turned to look at Draco and nodded. "A nasty legacy of a certain Dark Lord, unfortunately. It's not just window dressing." He pointed at the scar as he dragged a hand wearily through his hair. It was dark and angry looking enough to stand out against his fair skin. Normally it was a faint pink that often faded to the silver of all old scars. But not this morning. "Still, it's been a fairly accurate barometer of their activity."

"So it's attuned to Dark Magic?" Draco asked further.

"Not all Dark Magic, Draco. After all, it doesn't sense the odd spell here or there. I don't get any twinges when you're waving your wand, if that's what you're asking." Harry really didn't need the questions this morning. He just wanted to go and sit quietly.

"How long has it been doing this?"

Harry shrugged. "As long as I can remember. Quirrell set it off back when we were first years, and it really started to go off when Voldemort came back. That's when my magic started to surge as well. It likes to respond when there is a large amount of Dark Magic being wielded. It has been known to get quite out of control at times, but I think you've seen that already." He remembered that day in the Leaky Cauldron those months ago.

He was waiting for some quick-witted barb from Draco, but was a little surprised when all he said was "I see."

Draco did see. For once he realised that Harry's scar was more than just a disfigurement. It also carried a disability. This current series of attacks worried Draco for a number of reasons. He could completely understand why most of the Muggleborn students were concerned. At least a half dozen of the students had lost family or friends in the attacks. The students would be due to head home in a week, and most were utterly terrified. No doubt a few of them would have remembered the attacks from the Second war during their childhood.

Harry had managed to pick up the paper and started to skim through the reports. Apparently most Muggles explained away the Dark Marks as a freak show of the Northern Lights. Their authorities had not made any logical connection between the dozens of deaths across the nation. He frowned as he threw away the paper in disgust.

"I just wish... I could do more." He addressed the comment at nobody in particular.

"Harry?" Remus seemed confused.

"Oh, it just frustrates me that I can't help. Even when I was an Auror they locked me away and tried to keep me out of the line of fire." Harry thought he had moved beyond all regrets about leaving the Aurors, but now he realised that he still felt at a loss whenever he knew he could help catch this rogue group of Dark Wizards.

He saw Draco watching him from the corner of his eye. Malfoy seemed to have just as many concerns of his own, and Harry absently wondered if these people had worked with Draco in the past. Did he know more than he was wiling to share?

"I have no idea who's behind it all, if that's what you're wondering." Draco somehow picked up on the unasked question even before it was fully formed in Harry's mind. Despite everything, there was still that lack of trust between them. Would it ever be possible for them to overcome that massive barrier?

Harry snapped out of his musing. "Oh, no, I'm not wondering about that. I'm just glad that I know it isn't you. Or someone like your father. I'd be more worried if it were. Whoever it is, they've got good funding, and they aren't original – they seem to want to recreate Voldemort's old order."

Draco coughed, nearly choking on his toast as Harry mentioned funding. The dry lump of bread stuck in his throat. He really didn't think it prudent to share that information with anyone, especially not Potter. The goblins were investigating that side of the Neo Death Eaters, and Draco knew their money would have to run out sooner or later. He hoped for everyone's sake that it was sooner.

Remus interrupted. "Do you have any inkling who might be behind them, Draco? Does this look like the work of anyone you worked against in the war?" Draco noticed the wording of Remus' statement. _Worked against. A least some people recognise I was against the Death Eaters._

He sighed. "I know that Theo Nott is involved. He decided to pay me a little visit a few weeks ago."

"Oh?" Harry gave Draco a very sceptical look, his green eyes searching Draco's face.

"Don't worry, the Aurors know all about it. I've got nothing to hide."

"I don't doubt that, Draco." Harry said, a little too quickly.

"Oh, I think you do, Harry. I think you do – just a little bit. I want these fools caught just as much as you do, but I really don't want to get into a debate about it right now." Draco didn't want to get angry with Harry, but it infuriated him to think that Harry still harboured doubts about his allegiance.

"You can trust me on this. I have no love for these fools, and despite what you might think, I want to see them captured just as much as you. Possibly more so. If you don't believe me, then you should talk to Weasley. He might enlighten you." He scrabbled around in the pocket of his robe for a moment, pulling out a small vial. He handed it over to Harry. "Here, it's a painkiller. It's a fair bit stronger than what you probably have on hand, but it won't knock you about."

Harry could see the façade was well gone from Draco's features and he realised that Malfoy was attempting to be honest with his words and his kind offering. It surprised him, but he appreciated the gesture. He nodded a thank you as Draco stood and walked slowly away from the table and back into the halls. He quickly downed the potion, feeling somewhat more human after only a few seconds.

_Wow, that's bloody good stuff._ Harry immediately felt some of the strongest pain subside. _Did Draco make it himself? Of course he did. _He was left pondering Draco's emphatic words and wondering just what on earth Ron could know about Malfoy that he hadn't already shared. Ron was rarely one to keep secrets.

As the painkilling potion began to work, Harry managed some breakfast and cast a casual eye over the tragic news in the paper. One story grabbed his attention and he was drawn into it as his heart momentarily skipped a beat.

_**With so many random attacks, it was sheer bad luck that drew a few wizards into the widespread carnage. One victim of the crossfire was Lucas Fournier, 25, a former Paris resident recently transferred to London under his mentor, Myrnon Bagnall at the Ministry of Sports. Fournier was the former Seeker of the French national Quidditch team, but he retired after the war due to injury. Fournier, a qualified Potions master, was assisting the Ministry in research into stopping the widespread use of Performance Enhancing Potions within the professional Quidditch League.**_ _**Fournier, a keen follower of Muggle culture, was caught in the largest attack on a cinema (a place where Muggles go to watch continuous photographs that include sound) in Manchester. 147 Muggles were also targeted by these Neo Death Eaters in the same attack. It is unknown at this stage if he was the intended target, but as he was dressed as a Muggle, it is highly unlikely. Many Muggles in Manchester knew Mr Fournier, due to his regular visits to some of the city's alternative clubs.**_ _**A keen epicurean and semi professional wine taster, he will be fondly remembered by fans for his flamboyant lifestyle and amazing Quidditch prowess.**_

Harry never made it to the end of the story as his heart resumed at a frantic pace. _Lucas... Luc... Paris... mentor... former seeker... injury... Potions master... alternative... flamboyant..._ The bottom fell out of Harry's world as he began to make connections. _Please, Merlin, no... not Luc. Luc can't... it just can't be!_

Before he could think further, he leapt out of his chair. Remus called out behind him, but he had one goal. Suddenly things seemed perfectly clear, but he had to know. With no care for anyone or anything in his way, Harry raced back to his room. He did not hear Remus' persistent calling that followed him there. Leaving his door wide open, he headed straight for his desk and tore open the journal, not caring that he tore a few of the pages in the process. He nearly spilled his ink as he tried several times to dip the quill. He had to calm himself for a moment before he could eventually put the quill to the page.

_**Luc, I've just seen the paper. I know this might be wrong, I don't even know if Lucas is your real name, but… oh gods, please Luc, are you there? Lucas Fournier… he was killed last night in the raids… It's just… he left Paris around the same time you did, and he was killed in a Muggle theatre and I know how you like the cinema and I really don't know what I would do with myself if that was you… I can't bear to think of losing you now, when I've only just found you after all this time.**_

"Harry," Remus stood in the door as he watched Harry's frantic entry in the journal. He had no idea what had caused him to rush out of the hall and appear more rattled than when he first arrived. Harry seemed absorbed in his writing, not hearing him. He called again. "Harry! Hey, stop!" He walked closer, seeing Harry's shaky writing. He thought he could see tears in Harry's eyes, but there was definitely something wrong. "Hey, Flash!" Remus resorted to the nickname – the one that he knew Harry used in the journal in lieu of his true identity.

Harry eventually looked up in surprise, his attention definitely gained from the name, and Remus could see that he was distraught. "Harry – talk to me. What the hell is wrong?" Remus sat on the edge of the table as he spoke.

Harry's eyes focussed on Remus, then looked back down at the words on the page. The desperation and worry in his face was evident. He dropped the quill and sat back as he buried his face in his hands. "Oh Remus! What am I going to do?"

"Well, I can't help you until you tell me what is going on."

"I... you were right the other night. I was pining. Luc means so much to me Remus. I know it might sound crazy and ridiculous – I have no idea why, but I've just made the most startling realisation." Harry's face brightened for just a moment before he returned to his quiet despair.

"Oh?" Remus suspected what Harry was about to say.

Harry laughed but quickly his laughter soured. "I'm in love, Remus. Luc means everything to me. But I think he might be gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" Remus didn't quite make the connection. He was still too pleased that Harry made the connection – finally.

Harry returned to his quill and pointed it at the paper that was folded under Remus' arm. "I'm fairly certain he's one of the victims – that Lucas Fournier – it's too coincidental that he likes all the things that 'Luc' likes. I have to write... if there is a slim chance that he's not..." Harry paused, "... I just have to know."

"Don't you think it's a little far fetched—" Remus couldn't quite tell Harry the truth, but he didn't want to see him hurt unnecessarily.

"I don't know, Remus – I don't know anything any more. Ever since this journal landed in my lap, my life has changed considerably. Luc has been there every step of the way..." he sighed and sat back again, the headache seeming to return. "Why, Remus?"

Remus was taken aback by the question. "Why what?"

"Why, out of all the things that Sirius kept of his life, why did he keep this tattered old journal? Why did he keep it and why did I find it? Why have I fallen in love with someone I've never met, yet I feel closer to than anyone in my entire life?" Harry looked up at Remus pleadingly, his eyes so full of emotion that Remus nearly caved. But Harry soon looked away and continued his ramble. "What the fuck is this journal doing to me, Remus? Why have I fallen in love with a man I've never met?"

"Only Sirius could have answered that question for you, Harry." Remus felt so awful for lying to Harry, but he didn't need any more shocks at the present time. "He wrote in it day and night, and I'm fairly certain he was at his happiest when he wrote. I'm sure he would have wanted the same for you. You'll find that with any magical artefact, it will probably reveal its true purpose when the time is right. Think about what compelled you to write in this in the first place."

"But..." Harry gave in to despair and continued to write to Luc. He didn't know what else to do.

_**I'm hoping beyond hope that you're just busy working, or having breakfast or something, but I'll be checking b--**_

"Harry," Remus put his hand on Harry's arm, but Harry knocked it away.

"I have to know, Remus. I have to see that he isn't Luc. I need to know if I'm never going to hear from him again."

"Oh, I think you are overreacting, Harry."

"Why _WON'T_ _you answer!"_ Harry yelled down at the journal, his whole body shaking now from the emotion.

"He's probably having breakfast, Harry." Remus tried to calm him, but to no avail.

"This is so typical of my life, Remus. Just when I think I find something, it's either destroyed or it nearly destroys me."

"So why are you worried now?" Remus saw the first few words of green ink appear below Harry's words.

"Why? Remus, I just finished—" but Harry didn't finish his sentence as Remus pointed out the emerald ink. The relief was palpable on Harry's face as he saw it. Remus patted him on the shoulder and walked away. He closed the door quietly behind Harry and made his way to his own classroom. As he passed Draco's room, he said a silent prayer to the gods to thank them for Draco's timely reply.

He made a mental note to go and speak with a certain shopkeeper after classes. She had a _lot_ of explaining to do.

* * *

Harry barely realised that Remus had left. He was so glad to see Luc's words, his tears of despair quickly turned to tears of joy._Hey there Flash. Calm down. I read the Prophet as well. Take a breath. I'm here - I was just eating breakfast. _ _**Oh thank the gods! Hello Luc. You don't know just how glad I am to see you. More than anything. Are you all right then? After the attacks...**_ _Yes, I'm perfectly fine, although you seem frantic! I just came in and saw the journal pages rustling like mad. I had to hold it down to stop it from leaping off the table._ _**I was frantic. I had this horrid image of never seeing your writing in this journal again, never getting to talk to you anymore, never having the chance to meet you in person, to argue about wine choices, to share favourite books together, to tell you...**_ _I was never in any danger, Flash. Everyone around here is in a panic because of the attacks. Pandemonium is about to be let loose. It will calm down when we catch those bastards and I'll still be here to argue wine and books with you for a long time yet - I'm not planning on going anywhere. What is it you want to tell me?_ _**That's just it. I don't know that I can think rationally right now. I was interrupted just after I started writing. A friend followed me after I saw the Prophet and was trying to see what was wrong. I only realised while I was talking to him, while I was so worried that I'd lost you.. but now I've taken a moment to reflect and I know that it wasn't just the panic. I can't believe I didn't know this before...**_ _Know what?_

Harry took a deep breath, centring himself before responding. He was nervous, still shaking, but now with anticipation and the release of pent up emotions, rather than the adrenalin of pure fear and anxiety. He knew now, without a doubt, and knew that if he didn't take this opportunity to admit his feelings, just once… if he said nothing and later lost the chance, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

_**I... Merlin, I don't know how to say this, but... I love you. I mean, really. I'm in love with you. I can't imagine my life without you, and I really don't want to. Please don't freak out or go away. I promise I won't stalk you or push the issue. I just had to tell you, now, while I have the chance, just in case I never have that chance again. You don't have to say anything else about it.**_

Draco didn't know what to say. Flash thought he was in _love_ with him? He paused, not really knowing what to say. _But I don't love Flash, at least, not in that way. I only love him as a friend._

Harry noticed the long pause and wasn't surprised. People don't often blurt out their feelings of love to complete strangers in journals. _But he's not a complete stranger. Thank Merlin Luc is not injured. I just hope I haven't bollixed it up by telling him. I know it's true, and it's definitely Luc I love._

_I really don't know what to say to that, Flash. I'm... well, I'm speechless, for once. I honestly don't know how to respond. Are you sure you're not just reacting to the current situation? You've just had a huge scare._ _**I'm sure. Really sure. Comments from my friends, reactions I've had to things you say, that dream I told you about... it all makes sense now. But don't worry, you don't have to say anything. Really. I don't expect a response, I just wanted you to know.**_ _Please don't be upset that I can't say the same here, Flash. I am truly flattered. Are you sure you know it's love? Or do you only think so? I mean, you really don't know me. Well, you do, but there are things that you don't know - things that are part and parcel of my life that I might have neglected to mention to keep my anonymity. Could you honestly still say that if I told you?_ _**I believe I could. If it makes you feel better to think I'm mistaken, that's okay... or if you want to tell me those things and test my sincerity, that's okay too. I'm not upset, now that you're there. In fact, now that I know you're safe, and I've realised how I feel about you, I feel calmer than I have in a good while. I love you, Luc. I believe that with all my heart, but I mean it when I say I don't want to push anything. I would rather have you as a friend than not at all.**_ _I really feel badly that I can't reciprocate those feelings, but I do know for a fact that I couldn't bear to be without you and this journal in my life - at least as a friend. I love having you around to talk to. You listen, you make me laugh, and you make me see reason when I'm too proud and stubborn to see it for myself. I don't think I would quite know what to do if this journal were to vanish tomorrow. And yes, I'm also very glad I'm safe - and you as well. I guess if these Neo Death Eaters are going to keep at it we all have to say what we feel. I hope they catch those bastards. I actually knew Lucas Fournier. Well, not terribly well, but I did see him around a fair bit in Paris. What made you think he was me?_ _**Don't feel bad. please. And that's all I'm going to say about that!**_ _Okay. But will you be all right? You can't just go blurting things like that and expect to be fine when you don't hear the answer you want, or expect._ _**As for thinking you were Lucas Fournier... well there just seemed to be a lot of coincidences, I suppose. Like I said, he came over here from Paris around the same time you did, to return to working with an old mentor. He doesn't play Quidditch anymore because of an injury, and it said that he was here to work on his research. I also knew he was gay, so when I read all that in the Prophet, it stuck out vividly. When they said that he was killed at a Muggle cinema, I immediately thought about you. **_ _**Yes, I'll be all right. I didn't expect any particular answer from you. Hell, when I started writing I was so panicked by the thought you were gone, I honestly didn't expect any response at all.**_ _Oh, there do seem to be quite a few coincidences. When you read them listed like that, it does look like it could be me. Well if it's any consolation, I'm a long way away from any of last night's attacks, and I know from experience that it would take more than a few pretend Death Eaters to get rid of me! Their predecessors never managed to get rid of me during the war, no matter how hard they tried!_ _**That's good to know.**_ _Yes, I'm glad too._

* * *

Harry felt so calm and centred. Part of him was still shocked that he admitted the truth to Luc, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew it was right. The journal had always dragged the truth out of him. Why would that suddenly change now? A small nagging thought in the back of his mind was a little disappointed that Luc didn't share his feelings to the same extent, but he understood that it might seem incredible. He was just going to have to meet Luc and prove to him that the reality lived up to the image that was portrayed in the journal.

Although he didn't have Friday classes, the Quidditch Cup final was being played on Saturday, and Harry wanted to gear the teams up for what was going to be a grand match. Harry reluctantly admitted that the Slytherin team were a very slick unit that probably could have blown his old Gryffindor team out of the stands. Even on the old Nimbus 2001's that Lucius Malfoy had bought for the Slytherin team a dozen years earlier, they were unbeatable.

For once, Harry wasn't doing the T'ai Chi, but he was guiding the two teams of students as they followed his guidance. He spoke quietly, but his voice could be heard clearly across the entire courtyard. "Now, breathe in before you start the next count to twelve. Try not to concentrate too hard on getting the motions correct – you'll block the flow of chi if you do that. Just move in a natural rhythm as you count, pushing away at that bundle of nerves as you increase your body of energy. Front and back, left and right, up and down. We're in a continuous looping flow..."

He spotted a familiar face walking up to the school, and waved, but he was surprised when Ron didn't notice him. He seemed somewhat agitated, if not a little angry. Harry wondered what the problem could be, but he shrugged it off. He would find out soon enough, as Ron was no doubt heading up to visit him. The session with the students was nearly over, so he would head back to the castle very soon. He was just a little curious, however, as to why Ron was there so early, and without Hermione. They were all due to meet for dinner that night to discuss wedding plans. Actually, they would be having dinner, and Hermione would be telling them what would be expected of them. Just like old times.

At the thought of Ron and Hermione's happiness, Harry again experienced the wonderfully light feeling of freedom that enveloped him as he realised his own sense of love. He loved Luc, and it made complete sense. This wasn't the same as when he thought he was in love with Oliver. He didn't need anyone to reassure him. This was right - almost perfect in fact. Now all he had to do was convince Luc of the same thing, and things would be perfect.

His irrepressible mood was thoroughly obvious as he watched the students attempt the basic forms, and found himself unconsciously breathing in time with them. The Ravenclaws were sceptical at first about Harry's intentions in bringing them to the courtyard instead of down to the pitch. However, as they finished their routine, he found the entire group smiling and looking quite relaxed. Harry beamed. "Excellent! Not bad for your first attempt, everyone. Remember that T'ai Chi forms help to keep your mind calm and can help you to keep your balance, rhythm and fine motor skills in top form. Even your magic will be more in focus if you continue to do these exercises. Trust me on that one, guys. I'm sure that will help all of you to do your very best out there in tomorrow's game. We'll do this again in the morning. How does half six sound?"

There were surprisingly few groans at the early hour Harry suggested. Most students nodded. "Thanks, Professor," a number of them yelled and waved as they headed off. He could see the Slytherin seeker, Damien Michaels hanging around, but Harry waved him off to the next class. He wanted to talk to Ron, not listen to Michaels asking for yet more coaching and Seeker practice.

Just as he turned to head back into the castle, shrill voices wafted down from Malfoy's rooms. An exceedingly familiar drawl was quickly followed by Ron's deep tone snapping back bitterly. _Damn. _It was apparent that Ron had bumped into Draco and they were trading their usual venomous barbs. Harry rushed up to stop them. He didn't need Ron barging in and spoiling what little progress he seemed to have made with forging a civil relationship with Draco.

He paused outside Draco's door. Their conversation was heated, but something stopped Harry from entering straight away. _What does Ron know about Draco that he didn't tell me? _He kept back for a moment, curiosity winning out over the desire to keep them apart.

* * *

Draco had certainly not expected Ron Weasley on his doorstep just as lunch was ending. He had spent half the morning trying to come to terms with Flash's rather sudden admission. Flash fancied himself in love with Luc. How could he respond to that? He had no idea, but honestly felt dreadful that he didn't feel exactly the same way. In his pondering, he realised he had nearly forgotten to finish the weekly orders, and he now would have to madly rush them off if they were to get to London in time. It was only after reluctantly allowing the git to come in that he realised what he might be there to discuss. His hopes immediately plummeted.

Not wanting to hear the inevitable rejection just yet, Draco sat back at his desk and continued to work, ignoring the redhead as he carefully filled out the order for vials and bottles. He knew this would infuriate Weasley, but he wasn't going to let him gain the upper hand. Not if he was there for the reason he suspected.

"Look, Malfoy, I didn't just come here for my health," Ron sounded highly frustrated as Draco continued to ignore him.

"I certainly didn't ask _you_ to come here. I thought I made my request quite simple," Draco retorted without making eye contact. He continued to scribble the quill across the orders.

Ron sighed in frustration. "Well then why did you send us your 'request'? The bloody Goblins asked me to come here and find out exactly why you want access to Malfoy Manor. You know they hate coming to Hogwarts."

"I'm flattered that you actually thought to deliver the news in person, Weasley. You read my letter, obviously. Surely even you could understand what I was asking for." Draco still avoided eye contact with Ron, but knew he couldn't goad him too far. He really did need to get access to the Manor. It was his last hope.

Draco was exhausting all avenues of finding any Pegasus Wingtips. An old memory had niggled at his thoughts for a few days, but it suddenly woke in the early hours a few nights before. A quickly penned letter to the Fiscal Investigative Goblins would hopefully get him what he wanted. But he needed to get into Malfoy Manor to be certain. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance he had left.

"I did read your letter. What makes you think that we will grant your request?" Ron was also going to play games. Draco was impressed. Somehow he had learned to mind his manners and not fly off the handle immediately. Perhaps there was some hope yet. But he wasn't about to show Weasley just how desperate he was to get into the Manor. He knew if he did, then the git was just as likely to say no out of spite.

Draco realised he was going to have to be nice to Weasley if he was going to get any hope of getting into his Grandperé's old potions lab in Malfoy Manor. Abraxas had left a grand legacy behind, and it suddenly came to Draco that there was undoubtedly a wealth of old and obscure ingredients in the well stocked lab. Lucius was never one for his own brewing and had kept the rooms under a series of strict locking charms. As ever curious as Draco was, he had managed to break into the lab in the summer after his father was incarcerated in Azkaban, but Lucius locked it up again after his triumphant return to the Manor. Draco always intended on returning one day with his mastery and blast the charms away to call the lab his own.

Draco's memory was dim, but he remembered the entire potions store that was kept under several strong preservation charms. He recalled seeing such obscure items as crushed Dementor dung and dried Basilisk eyes. He wasn't about to tell Weasley the exact reason why he wanted to visit the Manor, but he had his story already worked out.

"Actually, Weasley, if you read my request, then you know that I'm really not asking for much. If I can just check the potions stores in the Manor, I can see if I am wasting my time on my latest research, or if I can continue. People are going to benefit from this, Weasley." Draco was vague on purpose, but he didn't need for Ron to know that _he_ would be the one benefiting if he did find some Pegasus Wingtips.

Ron looked around the room and spotted the comfortable chair by the fire. He plopped down into it, without being asked. "Do you really think I would buy that bullshit, Malfoy? I'm going to need to know the real reason why you want in before I let you get within a hundred feet of that place."

Draco was barely keeping his own temper in check. _Fuck,_ he thought. "How can I prove that I'm being genuine, Weasley?"

"I have no idea, Malfoy," Ron retorted quickly. "The Goblins still aren't convinced that you are as innocent as you make out. _I'm_ still not convinced. How thick do you think we are?"

Draco swore under his breath. "Do you think I enjoy this arrangement, Weasley? One minute I discover that my so-called trustees have nearly taken me for every galleon, then the FIGs want to investigate it thoroughly. They put _you_ in charge and then I hear nothing at all. When am I going to get my birthright back, Weasley?"

"As much as I love to gloat about the fact that you've been forced down into reality, Malfoy, I have no control over the Goblins' investigation. Of course, if you weren't so stupid enough in the first place..."

Draco was close to losing his well-guarded temper, but took a deep breath before speaking. "I'm actually _working_ here and I don't have all day to listen to you gloat over my dire financial situation. How do I know that you aren't embezzling me too?"

Ron snickered. "Oh, yes. I Apparate all the way from London just to tell you that since I've been the one managing your finances, I've kept things from getting any worse. Don't worry that pretty little blond head of yours, Malfoy. I'm not going to lose you any money. At least no more than you lost on your own."

"Why you..." Draco never made it up from his desk. Ron leapt across the room and had his wand pointed at Draco's throat.

"Are you threatening me, Malfoy? I'd really like to know, because I'm really not in the mood for granting you access to Malfoy Manor. Those assets have been frozen, in case you had forgotten."

"Oh, no, I hadn't forgotten, Weasley. You obviously take great delight in reminding me of just how bad things are." Draco sighed has he realised he was going to have to tell him everything. "My Grandfather's potions store is under the Manor, and I would like permission to access it as I am fairly certain that there is a rare ingredient there that cannot be sourced elsewhere. I don't want access to anything else, and I certainly don't want to take anything from the house. Merlin knows you've probably got some tracing hex on everything there. How thick do you think _I_ am?" Draco stood up slowly as he explained his need to Ron.

"No." Ron smirked as he handed down his verdict. He laid the word down as a challenge, expecting Draco to attack.

Draco's mouth quirked – the mole above his lip fading as he realised that his history with Ron Weasley was going to prevent him from getting his knee cured. He could only assume it was some form of punishment for years of acting like a complete arse to the other wizard.

"You had to come all the way here to tell me that? I can't bloody scratch my balls without asking for fucking permission from you lot." Draco didn't question Ron's verdict.

"I didn't think Malfoy's scratched their balls," Ron quipped in reply. Draco just sniffed.

"Is that your final answer, Weasley? You're not letting me go to the Manor because you are feeling the need to impart your manhood in some way?" The time for playing it safe was over if Ron was going to deny his request.

* * *

Harry lurked behind the door, stunned by what he was hearing. Someone had embezzled Draco's money – and now Ron was in charge of the Malfoy estate? How on earth did that happen – who would be stupid enough to do that to a Malfoy? Harry could not believe what he was hearing, but it did clear up a few questions about why he was working with Snape, and why he wasn't flaunting his wealth around like he did as a child. _But why is Ron involved, and why won't he let Draco go back to the Manor? What's the big problem? _He suppressed the urge to cough as he listened further through the crack in the door. He was more interested now in finding out what was going on than stopping them from going at each other's throats.

* * *

"Actually, Malfoy. The Goblins did ask me to assess whether or not you are being completely honest." Ron sounded triumphant and cocky.

Draco dropped all sense of pretence. "What do they mean by that?"

"Oh, just that they were concerned when you mentioned that you were approached by a Death Eater..."

"But I wrote to them so that they knew. I wasn't hiding anything. I'm not hiding anything now, Weasley." Draco was beginning to think it had all been a mistake to ask for access to Malfoy Manor.

"They are curious as to your whereabouts last night, and the nights previous this week. First your money is embezzled by the Neo Death Eaters, then you claim they approach you. How do we know you aren't one of them?"

Draco sighed heavily. He knew it had been too good to be true. Someone still thought he was a Death Eater. "What do I have to do to prove I'm not, Weasley? I have only been open and honest with you since the moment you discovered that the bloody Neo Death Eaters were syphoning galleons from my inheritance to pay for their cursed plotting and scheming. I am not in league with them, Weasley. If I find any of them, I'll probably end up in Azkaban for killing the lot of them. Don't you _dare_ try to accuse me of siding with them." Draco's temper flew as he released his pent up anger.

Ron backed down just a bit and seemed perplexed. "So you weren't in Hogsmeade on Tuesday night?" he asked.

"No, I wasn't in Hogsmeade on Tuesday, Weasley. Why would you think I'd be there?" Draco was the one who was now puzzled.

"Because two of your former trustees were found dead. Both had been poisoned, Malfoy, with a very subtle and hard to detect poison. Something right up your alley."

Draco had no answer for that, and quickly sat down again.

Ron was still not finished. He took Draco's actions as a sign of defeat. "You'd do anything to get your fortune back, Malfoy." Ron sneered and he stared Draco down. "It must hurt to know what the Neo Death Eaters did with the millions of galleons they stole from you. I think that would be sufficient motive to kill the men who embezzled you."

Harry was still eavesdropping on the conversation, but realised it had taken a much more serious turn. _The Neo Death Eaters embezzled the money – and now those that did it are turning up dead – with a poison? _Some of it was making perfect sense, yet some of it seemed too incredible. The Neo Death Eaters were well funded because they stole millions from the Malfoy Estate.

But Harry thought it was completely out of line for Ron to accuse Draco of this murder – he wasn't in Hogsmeade Tuesday night. Nodding carefully, Harry realised it was time to step into the conversation. Just as he was about to knock, Petite Amie leapt off the couch and pushed her way out through the crack in the door. As she did so, the door opened further, and Draco spotted Harry standing there.

Draco looked somewhat relieve to see Harry. Ron noticed his gaze and turned, smiling smugly as he still pointed his wand loosely in Draco's direction. The guilt was plain on Harry's face and Draco realised that he most likely overheard the conversation. _So much for my secrets. Harry knows now. It's not how I really wanted him to find out._

"Come in, Harry." Draco was cordial, acknowledging with a slight nod the fact that Harry had been eavesdropping. _He probably couldn't help it. Weasley is a loudmouth. I'm surprised he kept quiet for so long and not blabbed to Harry._

Ron smiled at Harry, but Harry didn't respond with his usual casual smile. "You're looking after _Draco's _money now?" was the only question that fell out of Harry's mouth.

Realising Harry had overheard, Ron grinned, "Yeah, funny, isn't it? But don't worry, Harry. The FIGs want to investigate the ferret's role in a couple of murders in Hogsmeade last Tuesday."

"Are you sure you should be doing that, Ron?" Both Ron and Draco seemed surprised at Harry's question.

"Since when have you cared, Harry. I thought I would be doing a favour getting this git out of your hair." Ron turned back to Draco. "I need to know, Malfoy. Where were you? If we find anything untoward that you've done, you can kiss the rest of your fortune goodbye. The Goblins won't be happy." _But I will,_ was the unspoken end to Ron's sentence.

Harry knew Draco was fuming. He was usually this quiet before a massive outburst. The mole above his lip was set in stone – another sign of his fury. Ron's temper was blatantly obvious. Harry wondered how this strange financial arrangement had come about, but he didn't have time to ponder that now. He didn't want them at each other's throats any longer.

Ron looked at Draco warily. "I have your measure, Malfoy. I know that you would do anything to avoid losing the rest of your inheritance – even to the point of doing something drastic to get back at those that embezzled you. It's such a Slytherin trait. Who's going to support you then, Malfoy?"

"Do you have evidence that it was Draco?" Harry spoke quietly and rationally to his friend. "The goblins might want you to investigate, but unless you have proof, you can't go making those accusations, Ron."

"Yes, Weasley, Harry is right. I wasn't in Hogsmeade on Tuesday night. I didn't leave the castle at all that day, if the truth be known. I was also here all day Wednesday." Draco was grateful that Harry was making his over zealous friend see some sense.

"Ron." Harry wanted Ron to calm down. He was getting worked up into a state, and he didn't want to have to be the one to deliver him back to Hermione after he had been hexed. Harry didn't fail to notice that Draco's hand was itching to reach for his own wand. He was surprised he restrained himself this long.

"Stay out of this, Harry. This is none of your business."

"But it is, Ron." Both men turned to look at Harry, one in surprise, the other in vindication. "I'll vouch for Draco. After all, I was here with him on Tuesday night. He wasn't in Hogsmeade."

Ron was dumbfounded, then suddenly suspicious. "What curse has Malfoy put you under, Harry? Since when have you been socially passing the time with the likes of him?"

Harry waved Ron away. "Since I've decided to get over petty childhood squabbles, Ron. Draco could not have been in Hogsmeade. I was in this very room on Tuesday night – with him."

Ron looked totally aghast. It was only then that Harry realised how his words had sounded. "No Ron, not like that. We were _talking_ and drinking wine." Harry managed to shed a smile at his friend's expense. Even Draco's lip curled into a small smile at the idea.

"Oh," was all Ron could say. "Since when have you been referring to him as _Draco_?" he asked in disbelief. Ron still seemed to think that Harry was under some curse of Malfoy's doing.

"We can talk about this later, Ron. I think you've taken up enough of Draco's time for one day." Harry put a hand on his friend's shoulder and began to guide him out the door. "We need to talk."

Ron didn't offer any form of goodbye to Draco as Harry herded him out. Before he closed the door, he turned to look at Draco. "I'm sorry, Draco. It was none of my business overhearing that."

Draco nodded, "But you have a right to know, Harry. I said that I have no love for the Neo Death Eaters. Now you know why."

"I'll see if I can't talk some sense into Ron. I might be able to convince him to let you into the Manor." Harry didn't need to elaborate on the fact he knew why Draco wanted access to a store of rare potions ingredients.

"Thank you." Draco found he was genuinely grateful to Harry for the offer. If anyone could talk some sense into the weasel, then Harry would be the one to do so.

* * *

Harry got more than an earful from Ron as they waited for Hermione in the _Leaf and Bean_ after work. He had hoped they would have a relaxing evening, but Ron's stubbornness was putting a dampener on their evening. He seemed unwilling to put the afternoon's discussion with Draco behind them, and frankly ruined Harry's anticipation at bringing Ron and Hermione to visit his new favourite shop. He had wanted to see the sheer joy on Hermione's face, and the equal look of despair on Ron's as she wandered through the store's shelves.

The place was crowded; they were lucky to get a table that had enough seats. Not that Hermione needed one for she was up and browsing the stacks of books before they ordered any tea. "Why on earth did you drag us _here_, Harry?" Ron asked despairingly. "We'll never get her out now!"

"Because _someone_ needs to sit down and listen to _me_ for a change, Ron," Harry suddenly became serious.

"What has come over you lately, Harry?" Ron wondered aloud. "Who on earth discovered this place?" he asked absently.

"Oh, Remus brought me here, but he apparently knows the proprietor. Draco told him about the place."

Ron put his teacup down carefully as he tried not to choke. "_Draco! _Harry, I am seriously worried about you. First you start to defend him, next you tell me you're drinking wine with him in his rooms? Is there something you're not telling me? I still think he's hexed you or something."

"No, but Dumbledore did." Harry went on to explain what the headmaster had done to make them 'behave more like adults'.

"Blimey, Harry!" If Ron's eyes were any wider, they would have fallen out into his tea after listening to his tale. "So now you can't call him Malfoy? I am so sorry for you Harry. It must be torture having to be near him – and he's in rooms next to yours? I'd be getting a really good Sneakoscope..."

It was then that Harry saw an opportunity to help Draco. "You know, Ron, Draco has been working very hard on the Wolfsbane potion. Remus is looking better than he has in years. What harm would come of you letting him look for old potions ingredients at Malfoy Manor?" He realised after overhearing their conversation that the reason Draco had not brewed the curative potion was that he must have been looking for a rare ingredient. Harry admitted he had never heard of half the ingredients he had been reading about as he transcribed Slytherin's old book. If there were ingredients at the Manor, then he wanted to make sure Draco could get his hands on them. He didn't need to see Draco in any more pain.

Ron's eyes bulged in disbelief. "Have you gone nutters, Harry? This is _Malfoy_ we're talking about! If we let him into that den of Dark Arts on the pretext of some old potions ingredient, who's to say he won't take other stuff?"

Harry became defensive for a moment. "The Aurors scoured Malfoy Manor for dark artefacts many years ago, Ron – with the complete cooperation of Draco, I might add. What could he possibly take, Ron?"

Ron took a large sip of tea, fervently wishing it were something a lot stronger. "I'm not supposed to be talking about this with anyone, Harry. You shouldn't have been listening in."

"Too late now, Ron. But you can't accuse him of those murders. You seem to forget that he was on our side of the war." Harry commented. Ron was tight lipped. Ron was reluctant to admit that Harry was right. He just couldn't believe that Harry was supporting Draco in this.

"Just think about letting him get whatever smelly old ingredients he wants, Ron. If it can help him with his research, then it will be others who will benefit, not him." Harry had one final idea. "Look, if it makes it any easier, why not allow me to accompany him to the Manor. Surely he can't do anything wrong with an ex Auror watching over him."

Just then, Remus walked into Emmaline's, smiling warmly at his old friend as they began to chat. He looked over the crowd for a table, noticing Harry talking to Ron. He smiled and waved. Ron noticed Harry's attention wavering, and he turned and spotted Remus and found an opportunity to change the subject.

"So, Harry. How's Remus?" Ron was worried about Harry. Not only because he seemed a little overly friendly with Malfoy, but because he knew it was well past time for Harry to settle down. After hearing what he got up to with his brother, he had every reason to help his best friend find someone.

Harry had been acting strange all evening, and Ron had noticed more than once that Harry had been eyeing off the werewolf in a longing way. He seemed awfully supportive of Malfoy's research into Wolfsbane. Ron might not be the most observant wizard around, but he knew Harry better than anyone. "Are you bringing Remus to my stag night?"

Harry seemed momentarily distracted. He could overhear snatches of Remus talking to Emmaline in French, and he was fighting a very strong physical reaction. "What? No, I'm not _bringing_ him, Ron. But if you want me to invite him, then he will probably come along. And before you get it in your head, there is nothing between us. We are just friends."

Harry knew who he would have liked to bring to the stag party. He wanted to share more than just conversations with Luc. He wanted to share it all. Thoughts of Luc distracted him further, and it took him a few moments to realise Ron was talking again.

"Is there anyone you want to bring, Harry?" Ron had not failed to notice the light in Harry's eyes at the mention of someone. Harry was so transparent when he was in love, it was obvious to all. Someone had piqued Harry's interest enough to make him act a little crazy.

Harry looked wistful for a moment, "There is, but I don't think he's available that night," he said in disappointment.

"Hermione has threatened to hex us all if you are planning anything too raunchy, Harry. You are up on the party, aren't you?" for a moment Ron was worried that Harry had not yet started planning his stag party.

"Relax, Ron. I've got it all under control."

"It had better not be a bloody poofter party, Harry. No offence, of course." Ron seemed a little concerned. He loved Harry like a brother, but his idea of a party usually involved sitting around tasting wines and eating lots of cheese and listening to old-fashioned music. Ron was hoping for something a little more... raunchy.

"What, you want me to cancel the male strippers?" Harry sounded thoroughly disappointed and Ron looked horrified until he realised Harry was definitely taking the piss out of him. He punched Harry in the arm as Hermione finally wandered by the table again. Taking the opportunity for an exit, Ron grabbed his fiancée and started them all out the door. Hermione barely had time to protest.

"So, Harry, what do you _really_ have planned for my stag night?" Ron asked as the trio walked down the street to find a place for dinner.

* * *

Remus hung around the store for most of the evening, pretending to browse the shelves as he waited quietly for some time with Emmaline. He wasn't really surprised to find her waiting for him with an inviting cup of coffee as the last customer left for the evening.

"You really are terrible at skulking, Remus," she said affectionately.

"Nothing you do surprises me any more, Emmaline," he replied.

"You want to know more about the journals, no?" She sighed wearily and beckoned for him to sit down with her. "You know you only have to ask, and I'll tell you - if I can."

Remus swore that she was more cryptic each time he met her. The coffee was hot and warming and it helped to loosen his tongue. "I'm just a little confused, Emmaline. Why don't they know yet? Why don't Harry and Draco know who they are writing to?" She raised an eyebrow at Remus words. He nodded, "Oh yes, I know Draco is the one you gave my old journal to."

Emmaline just sipped her own coffee, not making any indication that he was right or wrong. This only raised Remus' ire.

"They've been talking for months, Emmaline! Why are you toying with them? They both deserve to know the truth. Why don't they realise it yet?" he asked in a confronting tone.

Emmaline sighed wearily. "I suppose you have a right to know, Remus." She suddenly seemed much older than he remembered as she took an inordinate time arranging her robes. She was stalling.

She looked up suddenly, all traces of mirth gone from her face. Remus thought he saw the sheer power of ancient magic reflected in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "How long was it before you and Sirius realised your identities?"

"About four or five conversations, I guess." Despite vividly remembering nearly every word they shared, it was painful for him to remember Sirius just now. Being around Emmaline brought back so many vivid memories.

"And when did you realise that you were in love with your best friend?" He looked at him knowingly over the top of her glasses.

Remus blushed. It had been years, but he remembered the day he came to the realisation he was in love with Sirius. It seemed like it was only yesterday, but it was during the summer after he left school. He was lost in memories for the longest time. Being surrounded by Emmaline and her comforting presence made it all seem like the past twenty-five years had been a horrible nightmare.

"He was my best friend," he murmured in hushed undertones. "I think I had been in love with him for ages, but I never realised it until after we started to converse in the journals..." The realisation overcame him and he looked at Emmaline in sudden understanding.

Emmaline nodded in confirmation. "And what about Lily and James?"

"How do you know Harry's parents?" Remus asked curiously. He didn't think they had ever met Emmaline.

"Oh, they were Harry's parents?" Now Emmaline was the one who was surprised. "How long had they been talking in the journals before they realised they were soul mates?"

Remus had completely forgotten that James and Lily finally fell in love over a set of journals. He felt a little guilty that he could have forgotten something like that about his dear friends. As the memories suddenly flooded back, a small teary smile crossed his face. He nodded as it all began to make perfect sense. "A set of journals brought them together?"

Emmaline nodded and smiled as Remus realised their importance. "Not just _any_ journals, Remus. Surely you don't think there are _dozens _of such books just lying around, hmmm?"

He laughed and shook his head in wonderment. "You know, just when I think I am beginning to understand you, you redefine your boundaries, and I am again left in amazement. They were the same set of journals?" Emmaline nodded. He found himself thinking about James and Lily, something he didn't indulge in very often. "You know, now that you mention it, I seem to recall that they had a blazing row in the common room not long before our NEWTs. They had been at each other's throats nearly all year. It was pretty ugly to begin with – Lily's temper was renown – but of course, James finally threw his hands in the air and kissed her. I remember it so well." He laughed, "of course, Professor McGonagall had to get Peeves to douse them with a bucket of water when it became quite clear they had overcome their differences."

Emmaline smiled indulgently. "The journals chose them, Remus. But when their work was done, they knew they had to work on you and Sirius."

Remus was starting to see a pattern here and realised for the first time just what Emmaline was up to.

"Lily and James despised each other at first, hmmm? But with time, they learned to love each other. Harry and Draco will figure it out eventually. If they haven't yet realised the truth, then they aren't yet ready. Both of them still need to sort out a few things in their lives, Remus, and you _can't_ interfere," she admonished sternly.

Remus put down his coffee cup as he looked at her accusingly. "Why not? You seem to take great pleasure in doing so."

"No, Remus." She shook her head furiously as she patted his on the hand. "One day you'll understand. Just trust me for now when I say that both of them have to know _exactly_ what they want out of life before they are ready to realise the truth."

"So why did you give the book to Draco?" he wanted the question answered, once and for all.

"I think you misunderstand me, Remus. I have nothing to do with who is chosen. I merely watch over them. I have no say in who the journals go to. The innate magic of the journals is what makes them choose their custodians. I just make sure that nothing and no one interferes in the natural order of things." She quickly stood up, the jovial mask back on her face, "And for now, that means that you need to let the old magics take their course, and trust in them. Don't fight what was meant to be, Remus. They will know – all in good time."

"Harry's realised he's in love with 'Luc'," Remus commented casually.

"Well then," Emmaline broke out in a wry smile, "It seems that things are just about to get interesting. I can guarantee it."

* * *

**June 8, Sunday**

Sunday morning dawned crisp and clear. Draco roused as the sun stretched across his bed. He sighed deeply and a small smile crept across his sleepy face. As he stretched, he recalled his dreams and was not surprised to see and feel that he had yet again experienced his erotic dream – although something about it seemed different. It wasn't the fact that he had given up letting the dream get to him, he had given into it and embraced it weeks ago. There was something different. As he looked over at the clock, he saw that it was still quite early, but with the coming of the summer, the sun rose much earlier. He recalled that he had the day completely to himself and afforded the lie in by rolling over to catch some more sleep.

As he turned, he remembered what was different. _The dream – it wasn't about Potter any more. Jean-Paul was still there, dictating proceedings, but as the dream heated up, his lover (his now very familiar lover) wasn't wearing Harry Potter's face. He couldn't see his new lover, but when he looked down into the eyes of his dream lover, his features were blurred. But he heard himself screaming his lover's name – FlashohmyfuckinggodsFlash!_

Draco snorted in amusement. _Finally, I get the git's face out of my dreams, yet now my good friend - the one who told me that he loves me, replaces it._He wasn't sure if he should be worried by that fact, but Flash would either find it dreadfully amusing, or flirt with him even more if he told him. It was Sunday, and he _was_ looking forward to a long and heartfelt chat with Flash, which made him feel much less alone. A smile returned to his face at the thought of his friend. Sometimes it amazed him how quickly he came to rely on Flash's company and his opinions – he valued the man's opinions quite highly.

Something had changed in his life since he began talking to Flash, and Draco looked forward more and more to his chats with the cheeky, yet surprisingly down to earth wizard. _Now why can't I find someone like Flash to share in my life? _Draco suddenly became more awake as he realised what he just thought. _Merde, now I'm the one with the crazy fantasies. First my dream, now thinking of being with someone like Flash. He admitted he loves me, and now I'm dreaming about him. Is it really such an awful thought?_

Just as Draco drifted back to sleep with the thought that Flash probably wouldn't mind featuring in his dream, he was reawakened by voices drifting up from the courtyard below.

As he slowly became more awake, his mind began to process the voices. Potter's voice was familiar now – Draco had listened to enough Quidditch and flying lessons in the past few weeks to recognise it wafting up through his open window. The timbre of the other voice was familiar, but he frowned. _Why is Potter talking to Michaels this early in the morning?_

"... so I thought perhaps you could give me a few pointers, Sir? Even though the talent scouts were at the final game, the Rookie tryouts are in just a couple of weeks, and I really can't afford to muck up now. You know how much this means to me." Draco didn't miss the subtle nuances of Michaels' tone. Now that Draco had rejected him he was going after bigger fish. Didn't the boy know when to let up?

"... I'd love to help, Michaels. I do understand how important this opportunity is for you. I've got some spare time after lunch. We can go through the paces with the other seekers as well, if they are available. How does that suit you?" Draco rolled his eyes. How could Harry not realise the completely transparent flirting the boy was doing?

"Oh, that's fine." Damien Michaels sounded disappointed, but his tone immediately changed. "But I was hoping for something a little more... personal." Draco rolled his eyes. He hoped Harry wasn't too oblivious to the flirting.

"That has to be the lousiest pick-up line I've heard in years, Michaels, and trust me, I've heard more than my fair share." He quickly reassessed his earlier suspicion. Harry _had_ pegged the boy correctly. Draco was impressed. Harry wasn't as oblivious as he appeared to be.

"I don't..." Michaels feigned innocence.

"I'm afraid you'll have to try your flirting on someone who is a little more available, and possibly closer to your own age, Damien. You should know better. Besides, Quidditch players aren't my type."

"I'm sorry, sir. I just had to try – you understand," he offered contritely. "Besides, I didn't know you were unavailable." Draco knew the conniving kid was far from sorry, and that Potter had not heard the end of this. Michaels was a true Slytherin and if he was really after Harry, he would be planning his next move already.

Too distracted to get back to sleep, Draco eventually made his way downstairs for a late breakfast. With only one week left of school, most had also taken the opportunity to sleep in and the hall seemed crowded with the bustle of eager students.

Severus distracted Draco before he could sit down. The look on his face was grave. "Draco, I just wanted you to know, I got a reply from my last letter. I'm sorry, but nobody can put their hands on any Pegasus Wingtips."

Draco nodded and tried hard not to let any emotions rise to the surface. He had expected this, but now that he knew, it was all over, he pushed all his joy and hope from the past weeks to the back of his mind. Severus gave his shoulder another supportive squeeze. His last hope was to find some in his Grandpère's lab. That was _if_ he could get Weasley's permission to go there. He hoped that Harry could talk him around, but he certainly was not going to pin any more hopes on that happening.

Draco watched Harry rushing his breakfast and began to wonder. What had happened in the past weeks to make him reassess this man so greatly? Flash had encouraged him to befriend him, but he never thought he would have the veil pulled from his eyes so that he could actually see Harry Potter as every other wizard did. He had gone from despising his very existence to hoping that he could talk Weasley around to letting him have access to his home. It seemed too surreal.

Harry's early morning conversation with Damien Michaels came to mind, and as he watched Harry eat, he found his own thoughts wandering. _He mentioned that Quidditch players weren't his type. Well then, who is your type, Harry? It's plain to everyone here with two eyes that you want Remus, but you are resigned to the fact that he isn't interested. Who is your type? _For once Draco wished he had paid attention to the gossip that surrounded Potter's social life.

He couldn't recall any specifics of Harry Potter's love life. His aversion to gossip about Harry had obviously made him block out any news on that front. He did remember the massive exposé from some boy back at school when the news broke that the Boy Who Lived was gay. That had put a dent in the plans of many single young witches. His mind wandered back to that seemingly unforgettable time he watched Harry in the Quidditch showers. Somehow that memory was branded in his mind, and recent dreams could not make him forget it.

From what Draco could deduce, Potter was so notoriously secretive about his lovers that nobody knew who constituted 'his type'. Draco shook his head. He really needed to get away if he found himself wasting time on such frivolous thoughts. Even though it was a distinct distraction from his own concerns, he thought an entire breakfast of pondering Harry's love life was probably more time than anyone should devote to the subject. It was definitely time to get out of the castle. As luck would have it, his day was well planned. All he had to do was make his way down to Emmaline's and wait.

It was with a sense of serenity that he took his favourite seat at Emmaline's an hour later. The coffee and pastries were fresh and he eagerly awaited a taste of both as he pulled his journal from his bag. Flash's idea to chat earlier on Sunday was a marvellous idea, and he sipped his coffee, slowly savouring the taste as he awaited Flash's words.

* * *

Harry would have loved to head down to the _Leaf and Bean_ to have his chat with Luc. The place seemed to have the perfect atmosphere to surround himself with as he wrote to Luc. Unfortunately, he had promised Ron he would organise the stag night, and he was awaiting a number of Floo calls from those he was planning on inviting. He didn't want to miss anyone, but shrugged off the fact that he would be able to talk to Luc from Emmaline's another day.

As he opened the journal, he wondered about the thought of meeting Luc. He imagined setting up a meeting in Emmaline's store. It would be the perfect place. Luc might even be able to sate his constant desire to drink good coffee. Draco thought it was superb coffee, so Harry suspected it probably was quite good. He made a mental note to tell Luc.

He hesitated as he was about to put quill to parchment. _Was Luc really fine with my confession? Shit, I hope so. I would hate to ruin this. I can't ruin this. I would never forgive myself._

_**June 8, Sunday**_ _**Dearest Luc,**_ _**I hope you're there. I really feel embarrassed by my confession the other day. I genuinely hope I haven't scared you off. The thing is, I really did mean what I said, and I haven't changed my mind. But if it makes you more comfortable, we won't make mention of it. **_

Draco admitted that he was still somewhat unsettled by Flash's confession of love. He really couldn't see how this other man could truly think that he was worthy of that decision based purely on the fact they had only written to each other. No matter how unsettling, he found that thought dissipate as he read Flash's words. They gave him a sense of rightness whilst other strange things were going on in his life. He didn't want to lose that feeling, and he knew he didn't want to lose Flash. He was just going to have to deal with Flash's feelings.

_Hi Flash, no you haven't scared me off. I admit that you've certainly given me an awful lot to think about. I did think about not replying to you, but knew that I didn't want to lose your friendship. Does that make sense?_ _**Perfect sense, Luc. I promise I'll try hard not to mention it. I was hoping to be chatting from somewhere else right now, but I'm waiting on a few people to Floo me, so I'm stuck indoors, worst luck.**_ _Well, I'm drowning my sorrows at present, Flash. But I'm quite happy about that fact. I'm wallowing in the best coffee imaginable!_ _**Oh, you found a decent coffee shop, did you? I was going to recommend one, but if you've already found one...**_ _You don't know how good it feels, Flash. I decided that coffee is almost as good as sex, if not better. I was worried about you on Friday, Flash. Did you manage to get over your scare? It wasn't pleasant to hear about what the Neo Death Eaters did. I can only begin to imagine how you must have felt there for a few moments._ _**Oh I feel ever so embarrassed now. I can't help but feel for those people who were caught up in the whole mess. I wish they didn't have to deal with this. I really hope that they catch these Neo Death Eaters soon. I would hate for anyone that I know, especially you, Luc, to be caught up in their mess.**_ _Yes, Friday ended up being a rotten day here. I don't particularly want to bore you with the details, but I had a rather important request denied, and that put a bit of a damper on my weekend. Someone is hopefully sorting it out, but I really wouldn't be surprised if he can't change the prat's mind. I probably deserve it.._ _**I gather it was a fairly important request. Is there nothing else you can do?**_ _Well, not really. My mentor just advised me that he's now exhausted all avenues, and if this guy comes back and still says no, then I'll just have to carry on without it. It's not a terribly huge deal any more. I'll manage._ _**Is there anything I can do to help? You seem resigned to the fact, but you don't seem terribly happy about it.**_ _I'm not really happy, Flash, but there is nothing much I can do. My hands are tied and my fate lies in relying on a promise from someone else. That's probably the strangest thing that's been happening, Flash. Things with Mr Bitter Resentment have somewhat changed._ _**This is good! Isn't it?**_ _Well... yes. I realise now that I was the one who was at fault. You know, sometimes when I talk to you, I feel like I'm able to tell you almost anything. You are right. I don't want to wait a whole week to chat with you. I get such a feeling of calm and serenity that overcomes me when I talk to you. _ _**I'm really pleased you feel that way, Luc. I feel... well, you know how I feel, Luc. I won't deny it, because to me it seems so right. But I have been thinking, and I would love to actually meet you in person sometime... not right now, of course, but in the near future... maybe get a cup of tea or coffee - maybe even both!**_ _Can you give me a little time? I'm still a little floored by what you said to me the other day. Although I have to admit the idea seems somewhat appealing. Just so you know, that last sentence came straight off the quill. My brain is having some difficulty, but if I just wrote that, then I guess it is fine. Perhaps we can meet up over the summer? Things will be a bit quieter around here then. And I know just the place were we can have just that - tea or coffee._ _**I am not trying to pressure you in any way, Luc. But later in the summer would be a good time. Like I said, my temporary position here will be ending in a few days, and after that I've no clue what I'm going to do with myself.**_ _You'll find a position that suits you, I just know you will._ _**Yes, I'm sure I'll find something eventually. At least I'm not currently in a position where I have to worry myself about finances while I'm unemployed for a bit.**_ _**Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, (thought about this all week actually), how are things going with that old enemy of yours? You know, the one I told you to try seeing differently?**_ _Ah, well, I honestly don't think I have enough ink, or time right now to tell you, Flash. I'm not trying to fob you off either. But to give you the short answer... I don't feel the need to hex him every time I see him. Which is definitely progress. But I am yet to apologise._ _**And do you have any idea why that is? Do you not feel that he deserves an apology after all, or can you just not find a way to say it?**_ _I am very good at shilly shalling around when I want to. I'm not going to admit to how many opportunities I've had to apologise that have turned foul because I chickened out at the last minute. The strange thing is that we are getting along quite well. He's the one who I was talking about earlier. I just can't say the words. It's like I've got a bloody silencing spell on me._ _**Ahhhh, is that the pride spell?**_ _What do you mean?_ _**Well, a good friend of mine made a few statements to his girlfriend once that rubbed her the wrong way. Actually, they weren't even dating at the time, and this incident very nearly assured that they never would get together. It was months before I could convince him to apologise to her, not because he couldn't see where he'd gone wrong, and not because he wasn't sorry for what he'd said, but only because he tends to have a bit of a pride issue. In his particular case I think it's because he comes from a large family and he's worked hard to be his own person and to rise above the views of other people, so he holds onto this pride like it's all he's got, and it was really hard to break through that and bring himself to the point of speaking those words of apology. The girl (actually his fiancée now) and I decided that it was a "pride spell" and he's joked about it since then, how he still has residual affects from it sometimes...**_ _You could very well be right about that. Although I think in my case it might be a family trait. I was talking to someone who was once the lover of one of my cousins or something, and he said I reminded him of him._ _**Ahhhh, well pride can run in families as well.**_ _Yes, it can._ _**But you have to stop dwelling on this, Luc, before it gets the better of you. I have it on good authority that confession is quite good for the soul. I should know, especially after our last chat.**_ _You're right, as usual, Flash. I just wish that I could get it out of my system. It's so frustrating to bottle it all up. The problem is that the lines of communication with him aren't quite as honest as ours are. We don't bare our souls between two journals that don't allow us to lie._ _**So what are you going to do?**_ _I guess I'll just have to cast aside that bloody pride spell and apologise. I think he'll be gone from here soon, and if I don't do it now, I'll probably never get around to saying it. I can't believe it is so hard to say 'I'm sorry'. I've never had this much trouble before. Bah, talking about it any more is putting me off my coffee, Flash._ _**So will you apologise this week? If you promise me you will, then I'll stop pestering you about it. If you promise me here, then you have to do it because this journal only lets you print the truth, remember?**_ _All right, yes. I promise I'll apologise this week._

Harry smiled. He really wanted Luc to sort out his differences with this other wizard. If he could manage to create some sort of civil friendship with Draco Malfoy, then surely Luc could do the same. He was about to write more, when the Floo flared to life. Fred and George's irrepressible mirror grins lit up the fireplace.

"Hang on a minute, guys," he yelled as he reluctantly wrote a quick goodbye to Luc. He would have rather stayed there talking to Luc, but he really wanted to plan a perfect party for Ron's stag night. For a split second he was torn between his past, and his ever promising future, but he had responsibilities, and he couldn't shirk them, no matter how much he really wanted to keep Luc at arm's length.

_**Ah, bugger. The Floo just rang. I'm going to have to go. Will you be around tomorrow evening?**_ _I'll try, Flash. I'll leave a note if I can't. Thanks for listening – again._ _**Any time. Got to dash!**_ _**All my love,**_ _**Flash.**_ _Bien à vous,  
Luc._

* * *

Unfortunately for Draco, his promise to apologise to Harry was harder to keep than he realised. Not because he couldn't actually do it, but because for once, Harry was hardly ever around. The last week of school was always hectic. The students were either finished with their exams, or they were in the process of last minute cramming. Severus was always one for making them work until the very last day, so Draco's routine varied little. He did help Severus by testing some of the first and second year potions, but everyone was thoroughly busy.

The examiners from the Wizarding Examinations Authority were busily sticking their noses into almost every aspect of the school, despite the fact they were only there to test the OWL and NEWT students. Draco had the unfortunate experience of having to spend nearly an entire afternoon with old Griselda Marchbanks. The ancient witch no longer presided over the exams as the Authority had replaced Griselda the year before Draco sat his own NEWTs, but he remembered her from his OWL exams. Unfortunately, she was quite senile, and they were powerless to stop her from attending the exams that she had administered for over one hundred years. A member of staff was assigned to keep her away from the real exams so that no student was put in the embarrassing position of having to do an exam twice.

Unfortunately, this required Draco to 'sit' for his Charms OWL all over again. As luck would have it, one of them had forgotten his dismal performance in that exam, and he was pleased to note that he had now achieved an 'Outstanding' on the exam. Too bad it was eight years too late. Her senility was thoroughly apparent when a half hour later she made him sit for his Transfiguration NEWT. Unfortunately, he seldom put his Transfiguration skills into practice (at least on living creatures) and he found his orrery was still sprouting fur and one paw after the changeover. Fortunately, the rat was in one piece after he transfigured it back, but the frown on the old witch's face made him grateful that his "Acceptable" NEWT for Transfiguration was not likely to be challenged in the future.

He did spot Harry very briefly at lunch on Tuesday, but noticed that it was now his turn to deal with the doddering old examiner, and rather than rattle off a quick apology, he offered a sympathetic glance in Harry's direction. Harry rolled his eyes at Draco and nodded politely in old Mrs Marchbanks' direction as he led her to the staffroom.

The rest of his time was spent preparing the current batch of Wolfsbane. The full moon was on the upcoming Saturday night, and Draco wanted to make sure his current batch was working. He was hoping for a successful moon (as Remus liked to call them) as he had a few thoughts on how he could add some sort of preservative to the potion. If that were successful, then it was a step in the right direction. It would mean that Draco would not have to make the potion every month, as it may be able to sit for up to another month.

That was all still in the planning stage, of course, but after reading through the potion the was going to cure his knee (if he could get his hands on the Pegasus Wingtips, but he wasn't going to think about that now) he came up with a few things he had previously not considered. Even if he couldn't cure his own curse, that potion that came from Slytherin's book might just have some use after all.

It was very late on Wednesday evening by the time he got around to sitting down quietly to chat with Flash.

_This always happens, Flash. I make firm plans, then life does everything it can to make me break them. _ _**I know. I have been looking forward to talking to you. It has been pretty busy where I am, but I finish in a few days, so very soon I'll have absolutely nothing to do.**_ _You'll find something soon, don't worry._ _**I'm not worried about it. Not any more. I have an exit interview on Friday, then I'll be heading off to stay with friends until I can sort out things. I'm down to one of my last bottles of wine (no point in packing it up if I can help it), and I am looking forward to hearing how you have apologised to Mr Burning Hatred.**_ _Er, well that's not a terribly long story, Flash. The answer is that I haven't – but before you argue – I haven't had a chance to talk to him. I think I've said Hello twice, and spotted him across the room once this week, so it hasn't really been a good time._ _**So I'm just going to have to beat you round the head until you apologise, is that it?**_ _Ah, so you do like a little bit of rough play, Flash?_ _**If the conditions are right, I don't think I would say no. Are you offering, Luc?**_

Draco realised that he had just made a suggestive comment to Flash. Their flirting had always been a lot of fun, but after Flash's admission that he loved him, it seemed a little awkward. He really didn't want to lead Flash into thinking he was offering him something, when he wasn't sure himself. His pause was long enough for Flash to comment on it.

_**Shit, I've made this awkward, haven't I? For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I can't take back what I said to you on Friday, and I really don't want to because it's true. I love you, Luc. Don't stop being yourself, because that is what I truly find so wonderful. Please don't think any less of me.**_ _I don't think any less, but I shouldn't have said that. I really don't want to lead you into any false representations of me, Flash. I don't want us to beat each other up over this, but I know that I don't want to lose your friendship. I don't blame you for anything. _

Draco had spent too much time in his life blaming others for his own shortcomings. His father, Harry, the Death Eaters, Jean-Paul, Antonio; the list was very long. Flash had helped him learn to listen and to accept the fact that it was one of his own shortcomings. He would put off apologising to Harry as long as possible, but he knew that Flash was definitely not to blame for his confession. The awkwardness was entirely his own fault. He couldn't feel the same for Flash. Not yet, anyway.

_**You know, there is one way we can sort out this awkwardness, Luc... We could... meet.**_ _We could. Although I'm going to need a little time, Flash._ _**I'm not pressuring you at all, but I think if I explained myself to you in person, things might be less awkward. **_ _Part of me is still unsure, Flash, but the inquisitive little devil on my shoulder is telling me that it is a good idea. But I still need a few more weeks. Can we give it that long? It's just..._ _**You don't have to explain, Luc. I'm sorry for being pushy. I just can't see any other way to get around the stupid awkwardness I've built between us. How does Mid July sound? Will that give you enough time? It's a few weeks away, and I can't help but think it's a perfect time for us to meet. **_ _Mid July is good._ _**I could meet you in London, or wherever else you like.**_

Draco gave it serious consideration. Was he really ready to meet Flash? Surely he was. Until a week ago he was keen to meet up with the other wizard, yet now he was reluctant. That date was over a month away. Was he really so reluctant?

_That date sounds fine, Flash. I admit things seem a little awkward, but the thought of not talking to you again is something I don't want to contemplate._ _**So it's a date? Thank you, Luc. I promise that I just want to meet you in person. Nothing more. **_ _I'm sorry for making you feel so bad, Flash._ _**No, I'm sorry. Listen to us. Any more apologies and we'll be pathetic! But I'm afraid I'm not the one you should be apologising to.**_ _Point taken. I plan on having good news for you by the end of the week on that front. I have no idea what the rest of this week will be like, but I can guarantee that I will be able to talk on Sunday. How about Sunday morning?_ _**Sunday I can still do, but I'll be hanging around tomorrow night in case you feel like talking. This might sound crazy, but I find I sleep better on those nights we talk. Perhaps I'm just imagining it, but I really think I do. **_ _That's interesting to hear. Apart from remembering my dreams, I usually sleep quite soundly anyway, Flash, so I have no basis for comparison. I guess if I tell you to have sweet dreams tonight, you will._ _**Most definitely. Thanks Luc. Thank you for still being here. I'll keep an eye out for you tomorrow. **_ _Let's just take it one chat at a time for now, so I'm not going to guarantee anything before Sunday. I'd hate to make any promises that I can't keep... I'd hate to stand you up again for a cauldron._ _**You always manage to make me smile, Luc. I love that about you. I mean, shite, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to... well, I mean... bollocks... yes, one chat at a time, then. I'll see you on Sunday.**_ _I'm flattered, honestly, Flash. And yes, I'll see you Sunday. _ _**Okay, take care Luc... bye.**_ _Au Revoir._

Harry smiled as he closed the journal. Despite his own feelings getting away and saying something stupid (like I love you), he was going to meet Luc. After so many months of wondering, they had agreed on a date to meet. He would have preferred to do it a little sooner, but he didn't want to pressure Luc into something he wasn't ready for. He could understand that perfectly.

But he was thoroughly certain about one thing. He _did_ sleep better after talking to Luc. His mind drifted off to sleep as he unconsciously began his pre sleep ritual of clearing his mind and meditating. Thursday would be his last day of classes, and he wanted to make sure he went out with a bang. His exit interview was with the Headmaster on Friday, and he wanted to make sure that he expressed his desire to stay at Hogwarts. It seemed ironic that he was due to leave the place just when he had made peace with Draco. As he fell asleep he regretted the fact it was unlikely he would now have an opportunity to get to know him a little better.

* * *

Draco was still sitting at his desk long after their conversation had finished. He was still so very, very confused. Flash wanted to meet him, but he knew it was for reasons very different to his own. He didn't think he could offer Flash what he wanted. He didn't love Flash in that way. For that matter, he really didn't know who he loved. It was that thought that was keeping him from sleep.

_Who do I love? I was ready to love Jean-Paul. _It was then that he knew he wouldn't go back to Marrakesh. Jean-Paul was sex personified, but Draco wanted more – needed more. He remembered his dream from earlier in the week. He was reluctant to admit that the mystery face of Flash was replacing Harry in his erotic dream. _Could I really be thinking such thoughts about a wizard I've never met? _What was feeding his reluctance to meet Flash?

It suddenly struck him. He was afraid. Afraid that it would happen all over again. Every relationship had ended in some form of misery. Why would this be any different? Could he reassess his feelings after meeting the other wizard? Nothing was impossible in the wizarding world. Nothing at all.

Petite Amie purred soothingly as he unconsciously stroked her fur; it was a very long time before he fell asleep.

* * *

**June 13, Friday**

The last day of class was always filled with mixed emotions. For the students, the relief that another year was over usually accompanied the excitement of heading home. For the seventh years, this day was usually one spent in extreme nostalgia. As everyone dined in the hall for breakfast, Harry felt he could relate most to their current situation. He remembered his own first leave-taking of Hogwarts, but this one was going to be all the more painful. He really wanted to stay, and he was planning on telling Dumbledore right after breakfast.

Everyone on staff seemed quite exhausted, but that was usually the case at this time of year. Hours of extra effort in having to mark the exams led to extra pressure on them as well. The students would be heading home on the Saturday morning train. The moment the Express was out of sight, the house elves would begin the transformation of the Great Hall for an evening of festivity. Despite their fatigue, the staff members were relieved that the school year was over, but they generally revelled in the chance to let their hair down before they began their annual holiday.

Harry could only grin when he read the bottom of the formal invitation. 'Dress – Muggle party wear' was the only indication that there would be some sort of 'theme' to this year's party, and Harry had no trouble coming up with something to wear. Unfortunately, it was a full moon, so Remus would not be able to join in the festivities, which disappointed both of them.

Harry was deep in thought as he headed up the spiral staircase later that morning to visit Dumbledore. During his last week, he had considered a number of new job options, but none seemed terribly appealing. The Muggle Studies snub still stung, but deep down, he knew Remus was right. He would not enjoy the job. He was going to give himself the summer before making any firm plans. There was Ron and Hermione's wedding to keep him distracted over the next couple of weeks. _There's a meeting with Luc that you certainly don't want to miss, _but he put thoughts of Luc aside for a moment as he had a few ideas that he wanted to put forward to the headmaster.

He was surprised to find Remus in Dumbledore's office when he alighted at the top of the spiral staircase. The pair seemed deep in thought as they shared morning tea. Harry noted the plate of pastries, and wondered if everyone at Hogwarts had become enamoured with Emmaline's fine food temptations. They seemed to be so deep in discussion that they didn't even notice Harry's presence. Remus was startled and jumped back as Harry tapped him on the shoulder. Even Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Are you trying to scare a few more years off me, Harry?" Remus said in jest. "Still, it's no wonder you excelled in Stealth and Tracking in your Auror exams."

Harry shrugged off the compliment. Of course he had excelled in nearly all aspects of his Auror training – he had some of the best teachers in the wizarding world guiding him. "Well it's a good thing, Remus, that you were the one who taught me everything I know about stealth, isn't it?" It was true. "I mean Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs really got me off to a good start in that respect." Remus smiled knowingly, and the headmaster nodded in agreement.

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore nodded as he indicated for Harry to sit down. A steaming cup of tea hovered over from the sideboard and landed smoothly in front of Harry. "I find it bodes well for my new defence assistant to have a solid background in such areas."

Harry cocked his ear as he looked at the headmaster, "Excuse me, sir? Did I just hear you correctly?"

"Yes, you did, Harry. I only want the best on staff here at Hogwarts – you yourself know what happens when we have teachers who don't live up to our expectations. I know your tenure with Quidditch ends today, but I've been talking to Remus, and I'd like to offer you—"

Harry interrupted. "Remus, you're not resigning, are you?" His heart thumped heavily in his chest and a horrible thought ran though his head as he looked over at Remus. He was looking a little peaky, but the full moon was on Saturday night.

"Relax, Harry, I think you should hear him out before jumping to any conclusions," the irrepressible grin on Remus' face confounded Harry, but the headmaster continued.

"As Remus has constantly pointed out these past couple of months, you have the makings of a truly talented teacher, Harry. Your students love you; the other staff members have commented on how well you conduct classes and how insightful you are when talking about the students. Your record in training at the Auror division was also exemplary. There are some well trained young Aurors out there, thanks to you."

Harry nodded, unsure of exactly what they wanted. Were all his dreams suddenly about to be answered? "What is it you want, sir?"

"The Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum needs revising, Harry. You are proof that extended training in this area can help in so many ways. Remus has asked me if he could take you on as an assistant, with a view to expanding the course."

"Eventually, I'd like you to take over from me, Harry." Remus confirmed the offer. Harry was speechless. This was everything he wanted, and possibly more. A chance to do exactly what he wanted.

"Of course," he replied before thinking. "But you're not thinking of retiring, are you Remus? Your health, if anything seems to be improving—"

"Relax, Harry. I've still got quite a few years in me yet. But I've seen how much you enjoy this. It's not very often that someone comes along who is a born teacher. I suspected as much when I heard what you did with the DA when you were only fifteen."

"I'm afraid, Harry, that we can't let good teaching talent like that go to waste." The headmaster confirmed Remus' words.

"I... I still don't really know what to say, but I'll definitely do it." He seemed as eager and giddy as he did the first time he entered the wizarding world. "So... when do I start? What do I need to do? Will I be teaching at first, or just helping you, Remus? You know, I had a few ideas about incorporating flying..." The older wizards broke out in mirthful laughter at Harry's eager ramblings. He flushed in embarrassment, running his hands through his hair in the nervous anticipation.

"Well, I think we should leave all the boring details until later in the summer," the headmaster offered as he handed over an official parchment with the job offer. "I think, for now, you should look over the offer and sign when you are ready. I'd hate for you to have any issues with remuneration..."

"With all respect, sir, I'd do this for free." He took the parchment to look over as he packed. It was then that he realised he didn't have to pack and leave the castle. "Er, actually, does this mean that I keep my quarters? I really didn't have any permanent accommodation organised..."

"Of course, Harry, that suite of rooms is yours for as long as you choose to call the castle your home. But if you wish to live in Hogsmeade..." the headmaster was quickly interrupted.

"Oh no, sir. Those rooms will be perfect! Thank you!"

Harry felt happier than he had for months. There was a definite levity in his step as he made his way back to his quarters – now his home. He didn't have to leave – he was already where he belonged. He had not realised the weight that was lifted from his shoulders as he had a definite path in life.

As Harry entered the room, he glanced around, breathing in deeply of his new home. _I'm going to relax and enjoy myself today,_ he thought with determination. He ordered some tea and pastries from Dobby and relished the flaky texture and fresh flavour of them as he let himself settle into the realisation that he didn't have to leave Hogwarts. He looked at the half packed boxes, and took great pleasure in waving his wand and watching the entire lot leap merrily back into the drawers and onto the shelves.

Harry was at Hogwarts to stay. Things were starting to look up.

* * *

He avoided the other staff for the rest of the day, desperately resisting the temptation to cast a Sonorous and blurt it out to the whole world. He was a bundle of nervous energy during the entire leaving feast, but he held his tongue. He chose to meditate instead, keeping his power and his excitement under control. It was common for the headmaster to announce new teaching appointments (when known) at the end of year party. Harry was sworn to secrecy until then.

The collected excitement from the student body was enough to animate everyone around him. Well, everyone except for Draco. Harry noticed the discomfort on the apprentice's face, but he never managed to speak with him. Every time he tried, someone always interrupted. He made a note to talk to Draco before Saturday's party. He wanted to know if Ron had contacted him about visiting the Manor. He knew Ron really should let him have access to the potions lab, and he wanted to make sure that he did the right thing.

Of course, all his good intentions were nearly lost when he spoke to Hermione over the Floo later that evening.

"Harry?" she asked curiously, "You look like the cat that licked the cream. What's happened? Please tell me you aren't going to do something dreadful to Ron when you take him out for that stupid stag night -"

Harry knew he had to be careful around Hermione – it was so hard to keep secrets from her. Obviously his good mood was evident on his face. "Oh that? No, I don't think I'll be planning anything that you won't approve of, Hermione. I just thought you should know I won't be coming down to London on Sunday – I still have a few loose ends to finish up here."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You seem awfully excited for someone who's just got _a few loose ends_ to finish up. I still don't trust that you won't do something horrible to Ron before the wedding. I hear it's traditional."

"I think you should be more worried about what Fred and George might have planned for him, Hermione. I promise that he will be in one piece, and completely hex free the morning of the wedding. I do suggest you have a few Sobrietus potions on hand, though. I know what those brothers of his are like when they've had a few drinks."

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "Speaking of brothers, your chipper mood wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the fact that Charlie is on his way to Hogwarts tomorrow, does it?"

Harry's face registered even more surprise. "Charlie's coming here? Whatever for?" He couldn't help the completely selfish and vain thought that popped into his head that Charlie was coming to visit him. _Don't be ridiculous Harry..._

"Oh, shit." She cursed mildly, "I probably shouldn't have said anything. Ron will kill me, if Charlie doesn't first. Damn!" Hermione berated herself.

"Hermione, why is Charlie coming to Hogwarts?" he asked suspiciously. _Why... Ah... I wonder... _He had an inkling, but didn't voice it.

"I... I guess you'll find out tomorrow, won't you?" she recovered her decorum and refused to reveal any more details. If Charlie was going to be at Hogwarts for the staff party, it could mean only one thing.

The thought of Charlie working at Hogwarts was one that intrigued Harry for the remainder of the evening – causing all thoughts of helping Draco to flee rather quickly. Of course, he had no reason to keep thinking about the man, but certain thoughts about him would just not leave his head. _I am not thinking about Charlie like that, I'm not! He's probably just coming here to do something in Hogsmeade and is going to pop his head in to say hello. Stop thinking too much, Harry. Pull yourself together. You're in love with Luc. You don't need Charlie to complicate things._

* * *

**June 14, Saturday**

Draco found his concentration wavering for most of the morning. He had buried himself in brewing the last of Remus' Wolfsbane for this month, which wasn't difficult for him, but it did require firm concentration. With so much distraction, Draco needed to get out of the castle and take a break; the craving for a cigarette was eating at his bones. A trip to the lake seemed like an excellent idea. Perhaps he could motivate his thoughts into focusing for the afternoon.

A perfectly clear sky and a light breeze greeted him on his way down to the lake. _Perfect flying conditions,_ he thought. Despite his enforced grounding due to his knee, Draco still unconsciously thought about things like the weather and flying conditions. It would be just perfect for a quick spin up into the clouds, around the Highlands and back in along the lake. He sighed wearily as he took a drag on the cigarette. Even though it was never going to happen, he could still feel the wind in his face and the pitch and yaw as he pushed his broom to its limits.

Trying to get away from such pointless dreaming, he turned his thoughts to other things, and remembered a similar day in France and a picnic under the trees. He would have enjoyed a picnic right now. Unfortunately, that brought about thoughts that he had nobody to share a picnic basket with. It seemed no matter where his mind wandered today, it ended up at rather maudlin and depressing thoughts. He really didn't want to add the fact that he was alone to the list of things that were building up inside his head. _But Flash is there. You don't have to be alone, Draco. I'm sure he'd want to come on a picnic if you asked. _

He quickly headed back into the castle before he lost his concentration again. He had gathered enough concentration to finish the Wolfsbane, and was happy that his other cauldrons were all bubbling away nicely. Severus' head appeared in the fire not long after this, asking Draco if he could pick up a few things from the apothecary.

"But Severus, Jigger doesn't stock that. I'll have to go to Glasgow," he replied.

Severus smirked, "And that will be a problem for you?"

Draco laughed, "No, not really. I need a break."

"Well there's always tonight's party. I'm sure you'll thoroughly enjoy yourself. You have been working too hard." he replied.

"Don't think you're getting out of Dumbledore's party tonight, Severus. I haven't forgotten the fact you really hate these things. The headmaster paid me a little visit the other day. He was worried you might _forget_ to attend." Draco smirked back. "Actually, I'm curious. He mentioned that if you didn't attend, he'd be forced to remind you of a particular agreement you have... something about a dare and a promise and a Hawaiian shirt..." The look on Severus' face was well worth it, but he would have loved to have seen what the headmaster would have done if Severus didn't attend.

"Well then, I'll be sure to see you there." He could not have sounded more excited if he tried.

With the students all but gone, the castle seemed quiet and peaceful. He spotted the last carriages as they were making their way down to Hogsmeade. Draco was looking forward to some of that peace and quiet over the summer. With Harry gone too, it would be hopefully quiet enough for him to knuckle down and do some more serious tests on his research. As he made his way out of the castle he realised it had been a while since his last party. Arianna's birthday ball, to be exact. He admitted that he was actually looking forward to it, even if he wasn't socialising with his own friends. It was still a chance to relax. _And to apologise to Harry. He's finished and no doubt leaving, so if you don't apologise today, then you won't get another opportunity._

It was that thought which had him thoroughly distracted as he turned the corner. He didn't notice the student rushing from the opposite direction and they bumped heavily before falling to the floor. His cane clattered across the stone steps. Draco didn't question the hand that offered to help him up, but he wasn't expecting to be thrown bodily against the back wall once he was on his feet.

Draco only had a moment to notice the predatory smirk on Damien Michaels' face before the boy's very eager body was pressed firmly against his and a very warm and eager tongue found its way into his mouth. An insistent pair of hands began to pull at the buttons on his vest and he felt an unmistakeable hardness pressed into his thigh.

His brain automatically responded to the intrusion, returning the kiss momentarily, but he quickly pushed the boy away with all his strength.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Michaels?" he asked as he quickly tried to reassemble his robes. "Are you barking mad? Didn't you understand what I said the other day? I told you I wasn't interested..."

"Oh but you are, Malfoy. I can tell you're just begging for it." Draco was still pinned to the wall by the slightly taller and heavier student. He tried to push Michaels away, but his sense of balance was off, and it only it seemed like he was grinding against the student. "See," Michaels murmured as he pushed his body against Draco's.

He attempted to force his mouth onto Draco's again, but he pulled back and punched Damien hard in the mouth with his free hand. Michaels staggered back as Draco forced him away. He wasn't expecting that, but laughed as he wiped away the blood with the back of his hand.

"Are you _still_ denying you're bent, Draco? I have it on good authority that this fiancée of yours," Damien tapped the side of his nose knowingly, "well, I promise I won't tell anyone she's only faking it. Is she a dyke?" Damien tried to approach Draco again, but found a wand directed at his throat.

Damien laughed, "C'mon, you _know_ you want me. What's stopping you from taking what you know you want? I'm not a student any more, Draco. Not officially. You can't give me detention or expel me now, can you?" Damien was keeping just out of Draco's reach, but he was eyeing him off lecherously. Draco wondered just how he could end up in a situation like this.

"I've never denied my preferences, Damien..." Draco began, but was cut off.

"...So you _are_ bent. I thought as much. Well, then that will make things a lot easier. So what about this fiancée of yours – do you give it to her up the arse just like..."

"Despite what you might think, my private life is none of your concern. I didn't just turn you down the other day because you were a student, Damien. I am not interested in anyone at the moment. I know when I was your age there wasn't much else in life, but believe it or not, the world doesn't revolve around sex." _You are so good at bullshit when you need to be, Draco, _he thought.

"I've been watching you, Malfoy. I know that you're lying. There is nobody else. I know you're just begging for it. There's nothing stopping you," he whispered in Draco's ear.

"For the last time, I said no!"

"But you're hard - for me." Damien rubbed his hand up and down the bulge in Draco's jeans, and Draco tried hard not to buck into the touch. It had been so long since Jean-Paul had last touched him, and it was so fucking hard not to just give in to it. Luckily, he was in control of his senses, and stopped.

"Damien, I'm male, I'm hard half my life. I've learned that when you make decisions with a hard cock, they usually turn out to be the wrong ones. I'm exercising my choice, and it's still no. Now, haven't you got a train to catch?"

Michaels' sneer turned nasty. "If you think you can spend a whole year of school flirting with me and fucking me then leaving me to fall in love with you all those years ago... Well, I thought perhaps that you might have thought more of me than that."

Draco really hadn't expected to explain himself. "What can I say? I was a prick – we all make mistakes in the past." Which was thoroughly true.

"You never even owled me after you left..."

"There was a bloody _war_ on! Besides, everyone on the team did it. You know the code." Draco didn't feel like dredging up old and forgotten stupidity, but it seemed that Michaels needed it spelled out. "Do you think _I_ had a choice when I joined the Quidditch team?" Admittedly, Draco had thoroughly enjoyed his indoctrination into the Slytherin Quidditch senior team, even though he had been playing for a couple of years by that time. "It's a Slytherin tradition. Why do you think we've only ever allowed boys on the team? What we did was just a part of being on the team. Nothing more than that."

Michaels head dropped and he mumbled petulantly. "So it meant nothing to you?"

Draco sighed. When would this idiot get it through his head? He shook his head vigorously. "It was so long ago, Damien. It might have meant something, at the time, but I'm fairly certain it didn't. Merlin, I've grown up since then. You've changed too – we've both changed. This really is awkward now, and I'm definitely not interested." Could he explain himself any more plainly?

Michaels turned around and walked a few steps away from Draco. Draco dusted down his jeans and his shirt, but his wand was back at Michaels' throat when he attempted one more pass.

"I'll give you points for persistence, Damien, but how many times do I have to say it? Trust me; I'm doing you a favour. You might not think so now, but I am. I'm sure there are dozens of guys in London tonight who would be more than willing to let you toy with their affections. Now why don't you just turn around and forget that you ever knew Draco Malfoy."

Draco could see the burning hatred in Damien's eye as he realised that he wasn't going to get his own way. The sneer turned into a wicked laugh. "You're as full of yourself as Potter, Malfoy. He thought he was too good for me, too. You'll come crawling back to me one day, mark my words." Draco saw the glint of madness in the boy's eye, and for a moment realised he might have just underestimated him. "You should have just agreed, Malfoy. It would have made things much easier."

"Really?" Draco retorted. The kid was delusional, but he couldn't help but feel a small ounce of pity for him.

"Yes, really. You haven't heard the last of me. I'll be back. I know certain people who are keen to... renew acquaintances. You keep your nose clean, Malfoy. We're watching you." With a flourish of robes, Damien Michaels stormed away. Draco just stared after his retreating form as he came to terms with what he just heard. But he wasn't expecting to see Michaels stopped in his tracks by another wizard.

"And you, Mr Michaels," Harry Potter loomed from out of nowhere, stopping him near the statue of Derwent the Dedicated. "I think you should pass a message on to these 'friends' of yours – if you happen to see them of course."

Both Damien and Draco's eyes widened, but for very different reasons. Harry continued. "Tell them that they are outnumbered and outclassed. They might have had a couple of nights of fun, but we are onto them. Do you think you can give them that message, Damien?"

Draco had not seen Harry radiate such confident power in a long while. This was the powerful wizard that had taken on Voldemort and defeated him. There was no sign of the casual and laid back manner in his words at all. He was so mesmerised by that power that he took a few moments to realise that Harry must have overheard that embarrassing exchange with the boy.

Damien sneered at Harry. "I'm not afraid of you, Potter, and neither are my friends. You can't do anything any more. You're all washed up. I hear that even the Aurors kicked you out," he snorted.

Harry raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Is that what they're saying? Really, the Auror corps incompetence is become more laughable every day." His tone became more serious. "Lucky for you I'm so incompetent that Puddlemere United have asked me for a reference in regards to your ability as a Seeker." Harry pulled an envelope from the pocket of his robe.

Now Damien looked genuinely scared. "Yes," Harry continued, "It seems that all that's coming between you and a professional Quidditch contract is my word... and I would hate to have to tell them about your... _friends_..."

The fear on Damien's face was evident. "Are you threatening to ruin my future over this, Potter?" he asked indignantly.

"And you seriously think that hanging around with your new 'friends' is going to help your long term future?" Both Harry and Draco could see the turmoil on Damien's face as he was torn. Harry cocked his head. "I think you need some time to think it over. I suggest you get on the train and have a long hard think about it."

Harry watched as Damien left, ashen faced. He kept an eagle eye on him as he rounded the corner and headed down into the depths of the dungeons. He was genuinely concerned now. He had overheard the boy propositioning Draco, but it was his final words that had made him realise that the boy was after more than just a quick shag. _With Draco? Draco really is gay? What the hell is going on? _Harry turned back to talk to Draco, but he was gone.

Harry knew that he wasn't going to be getting any straight answers out of Draco in a hurry, but planned on asking him quite a few things at the party that evening.

* * *

Harry just smirked, shaking his head about a great many things. A month ago he would not have imagined that he could have been the least bit concerned about Draco. But now he had a niggling thought in the back of his mind. _Why are these Neo Death Eaters so interested in Draco? First they take his money, now they start popping out of the woodwork to confront him. _As he headed out to say goodbye to the rest of the students, he wondered just why he seemed so concerned about Draco at all. He admitted he was enjoying their tentative friendship, and he knew it was something he could look forward to now that he was staying at Hogwarts.

Was Draco only being nice because he knew that Harry was leaving soon? He didn't know how Draco would react to the news he would be staying, but he would be looking for Draco's reaction when Dumbledore told everyone. He admitted to himself that he really would like to know more about Draco, which was a thought he desperately tried to shake out of his head. He didn't need any more confusion at this moment.

Naturally, the discovery that Draco really was gay was one that continued to play on Harry's mind. _Why had I not guessed it before? It seems so obvious, but why is he pretending to be engaged? Ha! To think that Luc wanted me to seduce him! _Luc would be so intrigued to learn that when Harry told him.

With no specific plans (for once) Harry started the dreadfully onerous task of turning his rooms into a home. Harry was still shaking his head in disbelief that he really was going to stay. He had so many plans and ideas jumping around in his head, he had to stop mid afternoon and try to relax. He was in too much of a frivolous mood to meditate, but he poured a generous glass of brandy. His wine collection had dwindled in anticipation of having to move, so the brandy was all that he had left.

He made plans to head into London and pick up some more. With a few weeks holiday up his sleeve, he toyed with the idea of visiting one of his favourite wineries. The thought of heading back over to France also crossed his mind. _I wonder if Luc would like to come with me?_

His rooms were spotless and he was busy making lists of new acquisitions as the afternoon slowly faded into evening. Now that he was staying, he could concentrate on acquiring those wonderful possessions that would make this place seem more like a home. Apart from his armchair, none of his furniture looked like it belonged in a castle, and he toyed with the idea of replacing the lot. He wasn't really attached to any of it. None of it had any history. It was high time he started to think about that.

As the afternoon wore on, he had made a firm decision and was busy flicking through a number of wizarding magazines as he thought about how he wanted to redecorate. His mood was so good, he barely realised that it was nearly time to head to the staff party.

Harry was insanely relaxed. There was so much pent-up stress he had recently released that he was feeling on top of the world. He loved Luc, and he knew it, and now he was to stay at Hogwarts. Life couldn't get any better. As he showered and then dressed for the party, he felt a confidence in himself he had not had in the longest time. His power was under control, which was also a big relief. He wasn't really thinking about the bigger picture this evening – the Neo Death Eaters were not even being considered.

He couldn't work out why he was suddenly primping and preening a little more than usual. He hadn't put this much effort into getting dressed up since that last horrid debacle with Oliver. Giving his image the once over in the mirror, he filled a bowl with water and began to shave at his messy stubble.

He was pleased with the results on his face. He sighed at his hair – there was little to be done there, but he did run a hand through it again to keep it in some semblance of order. Despite having some length, it still had a mind of its own. His best jeans and a short sleeved plum shirt were helping him to get into the party mood. A wide belt finished off the ensemble, and as he looked in the mirror, he thought something was missing. He couldn't quite work out what it was, but it suddenly struck him why he was taking time to look after his appearance. _No, it has nothing to do with the fact Charlie will be here. Don't be stupid, Harry. You're just getting into practice for when you finally meet Luc._

He realised what was missing, and with a snap of his fingers, a small carved box hovered over from the side table. Harry rarely wore any jewellery, but there was one necklet that he thought would finish off the look. He pulled the bone carved Manaia from the bottom of the box, and carefully placed the leather thong around his neck. He felt a familiar sense of comfort return as Sirius' old pendant nestled in the hairs below the hollow of his throat.

Harry had seen dozens of photos of Sirius wearing the carved pendant. He was quite thrilled to find it one day as he rummaged around Grimmauld Place after Sirius died, and he wore it for nearly all of his sixth and seventh years of school. Upon investigation, he discovered the significance of the carving and for a while he believed it was a sign that Sirius might come back. After all, the Manaia is a messenger between the earthly world of mortals and the domain of spirits. He gave up wearing it after the war when he realised that Sirius was gone and he felt he no longer needed a talisman of great spiritual energy that guarded against evil.

Somehow, he felt right in putting it on again now. It was not that he needed to feel closer to Sirius, but with things starting to settle into place, Harry was feeling a better sense of who he was and what he wanted out of life. Thoughts of Sirius brought him back to thoughts of Remus, who would not be joining them for the party due to the unfortunate timing of the full moon.

Looking at the clock, and with one final glance at his clothes before he walked out the door, he had just enough time to check in on Remus before sunset.

* * *

Draco was still fuming from the embarrassing confrontation with Damien Michaels. Could the boy really have thrown his lot in with the Neo Death Eaters? He could not help but think that he might have been able to prevent that if he had just given Damien what he asked for. Was it really that much? Once upon a time Draco would not have needed to be asked twice if he wanted to fuck a good looking young man, but in recent months, the desire to be promiscuous had waned and he was searching for something more.

He wondered if he was ever going to find it. His mind was back to wandering as he pounded the pavement in Glasgow's High Street. Harry was more than just a witness to that potentially embarrassing situation, which only made things worse. He never got around to thanking Harry, and compounded with the fact he should be apologising to him, Draco was feeling somewhat frustrated.

He paused at the reflection on something shiny in the store window, and was drawn toward it. An hour later he walked out of the Muggle jeans store with a refreshed perspective and some dashingly new clothing. Retail therapy always did wonders and he was now the proud owner of yet another dragon. The silver dragon belt buckle was the shiny item that had drawn him into the jeans store, and he purchased it without a second thought. Of course, once he was there, the black denim jeans and simple white collared shirt seemed a perfect accompaniment to the buckle. The young sales girl (pierced in places that made Draco's eyes water) suggested that he wear a white singlet under the ensemble, and announced that he really was so strikingly handsome, he didn't need dressing up. Despite her multiple piercings, Draco was inclined to agree with her.

If he were truly honest, anything was better than his ghastly apprentice robes. He did like to wear well-tailored wizardwear, but the cut and colour of the apprentice robes were a complete disaster. The protective spells woven into the fabric made them harsh and scratchy. The sheer amount of magic imbued into the garments meant that he had to individually do up each of the dozens of tiny buttons, which made for a frustrating time every morning. Whoever designed them was a masochist, or a squib that decided that it would be a character building exercise for an apprentice to get dressed without the aid of magic. A house elf's pillowslip would be exceedingly more comfortable.

He felt good, and it had been a wonderful afternoon of retail therapy where he allowed himself to momentarily forget all the unpleasantness that had passed that morning. He had not forgotten about Harry, but he knew he would deal with him that evening. He had, after all, promised Flash he would do it. Besides, if Harry was leaving, his time had run out and he needed to apologise.

As he returned to the castle, he had just enough time to get ready for the party before heading over to Remus' rooms with one final dose of Wolfsbane. He wanted to check in and make sure that Remus was comfortable for yet another transformation.

Despite what people thought, Draco didn't spend hours in front of his mirror. His mirror usually alerted him to any problems in his appearance, but the approving whistle that came from the mirror told him he looked quite good. He wasn't out to impress anyone tonight, but he did wear his favourite cologne and made sure that he cast a charm to keep his Muggle clothes wrinkle free.

His hair was annoying him, and he regretted not stopping in at the hairdresser before he returned. The fringe was getting so long, he was constantly flicking it out of his eyes. At the last minute, he resorted to slicking it back with a large dose of his own hair potion – something he had not done in many years. It solved the problem and looked quite different, but he was now in a hurry and quickly poured that last dose of Wolfsbane before heading over to Remus'.

* * *

Harry could not help his jovial mood as he checked in on Remus. "I wish you could be there tonight, Remus."

Remus was sitting quietly in his armchair, awaiting the turning of the moon. Harry glanced over to the far wall and the slightly ajar door leading to the special room Remus used for his transformations. Remus nodded as he carefully watched his young friend.

"I'll be fine, Harry. I've been to enough of these parties, I was quite glad to have a legitimate excuse for missing tonight's. Just remember to stay away from Professor Sprout... and don't let her drink the green cocktails."

Harry raised an eyebrow in question, but wasn't game to ask any more about it. No doubt he would find out if anyone did happen to slip a green cocktail her way.

Remus didn't fail to notice Sirius' old pendant around Harry's neck. He smiled at the irony of the situation. He had bought the pendant for Sirius – well, he had bought it for his penpal – and had given it to him just when he realised that his soul mate was Sirius. Sirius had barely taken it off between then and the day he was sent to Azkaban.

Harry saw him looking at it and he blushed as he grabbed it. "I... I felt like I should wear it again, you know. I just had a sudden urge to put it on today. I wonder where he got it from?" Harry seemed thoughtful, but Remus shook his head.

"It was very special to Sirius. He apparently fought like a banshee when they took it off him in Azkaban. His soul mate gave it to him..F." Remus faltered and put out a hand to touch it reverently. He closed his eyes for a moment and he swallowed visibly. He knew it was the pull of the moon making him more emotional, but he didn't need to lose it in front of Harry. If anything, he needed to be fully understanding and supportive for Harry in the future.

Harry blinked at Remus' touch of the pendant. He was surprised at the mournful look on Remus' face and things suddenly became abundantly clear. Harry grasped Remus' hand and pulled away. "_You_ were Sirius' soul mate – weren't you? You were more than just lovers?"

Remus nodded and closed his eyes. He wasn't seeing Sirius standing directly before him, but he could almost see him and smell him and...

Curse those bloody journals and Emmaline for bringing back such thoughts. He had no doubt that he would be a maudlin wolf tonight that would curl up and howl his sorrows to the moon.

Remus took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. "You look good, Harry. Almost too good. Sirius would have wanted you to wear that, you know. He'll be glad. So, who are you trying to impress tonight?" The awkward moment was over as Remus offered a quick smile.

"Er, nobody, Remus." Harry swallowed hard. Remus was acting very strangely, and he couldn't work out why. The fact he seemed to be wavering was confusing. He was giving Harry such strange signals, but Harry tried to bury that stupid feeling that rose whenever Remus showed him any ounce of interest.

"I know you better than that, Harry. You seem to be much happier. Who's caught your eye? Surely it's not that new Care of Magical Creatures teacher," he smiled wryly. He wanted to suggest Draco was the target, but he didn't know if Harry was really ready to hear that just yet.

"Oh, you know that Charlie is coming on staff?" Harry was surprised.

Remus nodded. "I don't blame you for trying to look your best for him. You had a thing for him once, didn't you?"

Harry blushed and looked away. "Was I that obvious as a kid?" Remus just smiled, but Harry backed down. "I'm not really trying to impress anyone – at least, not anyone who's here. It's just..." Harry took a deep breath before continuing. "I... well, I sort of told Luc..."

Remus nodded in understanding, "You mentioned that you love him. Are you absolutely sure about that?"

Harry looked at him, the honesty radiating from his face and emanating from his eyes. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life, Remus."

Remus put a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder. A small smile passed his lips as he realised that Harry was moving closer to realising the truth. "Well then, Flash, you'll just have to use your considerable charm to convince Luc."

Harry was about to reply when Remus looked over his shoulder. "Draco!" Harry turned and saw the blond as his head poked around the edge of the open door. "Come in!" Remus offered as his hand slipped from Harry's shoulder.

Harry could not help but take a second glance at Draco's rather stunning Muggle clothing. It seemed that no matter what Draco chose to wear, he always looked good. It was then that he remembered the earlier conversation he overheard, and he blushed as he realised that Draco was, by his own admission, gay. He quickly tried to look away and pretend he wasn't checking out his new friend, but Draco caught his eye and gave him a curt smile.

"I would have been here a little earlier, Remus, but I was sidetracked. I'm so sorry. I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

"Not at all, Draco. I was just passing the time here with Harry." Remus seemed to be also checking out Draco's rather snug attire, and looking at it appreciatively. Harry felt a moment of jealousy, but berated himself for being ridiculous. Remus was not checking out Draco, and if he were, then Harry had no right to feel jealous. He still found it hard to see them being friendly, but he would just have to overcome it.

He watched as Draco handed the steaming goblet to Remus. He was quite distracted by the sight of Draco's forearm and his hands as they grasped the goblet. _I am not looking at Draco's hands. I'm not._ Draco stumbled and Remus grabbed him, stopping him from spilling it at just the last minute. As he did so, Harry noticed the rather familiar touch Remus gave Draco's hands. He smiled at Draco and didn't let go until Draco retained his balance. Harry just blinked. _Is Remus flirting with Draco? He can't be! _Harry didn't know what to think, but he knew that his own heightened senses were driving him along one track and his mind was thinking about one thought only. Now he was being ridiculous. He had to get out of there before he said – or did – something stupid.

He excused himself and left with a brusque nod. He didn't want to see or think of Remus flirting with Draco. _What's so wrong with it, Harry? You just told him you are in love with Luc. Why does it bother you so much he's eyeing off Draco? Could you deny him that if that is what he wanted? And when did Draco start looking so fucking hot? _

* * *

Harry had distracted Draco when he arrived in Remus' rooms. He had not expected him there, and he was momentarily startled. He needed to apologise, and he couldn't get past that desire. But he couldn't say the words. Something was holding him back. He merely nodded at Harry and headed over to Remus with the Wolfsbane goblet, spouting something to Remus about being late.

He felt so lame. Malfoys were never ones for admitting they were wrong, but surely just a few words could not be that difficult to say? What was he so afraid of? Was it Harry? Or was it the possibility that by apologising he might just lose that pleasantness that was forced upon them. It suddenly struck him that it was quite nice to have Harry around and be friends. It was all he ever wanted all those years ago – to be Harry's friend. Why ruin the status quo now with an apology?

His crazy thoughts were wandering again, and it didn't help that Harry was looking very fetching in his own casual way. Draco noted that he was wearing that wonderfully earthy cologne – the same one worn by Jean-Paul. It didn't help his concentration, and he nearly spilled the goblet. Remus steadied him when he nearly tripped. He was brought back to reality as Remus still clung to him.

He noticed Harry clearing his throat and leaving hastily. Remus seemed a little confused, but Draco was noticing just how well Harry's jeans fitted, and how well groomed the new goatee looked. But Harry was gone before he could actually say another word.

Draco was blushing as Remus still held his hand, but Remus quickly let go, and grabbed the goblet, downing the potion in a few quick gulps.

Remus had not meant to upset Harry. He merely stopped Draco from spilling the potion, and as he stood to help Draco regain his balance, he lingered a little too long and he realised he was holding Draco rather closely. He easily smelled the jealousy on Harry, but he was gone before he could say anything. _Have I just made things worse? Bloody hell. There's a reason why I lock myself away during this time of the month._

But for now he was more concerned for Draco. He could see that he seemed worried about Harry as well; he was worrying his lip incessantly, and blushing profusely about how close he was to Draco.

"Er, sorry." Draco nodded. "Is everything all right? You seem troubled." Remus asked.

Draco waved him away. "I'll be fine, Remus. I just... there's just something I have to do."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Draco? I'm here any time you need someone to talk to." He looked at the clock and realised he should soon lock himself away. "Well almost any time."

Draco smiled. "Thanks for the offer, Remus. I appreciate it. But hopefully the problem will go away before the night is over." With that statement, he left for the party.

The sooner he got that apology out of his system, the sooner he could enjoy the party.

* * *

If the students thought that the leaving feast was a grand event, then none of them suspected just how lavish the end of year staff party could be. The party usually coincided with Albus Dumbledore's birthday, and as usual, he took great delight in turning it into a grand event.

Far from having a quiet and sedate celebration of his advancing years, the headmaster took delight in planning lavish parties that were based around a theme. Many people suggested that he spent far too much time in the planning of the party, and not enough on serious events. Others thought that the old man was slowly sliding into senility as each year the party became more extravagant and excessive. Whatever their private thoughts, nobody ever went away saying they had a miserable time.

It was only gone half eight, but Harry was drunk. He didn't realise it until he stood up to head back over to the bar, but either someone had cast a disorientation charm, or he had possibly had one too many of those nice green drinks. He couldn't discount the swirling colours from the enchanted ceiling – that certainly could have been the cause of his giddiness. Harry would have suggested that the ceiling was psychedelic as the swirls of bright colour thrummed in time with the music, but he was too drunk to even say the word psychedelic, let alone think it.

As he leaned against the table, he squinted and wondered just why he was feeling so miffed and frustrated. He looked over and focussed on someone. Someone very attractive. Someone he'd want to shag. Oh, it was Charlie. He frowned, trying to remember why he was a little angry with Charlie, but couldn't quite place it. At least, he couldn't, until he saw Charlie fawning all over Severus, and it all came back in a rush.

Charlie was here. And he was looking so fucking hot that Harry would have shagged him right there on the floor. The only problem was that Charlie barely even noticed him.

Dumbledore had announced the new teaching appointments, and as expected, Charlie would be starting in the new year as the Care of Magical Creatures' teacher. Harry was thrilled at the thought of Charlie working on staff, but now he remembered why he was drowning his sorrows. How embarrassed was he going to be come morning?

* * *

"Harry!" Charlie had called out as he greeted Harry earlier in the evening. Harry turned. Hearing his name in that sexy rumble of a voice sent a shiver right to his cock, which took definite notice. He really didn't need to feel that right now.

"Charlie, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice not doing a good job of hiding the fact he already knew. Charlie looked well – even better than normal, (if that were at all possible). He looked decidedly delicious in his casual cream shirt and brown tailored trousers. The grin on Charlie's face was full of warmth, and Harry tried to overcome his overt sexual urges as he talked with the former dragon tamer.

"Don't worry, Harry; Hermione told me today that she let slip I was coming this way. So, how have you been?" Charlie seemed to fall into the small talk easily, but Harry noticed that he really was quite distracted. It was good to see the man, even if he made Harry practically swoon like a girl with his mere presence.

He should have known better than to let fleeting thoughts of Charlie get to him. Harry downed another of those delicious little green cocktails as he chatted with Charlie – sticking to safe subjects – like Ron's wedding. As he spoke, he noticed Charlie wasn't giving Harry his full attention. He turned, only to notice Severus skulking around in his corner of the room, as usual, by Draco. As he turned back to talk to Charlie, he noticed the seductive smile on Charlie's face, accompanied by the sad look of longing.

Harry knew that look well. He had worn it for years whenever he was in the room with Charlie. His own teen infatuation with Charlie was still running strong, even after their promises to stay friends, but it hurt to see Charlie working the room for someone else. Someone like that greasy old Potions master. Charlie saw Harry had noticed the direction of his gaze.

"So, Harry. What's it like to work with Severus?" he asked in a low, sexy rumble.

Harry shrugged. He would not let his unbidden jealousy get the better of him. It was Charlie! "Oh, no different to having been his student. At least now he doesn't take points. Luckily, I can ignore him for the most part."

"Oh," Charlie seemed a little disappointed in that answer. "And tell me then," he whispered conspiratorially, "Malfoy seems awfully close to him – are they... I mean..." Harry knew what Charlie was saying. He wasn't the first to think that something was going on between the master and his apprentice.

"No, nothing between them other than years of association."

"So Malfoy isn't bent? He sure looks it." Harry rolled his eyes and wondered why he never suspected it sooner. Until that morning when he overheard Damien Michaels, he could have sworn that Draco was as straight as an arrow.

"Oh, no, he definitely plays for our team, or so I've heard," Harry replied.

"Well, it seems I've got my work cut out for me, doesn't it?" Charlie replied with a saucy grin.

"Well you always know where you can come if he proves to be too much of a challenge," Harry whispered seductively in his ear. As the drunken proposition stumbled out of his mouth, he realised that he spoke the words he was thinking, and quickly tried to retract them.

"Harry," Charlie looked a little flustered and very embarrassed. "I thought we agreed to just stay friends. I... I'm flattered..."

"s'alright, Charlie. 'm just drunk. Shit." Harry berated himself and tried to back away before he could embarrass himself further.

"No, Harry, it's not all right. I'm sorry if I've led you on in any way, but I've finally realised what I want in life. You know as well as anyone who I want to be with. I know he'll come around soon, and I really don't want you to mess that up. Please don't think I'm being an arsehole..."

"No, you're right, Charlie. I'm sorry I said anything. I'll apologise later, when I'm sober." Harry walked away feeling more embarrassed than ever, and sat down at the bar to help forget.

* * *

The new Care of Magical Creatures teacher had been announced, and Draco saw the look of horror on Severus' face when it was found to be one of the Weasley brothers taking over the role. Draco didn't care for the fact it was a Weasley, but he admitted (very reluctantly) that he was quite fit and would provide Draco with plenty to look at over the school breakfast table.

Draco had been keeping a keen eye on Harry, and had watched him follow Weasley eagerly. He also noticed just how much absinthe Harry was drinking, but he was not one to talk. He had lost track of how many glasses of firewhisky he had already downed. He still felt quite in control, but he was still to work up enough courage to approach Harry and apologise. Part of him wanted Harry so sloshed that he wouldn't be in any mood to reject him, but he knew that he was just as likely to forget.

Unfortunately, as he surreptitiously tailed Harry, he overheard the tail end of Harry's embarrassing proposition and Weasley's subsequent rejection. He felt somewhat sorry for Harry, who mirrored the rejection in his big, glassy puppy dog eyes. Of course, after hearing Weasley's intended target, he felt equally as sorry for Severus. Seeing a sexual predator like Weasley, Draco knew that Severus was in for a damn fine time – if he could only just relax a little.

No wonder Severus had joined Professor Sprout the moment it was announced that Weasley was to be a permanent member of staff. He could not help but grin. It was certainly going to be an interesting year.

Just when he was ready to approach Harry, he was surprised by the headmaster's next announcement. A resounding wave of applause followed the news that Harry would be staying on as an assistant to Remus in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Strangely, a profound sense of relief washed over Draco. He didn't have to apologise to Harry straight away, for he wasn't leaving. _Harry's staying. _He couldn't work out why he wasn't upset with that news. After all, he had been looking forward to seeing the back of Harry when he left. _Why on earth am I suddenly happy that he's staying? Don't think you can't get out of apologising. Flash won't let you, Draco._

Harry did look Draco's way as the announcement was made, and he smiled widely, which made it all that much harder for Draco to admit he should be saying he was sorry. He downed another firewhisky to drum up more Dutch courage.

Draco was about to head over and talk to Severus, but found that Sprout had been supplanted by Weasley, who had cornered Severus and was being quite obvious about his intentions towards the Potions master. He was being so obvious that even Draco noticed the sultry and smouldering looks he gave Severus. In return, he could see Severus trying desperately to fob him off. There was obviously some history between the two – something Draco was not privy to, but Severus was old enough to look out for himself.

He wandered back over to the bar – he wasn't going to get involved in Severus' love life (although if it meant Severus would relax and get laid, then Draco was all for it) – but he noticed Harry watching Weasley and Severus with a darkly jealous look on his face.

* * *

Harry regained some of his equilibrium as he stopped drinking, but he suddenly found himself feeling ever so maudlin. His wonderfully relaxed mood had been soured by the fact that he had been on a thoroughly inexplicable emotional roller coaster all evening. Remus, Charlie, and even Draco had been affecting him all day, and he tried hard to fob it off.

It didn't help that he took to watching Draco after he couldn't bear to watch Charlie flirting outrageously with Snape. He couldn't figure out Draco. The boy with the passionate hatred of all things Muggleborn and 'Mudblood' was now a keen fan of BBC radio 1 and was dressed in what Harry admitted was a fine ensemble. The fact that Malfoy seemed to have an extended wardrobe of Muggle clothes was a source of curiosity to Harry. Draco would rarely let you forget that he was descended from a very long line of pureblood wizards, but for someone with such a pedigree, Harry felt that he had too much of a grasp on the reality of the Muggle world – unlike most wizards. Even Arthur Weasley's fascination with gadgets was full of holes in his logic. Malfoy could pass down any street in London and look decidedly 'ordinary', albeit strikingly so.

As the night progressed, Harry tried to sober up, but found his eye wandering back time and again to watch Draco. It must have seemed like he was being rude, because everyone who came up to him to make small talk soon left him alone. He seemed surprised yet somewhat glad that Draco was avoiding him. A sudden vision of his strange recurring dream assaulted him and along with the fact that he definitely knew Draco was gay, he realised that he was in desperate need of a shag himself.

Of course, this seemed like a complete betrayal of the fact he was in love with Luc. Here he was, surrounded by damn good looking gay men (with the exception of Snape – he wasn't that hard up – just what in the world was Charlie thinking?), and all he could think about was sex. Of course, he couldn't think terribly straight with so much alcohol in his system. _What was in those little green drinks? Dangerous stuff. Some sort of pure alcohol judging by the fact I can barely think straight._

Of course, now he was maudlin about everything. He was so maudlin that even the terribly merry Professor Sprout avoided him. Dobby tried several times to get Harry to drink a Sobrietus potion, but every time he offered, his mind wandered back to Luc and he felt even worse.

Unfortunately, his cock was rock hard and he was going to get no relief. Not that he wanted any – at least – not without Luc. He was totally trashed, and there was only one thing he could do.

* * *

Draco thought he had been keeping an eagle eye on Harry, but found that every time he had enough courage to go over and talk to him, he was chatting to some other staff member. He had not failed to notice Harry's worsening drunken condition, and had sent Dobby over with a vial of Sobrietus. With that much absinthe in his system, Harry would certainly be feeling awful come morning, but Draco didn't want him to forget that he had at least attempted to apologise.

Draco was ready to make his move when he saw Harry alone. His palms were sweating as he walked carefully over to the bar. He was suddenly jostled and found himself sprawled in Professor Sprout's arms.

Severus had been right. Professor Sprout was a terrible drunk and should not have been allowed anywhere near the cocktails, for her hands were more tenacious than devil's snare. It took him several minutes to convince her that he wasn't interested in a quick cuddle, but he only managed to fob her off when he mentioned that Severus might need her assistance. He really felt sorry about that, but knew that Severus would understand. He might even be grateful for the reprieve from Weasley's incessant flirting.

When he turned around to head back towards the bar, Harry was gone. He looked everywhere, but he had either slid to the floor, or he was gone. Draco seemed lost. Why was fate stopping him? Just when he had the balls to finally do what he should have done days ago, Harry finally disappears.

Draco slammed his glass down on the bar and headed to the bathroom. He could really do with a cigarette to calm himself down. At least there he would be able to avoid any more distractions. Surely it wouldn't be too much to ask if Harry could just stay in the one spot long enough for Draco to explain himself and apologise. _And hope that he doesn't fling it back in my face._

* * *

Harry raced from the Great Hall, narrowly avoiding Professor Sprout and her amorous advances yet again. He needed somewhere quiet, and headed further away from the hall – well past the crowded areas. He passed the student lavatory on the first floor and stopped. He could barely think straight. The room was deserted and Harry didn't bother to cast a charm to set the wall sconces alight; the full moon provided enough light for what he needed. He rushed straight over to the sink.

Splashing water on his face did little to help his situation. He was rock hard and needed a wank more than anything. He was too far drunk to contemplate any form of meditation to will it away, so he was left with the only other logical course of action. He needed to get off as quickly as possible, then fall down in a drunken heap.

Harry felt like a naughty schoolboy that had been skipping out on classes for the sole purpose of getting off. There had been times when he felt forced to either follow that line of action, or spend the next hour in class and find himself too hard and horny to concentrate. The irony was not lost on him. He distinctly remembered being in a similar situation in his last year of school. He'd been so distracted during and after a Quidditch practice, that he didn't realise how much he needed to get off until he was halfway back to the Gryffindor common room. He was sure he stepped into this very same lavatory all those years earlier.

The sights and sounds of the party were well and truly muffled, and the only sound seemed to be that of his heart beating heavily in his chest. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes. Visions of Remus, Charlie and Draco assaulted his closed eyelids, and he knew he wouldn't take too long to reach completion. Why was he surrounded by such good looking men? Why now, just when he realised he didn't want anyone else but Luc. May as well enjoy himself for a bit.

As he let out a huge sigh of relief, he opened his eyes, only to see a vision of Draco as he was dressed for the party. If that was the sight he was going to get off on, then so be it. It was only when the vision of Draco started talking that he realised he wasn't alone. He found it hard to stop, but the alcohol coursing through him slowed down all his reactions.

Draco decided that the boys' lavatory was the best place for a quick cigarette, if only to gather his nerve and then go looking for Harry. As he entered, he thought he heard a noise at the other end of the room. The sconces were not lit, so it couldn't be anyone using the facilities. He assumed it was probably a rat. He quietly lit his cigarette and was enjoying the first long drag when he heard the sound again. It sounded like someone sniffing, then gasping. That combination of sound was quite familiar.

He walked further into the room and stopped when he spotted the source of the sound near the sinks. He was utterly speechless as his eyes drank in the sight of Harry as he seemed unaware of his exhibitionist behaviour. It was an impressive sight, one Draco had not imagined stumbling upon, but one that brought back very vivid memories from years earlier.

Harry opened his eyes as he heard a gasp and immediately recognised the intruder by the uncommon yet familiar smell of cigarette smoke. Harry couldn't stop, but as his gaze focussed on Draco, he noted that he was transfixed by what he was seeing. His neglected cigarette dangled limply from his fingers and he swallowed visibly. For a split second, Harry felt even more aroused by the fact that he was being watched, but the moment was ruined when Draco finally managed to gather his wits and allow his mouth to move into gear. Unfortunately, it resorted to childish banter instead of making itself useful.

"If I knew you were putting on a show, I'd be selling tickets at the door, Harry." Draco's very familiar old smirk accompanied his humoured drawl.

"I don't perform for an audience, Draco." Harry snapped back, not making any attempt to cover himself. Draco involuntarily licked his lower lip. Despite how he thought that should make him feel, Draco was certainly not moving away in a great hurry.

Harry's head leaned back against the wall. "Piss off, Draco. Can't I have five minutes of peace without you tormenting me?"

Draco raised an elegantly arched brow and his lip curled up in a smirk. "Oh, don't stop on my account, Harry." His voice caught and his drawl sounded even huskier than normal. He took another long drag of the cigarette before flicking it into the sink. He moved a step closer to Harry, and he was in no position to make a sudden move away. Part of him wanted to run, but the alcohol sloshing around in his system wanted very much to stay, and for Draco to do the same.

Harry noticed Draco's Adam's apple bobbing up and down his throat as he swallowed hard. He blinked rapidly as beads of sweat began to drip into his eyes. "I'm not trying... I just wanted to get away... too much..." Harry hung his head and he almost forgot that Draco was standing there. He came down there for a reason, and be blowed if Draco was going to stop him. He was beyond caring.

He was so far beyond caring, that he barely noticed that Draco was standing so close that he could practically feel his body heat radiating with his own. A familiar snickered laugh was so close, he could smell the distinct nicotine tang on Draco's breath. "Good thing you came in here to have one off the wrist, Harry. You nearly embarrassed yourself out there. Although, I have to admit, he's quite fit – for a Weasley. I'm sure I'd be in a similar predicament if I had such a thing for him as you seem to have." Harry noticed Draco was now leaning on the wall directly beside him, and he chuckled as he saw that Draco was trying to hide a rather telltale bulge in the front of his own jeans. That gaudy belt buckle practically pointed it out to anyone who was looking.

"You know," Harry gasped as Draco's whispered hoarsely, "How does it feel to know that someone doesn't want you? It must be a novel feeling."

He growled in frustration. "Either piss off, _Malfoy, _or make yourself useful." The sight, sound and smell of Draco invading his personal space was making Harry angry enough to get off even more quickly.

"Tsk, tsk, Harry," Draco drawled. "I know you can do better than that. I've _seen _you put on a better show than this. What ever happened to that champion seeker and his wondrous post match performances?" He raised an eyebrow in question.

Harry tried to make sense of Draco's words, and he soon realised that Draco had possibly spied on him before – most likely in the Quidditch showers. Of course, whilst Harry had never stooped to such voyeurism, it did not surprise him to learn Draco had done so. The thought that Draco had spied on him only made him angrier, and he stopped his hands and grabbed for Draco's crotch. He grinned lazily in confirmation that the impressive bulge in Draco's jeans was definitely very real – and very, very hard. It seemed he wasn't the only one with an 'urgent' need.

Draco jumped back at the touch of Harry's hand, and his fingers encircled Harry's wrist as he pushed his hands away. Draco smirked. It seemed that he was a talker, because he just wouldn't shut up.

"Must be hard wanting Weasley and knowing he doesn't want you, hmmm? Although I have to agree, he's one gorgeous piece of arse. What fellow wouldn't want to do him? I bet if Weasley offered, you'd let him do you right then and there and you wouldn't care if Voldemort himself were watching. I've been watching you all night. Your desire for him is as plain as the scar on your face. You want him." Draco whispered the last few words.

"Still," Draco drawled again as his hands started to be put to good use. He continued to taunt Harry with harsh words. "It must be hard to see that he only has eyes for Severus. What a pity that pureblood calls to pureblood, whilst you're left to toss one off the wrist in a grungy student bathroom."

If Harry didn't know any better, he would have guessed that Draco knew just what made him shiver and squirm. His disconnected thoughts could only attribute it to the fact that he had already spied on him in the showers. But he was soon shaking from desire. "Honestly, Harry. Are you a wizard, or a bloody Muggle? Do you realise that there are spells instead of doing this? Although, I have to admit, doing things the manual way on occasion has its merits."

Harry moaned appreciatively. "Stop it," he managed to cry hoarsely.

Draco sneered and licked his lips again. "Whatever for? You're enjoying it. Go on, admit it."

Harry moaned in agreement.

"See, told you that you needed a hand..." Draco kept up the pace and pressure, not letting him find release just yet.

"I'm quite capable of... getting off on my own... without your assistance, Draco..." Harry's hands had been attempting to find purchase on the cold and clammy stone wall, but one hand finally found Draco's waist and pulled him in closer. Memories of late night dreams began to form in his mind and he wondered why _this_ Draco seemed so hesitant when the Draco of his dream was so eager to participate.

Draco laughed, "Tsk, tsk. So sloppy, _Potter_. I thought you were learning all about control – isn't that what you told me? Don't you know that the secret to all forms of control starts with desire? Bring yourself to the edge, then ease off, old boy. Don't just rut away like a dog in heat, hold back. Bury your desire deep and you'll be able to hold back an orgasm all night if you so desire, and then, when you finally break over the edge, you'll have the most amazing orgasm you've ever experienced." Harry struggled as one hand found the folds of Draco's shirt and was clutching desperately.

"Oh, you like it rough, do you?" Draco was back to talking, but Harry could see he was still licking his lips. That mole above his lip quivered and Harry had an unconscious desire to lick it. He watched a bead of sweat trickle down Draco's neck, and he felt the need to lick that too. "Is that why you've been pining and lusting after Remus as well? Is he animal enough for you? He's such a man, isn't he?" Draco's words were harsh, but this wasn't gentle lovemaking in a plush bed. This was him up against a toilet wall with Malfoy - who had rather talented hands. Harry's temper finally rose to the surface, and he didn't notice the fires in the wall sconces suddenly flare to life.

"What would you know about him, Malfoy?" Harry growled and snapped bitterly. He didn't know if Draco was trying to hit a nerve, but he wasn't going to stop now.

Draco laughed. "You're jealous! Oh this is priceless. But he's rejected you too, hasn't he? You really aren't getting lucky lately, are you? Looks like I'm the only one offering to scratch your itch, Harry, and you appear to be enjoying every minute, despite the fact you are fighting it with every fibre of your being." Draco punctuated each word carefully and his mouth was almost in Harry's ear.

Harry was so pleased when Draco's mouth finally stopped talking and that small pink tongue finally darted out and licked up his throat before teasing the shell of his ear. The tension welling in his groin finally burst. Just as he did, he could have sworn that he could hear Luc. He might have called his name, but couldn't be sure as his body came down from the height of passion.

* * *

Draco was aching with his own need. He was surprised to find Harry in such a compromising position, but he could not resist lending a hand, particularly when he found the idea so enticing. Something had unconsciously drawn him to torment Harry verbally – he could only blame the firewhisky and his own stupid obsession with Harry. Still, he was in no doubt as to Harry's feelings as he saw lust and longing radiate from those expressive eyes. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard Harry cry out a name, but it was lost in an enormous sigh of relief. His mind was still processing this unexpected turn of events.

He didn't realise that he was also breathing heavily in need. Just as he moved away to head for the sink, Harry grabbed his hand and brought it to his mouth. Draco had not felt so turned on in a long time. He closed his eyes as Harry's tongue bathed his hand. "You know, I always get turned on by hands. I like yours," Harry chuckled, sounding as drunk as he apparently was. "'Choo know what they say about slender hands, Draco?" Harry asked.

Draco was thinking of his recent conversation with Flash about hands, and he wanted to nod in agreement, but his accursed memory took that moment to remind him he should really be saying something very different to Harry. He shoved all thoughts of apology away as he let Harry massage his hand. He would think about apologising tomorrow. After all, he had all the time in the world, right?

It seemed that Draco's inaction emboldened Harry. Either that or the absinthe that must be coursing through his veins had given him false bravado. For once, Harry lost all airs and graces and Draco could see that the man before him was not full of his own self-importance – as Draco had assumed for so many years. How the hell could he have been so wrong?

Draco was completely aware of their extremely close proximity and attempted to gain a little more personal space. Harry didn't want that. In a movement that seemed way too swift for Harry in his current state, Draco found himself pinned up against the wall and his mouth being thoroughly plundered by Harry's. He could easily identify the aftertaste of the absinthe and combined with Harry's heady cologne, it was an intoxicating combination.

Harry's hand's started to move to Draco's waistband, but he quickly realised what Harry was up to and pushed him away. For a brief moment, his mouth protested and wanted the return of that tongue and those chapped, but ever so talented lips.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing Potter? I'm not in this to get off, if that's what you think..." Draco's lip curled in disgust and he rubbed his face where Harry's new goatee had scratched against his fair skin. He was not going to admit that he loved the feel of rough facial hair against his skin. It was such an arousing experience – when he wanted it to be.

Harry chuckled again and Draco realised he wasn't making much of an effort to protest. "Oh Draco, your mouth always enjoys a bit of action. I just thought I'd give it a bit of a rest from spouting a constant string of taunts."

Harry placed both his hands on Draco's waist, and he tensed under Harry's touch. Harry raised an eyebrow in return. "I'm not entirely stupid, Draco. I know if you'd had the chance to watch me quietly, you'd have had your hand down your trousers as eagerly as if you were chasing a snitch. I don't think you'll be having a little laugh at my expense over in the corner, Draco."

Harry pulled at his belt buckle, flinging it across the room as he pulled Draco's shirt out and ripped open the buttons on Draco's jeans. The buckle clattered noisily as it hit the pipes under the sink. Draco suddenly realised he was no longer in control of events, but suddenly, he no longer cared. "How is it that you can look so unfuckingbelievably good in jeans?" Harry mumbled. "I bet you'd say it's something to do with your pure blood, but I think it's probably just the fact that it's Muggle clothing."

Draco couldn't respond, but didn't want Harry to have the satisfaction of winning this tussle. He tried to remember everything Jean-Paul taught him – everything that had been repeated nightly in his dreams, but Harry was rough.

Harry snickered. "Don't _you_ ever lose control, Draco? Don't you ever let a single precious strand of hair get out of line?" Harry laughed as Draco groaned enticingly, wetting his lips as he felt the pleasure. Harry laughed. "You know, I can't believe I thought you were straight. How Slytherin of you - making everyone think you're engaged. But you've always been a cons.. a cons.. oh, fuck, I am too drunk to think," Harry blurted. "'Choo always hide behind that poncy mask."

Draco shivered as Harry's lips parted and blew across his ear. "Why..." Draco finally found his voice again. "Why do you keep tormenting me?"

"I could ask you the same question," Harry retorted. "In fact, I think I did. I'm just trying to eke out an existence as an ordinary wizard – one who isn't famous and who could possibly manage some time alone in the loo without someone coming along and encouraging me."

"I... I'm sorry..." Draco whispered the quiet apology in between breaths, but he was beyond the point where he cared if Harry heard or not.

Harry blew hotly into Draco's ear with a sibilant hiss. He could not help but watch every play of emotion on Draco's face, but he was taken aback when he saw that it mirrored the one that he remembered from his time with Oliver.

Draco was more startled than surprised as he gathered his breath. Never in a million years did he think that he would have been a party to what just happened. For some strange reason, he felt the same overwhelming sense of desire that plagued him in Marrakesh. The only problem was that this time, when he did, the first thing he saw was Harry's eyes, and a desperate sense of something more was not lingering in the afterglow.

He was still looking startled when he realised that Harry had moved away. He could only begin to imagine how Harry felt as he dared a sideways glance in Harry's direction.

Harry still seemed somewhat dazed, but the plain look of surprise on his face told Draco that he was just as surprised by what had just happened. "Don't worry, Malfoy, I bet I'll regret this in the morning just as much as you. I hope to Merlin you know how to make a Sobrietus potion, coz I know I'm gonna need one." Harry seemed a little less assured as he tried to gather his wits and they both stood in the awkward silence.

Draco took a moment to compose himself. For all his earlier bravado and bluster, he was strangely lost for words – again.

Harry saw the look of confusion on Draco's face, but assumed it was a look of disgust now that the blood had returned to their brains. He stepped forward but was unable to articulate any words to Draco.

"I... I'm sorry." Draco blurted as he quickly strode out of the loo. Harry couldn't work out how he walked so fast without his cane, but he splashed some water on his face to help himself sober up. He hoped to goodness he could wake up feeling human in the morning.

Surprisingly, Harry realised he had needed the aggressive distraction with Draco, for he now felt much calmer, and knew that once he sobered, he would be in a perfect frame of mind to meditate. Despite that, he still felt the itch of desire underneath his skin. He wanted more.

And surprisingly, he very much wanted to see that look on Malfoy's face again, and again, and know that it was just for him.

As he turned around he stood on something hard. Looking down, he noticed the silver dragon buckle and picked it up. He would give it to Draco tomorrow. _That's if he's speaking to me. Somehow I doubt it will be all roses and chocolates come morning. It's Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!_

He realised what had seemed so different just as he made it to the door of his rooms. _He called me Potter, I called him Malfoy. It seems our animosity is gone. I should certainly hope so. _

He fell rather than crawled into bed, but he was way too drunk to notice that for the first time in years, he slept peacefully and without his usual tossing and turning.

* * *

Draco wandered back to his room in a daze. _What the fuck was I thinking? I only wanted to apologise to Harry. What in the four hells came over me?_ It had to have been the firewhisky – and the absinthe that Harry was drinking. There is no other explanation. Draco tried to rationalise what had happened, but he was so tired, yet so sated that his mind was racing off on a dozen different tangents.

_I will so regret this in the morning, no doubt_. But Harry had surprised him. He was more wanton and expressive than Draco ever imagined. _And you have imagined quite a bit since he's featured in your dreams nearly every fucking night this past few weeks._

But there was one thing that he couldn't ignore as he cast a cleaning charm on himself before getting into bed. He had apologised to Harry – in a fashion. He didn't hate Harry, even if they had returned to their own surnames. Dumbledore's curse had worn off, which meant that they obviously were over their animosity. But now that he got _that_ obsession out of his system, why did he suddenly feel that he was only just _starting_ to obsess over the Boy Who Lived?

* * *

**June 15, Sunday**

It was well after noon when Harry dared to open an eye. He could not work out what was wrong, but he had fallen asleep where he fell on the bed – flat on his stomach with his glasses digging into his face. He tried to turn and get rid of the crick in his neck, but it was too much movement too soon. _What was I drinking? I think I'll be avoiding anything green from now on. _

He eventually managed, with much difficulty, to sit up. He kept his head in his hands as too much movement was not a good idea. He flung his glasses on the side table and dug his wand out of the side pocket of his jeans. He needed to go back to sleep. Anything to get rid of the giants who were pounding on his head and the troll that crawled in his mouth and died.

He took a few moments to realise that the pounding was on his door – it was only echoing awfully in his head. It would go away if he ignored it. He rolled over and stuck a pillow over his head to muffle the noise.

An instant later, Harry heard the unmistakeable 'crack' and felt a heavy weight land on him, winding him momentarily.

"Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby is so sorry, but you is not answering your door!" Dobby saw the angered scowl on Harry's face and quickly scrambled out of immediate harm's way.

"Dobby, what 'choo want?" Harry closed his eyes and willed the house elf away, but he was still there."

"Dobby was asked to give you this last night. Harry Potter drank too much absinthe, and you needed a Sobrietus potion to prevent any nasty after effects. Harry Potter should be taking it now." Dobby put a small potions vial on the bedside table and watched as Harry grabbed the vial without a second thought. His prayers had been answered.

It took a few minutes to finally sink in, but he was feeling somewhat more human with each passing minute. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about the taste of dead troll in his mouth, but he looked at Dobby questioningly. "Was there something else, Dobby? Oh, thank you for the potion. It was just what I needed."

"Dobby was wondering if Harry Potter would like some lunch?" Dobby asked eagerly.

"Lunch?" He looked out the window and realised just how late it truly was. "Er, no thanks. I think I'll head down to Hogsmeade for a bit." He might catch a nice meal at Emmaline's. Something nagged at the back of his mind, but he could not think what.

Dobby left, and as he dragged himself into the shower, he looked at the dishevelled state of his clothes. The dried stains on his shirt were unmistakeable, and the events of the previous night came back in a great big screaming heap. Harry grasped the rail on the side of the shower as he realised what he had done. "Oh fuck," he said aloud. Standing under the hot spray, he eventually washed away all evidence of what had happened the night before. _I gave Draco a fucking hand job in the lavatory! How drunk was I? How drunk was he for that matter? That's going to make for pleasant banter the next time we talk. Oh, wait until I tell Luc..._

It was then that Harry realised two things. He had arranged to talk to Luc some time that afternoon – much earlier than their usual time. But did he really want to tell him? Luc would most likely think he was an utter prick for what he did – and so soon after Harry laid his cards on the table and told him that he loved him. _Oh Harry, why the fuck did you go and say something stupid? But you can't lie to Luc, not in the journal..._

Harry was sombre as he packed his journal and made his way down to the _Leaf and Bean_. Just how was he going to tell Luc that he betrayed him? It was a mistake. Surely Luc would understand that. He had promised himself that he would take the journal and write whilst he was at Emmaline's shop. It made him feel just that much closer to Luc, and now he knew he would need the fortitude of a nice pot of tea and something sweet and sticky to help him confess.

Just as he was to walk out the door, he spotted his I Ching coins. _What harm could it do?_ As he flipped the top coin, he decided that he would either tell Luc everything, or he would obliviate the events of the previous night. He would forget embarrassing himself in front of Charlie, _Merlin, I have to apologise to him too._ And he would definitely forget all about that amazing hand job in the lavatory.

The coin landed. _Damn._ Even divination wasn't going his way. He was going to confess to Luc after all.

* * *

Draco was ever so glad he had agreed to talk to Flash that day. The night before had definitely not ended the way he expected, but he was still coming to terms with the fact that his erotic dream featuring Harry Potter had suddenly taken a major detour into reality.

He was hugging his coffee very carefully as he replayed the previous night's events. What confused him the most was the fact that he actually enjoyed it. He desperately needed another cigarette, but Emmaline would just frown and vanish any cigarettes she saw anywhere near him. He was fortunate that Severus had the foresight to leave a Sobrietus potion for him that morning, but with the clarity came the knowledge of the previous night's events.

The coffee was good, and the _Leaf and Bean_ was crowded with a pleasing crowd of people who were browsing the shelves between pots of tea and the odd cup of coffee. The pastries were the most popular item and Emmaline was thinking of expanding the range of treats she offered.

He was glad for his seat in the quiet back corner. It was quite warm and cosy and afforded enough privacy in the crowded shop for him to pull out his journal. He was glad for Flash's suggestion to write a little earlier than their usual time. He had always thought Emmaline's store was a perfect place to converse with him. It suddenly struck him that he discovered the journal in Emmaline's old shop, and he had first read Flash's words there. Now he was going to write back in her store. It seemed... fitting.

As he brought out his quill and ink, he knew exactly what Flash would ask. _So did last night with Harry constitute an apology? I have no idea, but I really doubt Harry's going to be in a chipper mood when we next talk._

He was going to write a few words first, but looked at the clock on the wall. He still had a few minutes before he was due to talk. He would take that time to compose exactly what he was going to say.

* * *

Harry almost didn't get a table at the _Leaf and Bean_, but spotted a small table near the window. He ordered a pot of chamomile tea – something nice and soothing. The fruit flans also looked very tempting, and Harry asked for two. He could not believe the crowd and was pleased that this new shop seemed to be doing well. As he was about to sit, he spotted the unmistakeable blond head across the room, and his sudden good mood deflated.

He really wasn't up for a confrontation with Draco – not just yet. Besides, he really didn't want to drag all these other people into the fray. He kept his head down and hoped that Draco would leave without noticing him. He could only live in hope.

* * *

Draco was never more glad to see Flash's writing than today. He certainly had a lot to tell, and it had only been two days since they last wrote._**Dearest Luc,**_ _**You won't believe what I did last night. Actually, you will probably believe it, but I'm still trying to come to terms with having done something stupid – yet again.**_ _Hey there Flash. I'm fairly certain in the grand scheme of things that you could not have done anything worse than me. I think if we compared notes, you would find I'm the biggest prat of them all._ _**Okay, I'm game to swap stories, but I still have to apologise now for my rather candid admission the other day...**_ _Are you saying you've changed your mind? You don't love me any more?_ _**No, it's not that. I have never been more certain of that in my entire life. I still love you, Luc, but I'm wondering if you'll still be my friend after I tell you what happened last night.**_ _I wish I could be so certain of something, Flash. I did something totally unexpected last night, but the crazy thing is that I am still trying to come to terms with it this morning._ _**I'm listening, Luc. Tell me what you did that you think is so crazy.**_ _Sweet Merlin, have you ever been so drunk you lost control of the situation?_

Harry smiled. Of course he had. Only just the night before. He could not help but laugh at Luc and his overabundant desire to turn everything into a melodrama. He was quite keen to listen to Luc. Anything to put off telling him what had happened.

_**If only you knew, Luc. I'll tell you about my drunken exploits later.**_ _It's a deal. You know, I was all ready to apologise to Mr Burning Hatred last night, but I didn't. I know you're probably thinking I'm really awful, but I was all ready to do it, but things got out of hand._ _**But you did try? What did he say?**_ _Well, I don't know what he said. I think I shouted out that I was sorry, but his hand was working my cock and I was a little preoccupied with other matters at the time. So was he for that matter. You probably didn't want to hear that, and I'm sorry. I know how you feel._

Harry did feel a little deflated. So Luc had managed to finally seduce this guy he hated. He felt that now familiar stab of jealousy, but honestly could not begrudge Luc anything.

_**So you finally seduced him? Didn't I say that it would solve most of your problems?**_ _Actually, I think I was the one being seduced._ _**Oh?**_ _Oh Flash, I'm so bloody confused. Never in all the years that I've known him have I ever felt so unsure. You know, for seven years of school he was my rival – the seeker of the opposite team and the exact opposite of me in every way. We fought like banshees from the minute he snubbed me on the train to school in our first year..._

Harry's teacup clattered noisily against the saucer as he put it down. He seemed to lose all feeling in his arm as he read Luc's words. _Surely... no..._ But Luc was still writing.

_But now, these past few months as we have been working together I've come to a greater understanding of him – thanks to you. I no longer see the attention seeking git that I thought was there. He is nothing like that. But we both got drunk last night. I think he was drunker than I was – he did seem to drink enough absinthe to knock out a Hungarian Horntail. I think he was lusting after one of the new staff members (who seems to be quite fit – I'll have to keep you posted about him later)._ _But Flash, I tried so hard to apologise to him, and it was only after I thought he had gone that I spotted him in the loo with his trousers around his knees. It was the most erotic thing I've seen since I spotted him having a wank in the Quidditch showers way back in school._ _But I won't bore you with all the sordid details, Flash. Suffice to say it was the best and most erotic hand job I think I've ever had in my life. Although I can't say that I've ever done more than have a quick one off the wrist in a lavatory before..._

Harry's hand started to shake, and just for a moment, the words blurred on the page. His heart hammered hard in his chest. Why was Luc mirroring his exact thoughts? Surely not... NO, he wouldn't think that. It couldn't. Harry was in the same room as Malfoy. He looked over the other patrons enjoying their brunch, to see the platinum head buried low. A quill scribbled in his hand. Harry looked back to the page to find more emerald words appearing.

_Before you start castigating me, I have to confess that it was the hottest quick shag up against the wall I've ever had. I want to do it again. Part of me wants to be thoroughly disgusted by that thought; yet part of me wants to do that again. Am I going crazy? It was truly amazing._

Harry could barely hold his quill as he replied. Surely this had to be a mistake. This wasn't happening.

_**So you are saying you had drunken sex in a toilet last night with someone you can't stand?**_ _Yes, you got it in one, Flash. I still can't believe I'm saying this about him, but I slept dreadfully last night, and all I could think about was wanting to do that again. With him. I know you'll think I'm completely mad. You really don't want to hear the whole sordid saga of my warped relationship with this wizard, but..._

Harry jerked back suddenly as the thought struck him that this wasn't really happening. He was dreaming. That was the only explanation. He shifted his journal, only to slide his teacup and pot off the table, smashing them to the ground. He barely noticed through the rush of blood pounding in his head, but he did notice a smear of green ink marring the page. Was it the page or the sudden wetness that formed at the corner of his eyes. Luc was writing again.

_Sorry about that. Just got jostled. I'm sitting here in that wonderful new coffee shop in the village and someone just smashed something. Sorry about the mess._

Draco looked up and eyed Harry as the source of the sudden noise. Harry just blinked. His heart beat so hard he could see it leaping out of his chest. Luc – surely he couldn't be Malfoy? The cloud suddenly lifted from his eyes as the final piece of a gigantic jigsaw puzzle fell into place. _How many new coffee shops were there in the UK? How many potions apprentices are there with a French background?_ His hand was shaking as he walked away from the journal. He couldn't look at it again until he had a definitive answer.

Without a second thought, Harry tried to wander casually through the crowded tables of customers and headed towards Malfoy's table. In his rush, he bumped into the back of chairs and nearly wiped out a display stand of books. His heart entirely skipped a beat as he stood close enough to clearly see what Draco was doing.

Draco was wearing his reading glasses as one hand was supporting his head (his blond hair was flopping in his eyes again), whilst the other dipped the fine eagle quill into an ornate cut crystal ink jar – filled with bright emerald ink. As he lowered the quill to the page, Harry noted the lines and edges of an exceedingly familiar book. His step slowed, nearly faltering as he moved closer to Draco's table. He saw the unbidden smile on Draco's face as he wrote, and in an instant the world turned upside down.

Luc was Draco.

Draco was Luc.

He had been writing to Draco Malfoy for months.

And he had just confessed his love for him.

Because he knew that the man at the other end of the journal was his soul mate.

Harry loomed closer over Draco's shoulder, thoroughly unsure of what he was doing, but compelled to move closer. As his hand curled around the back of the chair opposite Draco, he noticed the exceedingly familiar purple scrawl interrupting the cursive emerald script. _Of all the wizards in the world, how in Merlin's name have I been pouring my heart and soul out to Draco Malfoy?_

Draco looked up, his dreamy gaze suddenly darkening as he spotted Harry, but only slightly. He quickly scrawled one or two more words before immediately closing the book. The cover was a perfect opposite to his own. The tapestry inlay covered the portion that was in leather on his own book, but the pattern was indeed the same. Harry noticed the bleeding green ink stain on Draco's thumb and realised he had often seen a similar stain on his hands at the breakfast table.

"Potter," Draco murmured as he looked up at Harry, his voice catching embarrassingly, "Don't just stand there. I'm sure you don't want to make a scene in front of all these customers. Emmaline would castrate us both." He hugged the journal close, afraid of what would happen if Harry saw it. He seemed a little wary of Harry, like he was suddenly afraid of what he might say or do.

Harry slumped in the chair and held the table for support. His world was turning upside down and he was now face to face with Draco – with Luc. _Why have you been doing this to me all these months? Why hide behind a façade and tell me you are my friend? _A thousand questions ran through Harry's mind, but only one came out of his mouth.

"Why?" he rasped hoarsely.

Draco pondered the question for the longest time. _Why indeed._

* * *

TBC in chapter 16...

**Thank You:** Thank you to **SeparatriX** and **C Dumbledore **for doing yet another fantastic beta job. They are both wonderful!

**Review Thank You's:**

So many people are reading this and we really do thank all of you. It makes us feel so wonderful to know that this little story is impacting on your lives in some way (apologies if we are keeping you from studies or sleep... It's keeping us from ours at times!) A review is a kind of drug that keeps us going, and we would just like to say thank you again. We would like to thank everyone individually, but this chapter is getting long enough as it is (it's nearly at ff . net's file size limit!)

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But a few comments that we would like to address:

**dan-rad:** Thanks for such a lovely and thorough review. As for Dumbledore, for once, he is oblivious about something...  
**Yukime:** Glad to have you on board with this fic and to let you know the obnoxious Americans from an earlier chapter are based on real examples, unfortunately.  
**Rhiwan:** You were right... someone found out this chapter.  
**Louise4:** Yes, Remus is keeping his hands off the boys. That's not to say that his own hands will be idle for long...  
**tensai:** Thanks for your very encouraging words. Yes, Azhure gets a little flowery, but she is trying very hard to cut back. Even if the chapters are getting longer, she is definitely working on her sesquipidelian qualities. (It means she's very wordy...)  
**Shinosu:** No, there is no discontinument in this fic. It does take anywhere between 4-6 weeks to create and publish a chapter.

And thank you all for taking the time to tell us what you think. We treasure each and every review. Honestly!


	16. Things Will Never Be The Same Again

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 16: Things Will Never Be The Same Again**

_It's not a secret anymore  
Now we've opened up the door.  
It's not the beginning it's not the end  
Things will never be the same again.  
**Mel C**_

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams, Letters, or Diary entries from Luc.  
Underlined Text: Suggestive comments in the diaries.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

Thank you all for waiting nearly two months for this, but we did tell you that RL would delay the publishing of this chapter.

**Thank You:** Thank you to **SeparatriX** and **C Dumbledore **for doing yet another fantastic beta job. They are both wonderful! Thank you to all our patient readers who put up with us taking time out for RL in between chapters.

* * *

"Why?" Harry rasped hoarsely.

Draco pondered the question for the longest time. _Why indeed. _He got somewhat lost in his own thoughts as he rolled the events of the previous evening through his mind. He didn't even notice that Harry was getting more and more distraught on the other side of the table until he finally looked up. He inhaled sharply as he took in the pained expression in Harry's green eyes - eyes he'd become so familiar with in his recurring dreams. _Why is he reacting this way? It was just a mutual wank, for Merlin's sake. Although a damn good one. Who would have guessed Harry could be so... good._ Despite thinking this, he was not proud of his behaviour the night before, and he knew he had to explain himself to Harry before ruining the small amount of congeniality they shared.

Harry looked pale and shocked. "You look terrible, Harry. Didn't you get the Sobrietus I sent you?" His genuine concern was the least he could do to make up for some of the things he had said the night before.

Harry frowned, seemingly lost. "You sent that?" he asked. Draco nodded as he saw the look of hurt and confusion Harry carried on his face. He seemed lost in thought and somewhat bewildered.

"Look, Harry I know you'd rather forget that last night ever happened. I have nothing to say to excuse my behaviour. I actually came looking for you to apologise, but well…" Draco could not help but look Harry up and down, realising his eyes had landed on Harry's hands. Hands he could still recall feeling on his body. He quickly snapped out of it when he saw Harry looking. "I have to admit that you presented me with a rather enticing picture, and I'm not exactly proud of what I did – or said. Goodness knows I spent most of the night tossing and turning. Well, turning anyway – the tossing was all but done, wasn't it?"

"What…" Harry was confused, lost in his own thoughts of piecing together this conversation with the events of last night and the new knowledge that Luc and Draco were one and the same.

Draco didn't think Harry was paying any attention. The more Draco spoke, the more despaired Harry looked. He noticed Harry staring at the journal in his hands and he suddenly felt quite possessive. He really didn't feel like sharing Flash with Harry. Merlin knew what Harry would think – or say if he knew what Draco had been doing.

Suddenly, the time felt right to apologise, and Draco knew he could wait no longer. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could censor them. "Look, I'm sorry, Harry." He could not say why it felt right to speak then – perhaps their intimate moment had smoothed the way for him to be brutally honest with Harry. After all, there wasn't much left to hide from Harry Potter.

"You're _sorry?_" Harry scoffed sarcastically. "You're _sorry_? Do you play me for a fool, Malfoy?" he repeated incredulously.

Draco's mood soured slightly at Harry's instant dismissal. "Well you're a fine one to talk," Draco snarked back. He didn't miss the fact that Harry used his surname. Why was Harry putting on such an air of victimisation? Taking a deep breath, he dove into the rest of his apology before his words twisted into their usual insults.

"I'm not proud of some of... well most of the things I said last night," Draco admitted with full honesty, "but I will only blame the alcohol for so much. You were certainly _amenable_ to my approaches, Harry, so don't get all righteous now. There was actually one thing I tried to say to you last night, but I don't think you heard me."

"Oh?" A sudden spark of scepticism crossed Harry's face. Perhaps the Sobrietus was finally working, as he seemed a little brighter than a few moments before.

Draco realised he was stalling again and watched as his fingers had been slowly tracing a knot in the timber tabletop. "There was something I had wanted to say to you all night, and I had been trying to get you alone." He took another deep breath and continued. "Over the past few weeks I've come to realise that I may have misjudged you when we were children. I admit that you aren't the braggart that I always thought, and well, I'm trying to say that I'm sorry for thinking that. I... I don't hold any grudges against you any more, Harry."

Harry didn't say a word, and Draco wasn't sure how he was taking it. He dove in to say more before Harry could stop him. "It was much easier to hate you all these years than to admit I was wrong. I realise that now. Malfoys hate to admit they are wrong." Draco laughed wryly as he realised his father would have been mortified at Draco's admission.

Draco waited patiently for Harry to say something. Anything was preferable to the deafening silence that greeted him. Harry cocked his head slightly at Draco's apology, but there was no hint of understanding in Harry's demeanour other than that slight gesture and some softly mumbled words.

"You had the choice between what was right and what was easy." At least that's what it sounded like to Draco. He nodded silently, agreeing with the sentiment.

"Harry – are you all right? Do you need another Sobrietus?" Draco carefully moved his quill and ink jar in case Harry was in the mood for smashing more things. He was genuinely worried that something was seriously wrong with him.

"You're apologising to _me?_" Harry whispered as he looked up solemnly. Draco certainly had not expected this shocked and passive reaction from Harry. He was still expecting to hear the bitter flow of disbelief to spout forth at any minute.

Of course, he wouldn't be surprised if Harry despised him again. He had every right to after his appalling behaviour. He watched as Harry's reaction turned into a look of surprise.

Instead of a bitter diatribe, Harry glanced again at the journal. Draco became aroused from a sudden thought that Harry's burning gaze was seeing through the journal and staring at what lay beneath his robes. He squirmed at the thought.

The silence grew quite uncomfortable as he waited patiently for Harry to say something. It was up to him to continue or dismiss the apology. Draco's mind wandered as he waited, and he noted little things – like the way that Harry looked as if he had literally just jumped straight out of bed. He knew for a fact that he must have at least had a change of clothing. As much as he tried to stop thinking about the previous evening, he found he could not. His eyes followed a line that led him to unconsciously stare directly at Harry's crotch.

Shaking himself out of his daydreams, Draco looked up to see a shadow of confusion in Harry's face.

--oo0oo--

_Sweet Merlin, he doesn't know! He's only talking about last night. _Through his overwhelming confusion, Harry had somehow managed to absorb Draco's words. There had been no carefully crafted excuse, no self-serving explanation for stringing him along all these months. _Have I pegged him all wrong? _

_Merlin, this is Luc! I've been writing to Draco all these months._ _Is it possible he is completely unaware? _He'd expected gloating, laughter, anything but utter innocence on the matter. _Maybe he's still building up to it. _For one brief moment he wanted to speak out – to admit to Draco that he was Flash. Just as he opened his mouth, a sense of self-preservation took over and he stopped. Would it really help right now to tell Draco that he was Flash? What exactly would it accomplish? As his brain finally caught up to his ears, he realised exactly why Draco was apologising. It stopped him thoroughly in his tracks.

"You're apologising to _me_?" Harry whispered quietly, not quite up to making completely coherent sentences. _But if he's Luc, then I must be Mr Burning Hatred – Merlin, he's been trying to apologise to me for weeks – and I've been encouraging him! _Harry was still befuddled by it all – he wasn't quite sure he was coping with the fact that Draco was Luc. But the part of his brain that wasn't addled by alcohol and potions was momentarily pleased by the fact that Draco had not been pretending to be Luc – that he seemed just as oblivious as Harry.

In some strange way, Luc was still real, even though he could not help the nagging doubt in the back of his mind. _But could this still be some very clever Slytherin ploy to drag out my utter and complete humiliation? How can I be completely sure? Dare I tell him? Dare I show him my journal?_

"Look," Draco broke the uncomfortable silence as he leaned over the table to talk quietly to Harry. "I don't know if you're looking for apologies or recriminations about last night, but... well, we both enjoyed too much alcohol, that much was certain. Of course, I think we'll both agree that being consenting red-blooded males, we managed to let off some steam in a mutually acceptable fashion." Draco seemed very blunt and honest (a little too much so) as he continued, "Despite that, I owed you an apology for my misconception of you and I had promised myself I would deliver that apology."

So he was apologising, not for pretending to be Luc, or for the previous evening's activities – the hard shag against the wall that was so hot yet so sublime that he wanted to do it all again. _Malfoy said that? Sweet Merlin._ Harry finally found his voice and managed to stammer out a response. "I understand. Last night was..." _Sublime, brilliant, over too quickly... _Harry stopped his errant thoughts but did not finish his sentence. "Misconceptions are understandable. We were kids then. I didn't know you, either."

He felt somewhat separated, as if he were watching himself have this conversation while the rest of him was panicking over the revelation that had pulled the world out from under him. Suddenly, his last words really hit home with a weight and reality that he hadn't imagined. "I really didn't know you at all." He was muttering, barely aware that he'd really spoken aloud. His mind was flooded with disconnected thoughts of that day in London when Arthur Weasley announced his new position, the flashes of green that had haunted him; his dreams of the Hogwarts pitch and chasing false snitches all over hell and gone only to find the real one falling into his hands. The heady scent of Draco's cologne seeped into Harry's consciousness and forced dozens of realisations to the fore faster than he could register them.

It was all too much, and Harry stood up quickly. "I have to go," he mumbled in Draco's general direction. He headed straight for the door, not noticing Draco's concerned look, and not even realising that he bumped directly into Remus as he bolted out of the store.

"Harry? HARRY!" Remus yelled out the door, but Harry was running away too fast to hear him.

--oo0oo--

Remus could not understand Harry's urgency as he turned to watch his friend flee in haste. Had there been some emergency with the Neo Death Eaters? Judging by the crowds still enjoying a leisurely lunch, he doubted that was the case. He spotted a familiar blond head and noticed Draco was also staring pointedly at Harry's retreating form with a concerned look.

Draco spotted Remus, and nodded in acknowledgement. As he made his way across the room, he stopped at an empty table by the window. Whatever caused Harry to leave so urgently had made him forget his knapsack. As Remus bent down to retrieve it, he noticed Harry's journal wide open on the table, an eagle feather quill crushed on the floor and an untippable bottle of violet ink perched precariously on the edge of the table.

Remus frowned. How could Harry forget something like this? He was even more concerned that something dire had happened. How could he leave it behind? The journal always came before everything else when Remus was looking after it. He quickly gathered Harry's belongings, and as he was about to close the journal, his eyes landed on Harry's distinctly handwritten words at the top of the page.

_**So you are saying you had drunken sex in a toilet last night with someone you can't stand?**_

His eyes bulged for a moment in surprise and he was involuntarily drawn in to read the rest of the page. He felt exceedingly guilty for doing so, but a familiar but long forgotten tug of magic made him realise that he was not fully in control of his actions. He read Draco's complete confession and he could begin to see the reason for Harry's distress. Had he realised that he was now talking to Draco? As he glanced over at Draco, he wondered if the blond also knew.

Remus knew there was only one way to find out. The blond was sitting at the table under the back window with his own journal open, an air of anticipation firmly showing on his face. He didn't seem quite as distressed as Harry.

_Harry knows! But Draco seems oblivious. Sweet Merlin, I wish I could have been there last night, if only to see what could have led them into such a state of affairs. They had sex? _All these thoughts ran through his head as he casually chatted with Draco.

"Harry seemed to be in an awful hurry," Remus indicated toward the door as he sat down opposite Draco. The chair still felt warm and Remus could sense the smell of confusion and hurt in the air.

Draco's face paled with guilt, even though he showed concern for Harry. "Draco?" Remus frowned. "What have you done?"

Rather than get all uptight at Remus' accusation, Draco thought long and sighed deeply. "Let's just say that I might have dawdled too long, Remus, and left my words too late."

Remus nodded in understanding. "You apologised?"

"Mmmm, but he's not taken it all that well. Having said that, of course, there were some mitigating circumstances." Draco had the decency to blush in embarrassment. Having just read Harry's journal, he had a rather vivid idea of what had happened at the end of the party, but he was not going to stop Draco from explaining himself.

Draco seriously contemplated saying anything to Remus, but remembered that Remus had offered a friendly ear.

"Draco, you can talk to me, you know. I'm not going to bite. This morning, anyway." Remus sat as Draco offered the other chair.

"How was your moon, Remus?" Draco saw an opportunity to divert the conversation.

Remus expertly waved his diversion away. "It was blessedly uneventful, thanks to you, but I'll give you all the details tomorrow." He cut off Draco's line of questioning. It seemed that once you got Draco talking about Wolfsbane, he would never give up. Remus wanted to talk about other things – specific things.

He changed the subject yet again. "You mentioned mitigating circumstances with Harry?" Remus tried to sound curious, despite knowing the outcome.

Draco blushed and looked exceedingly unsure if he should say anything. "I don't know, Remus." He dragged a hand through his hair. "Things may have got a little out of hand. I'm still trying to come to terms with it all myself." His embarrassment was evident, and Remus nodded knowingly, not pushing for any further questions. _But you'll confide in your anonymous friend, won't you? _Remus thought. _Oh Draco, no wonder Harry raced out of here. Not only was he coping with what you both got up to last night, now he discovers that he's been writing to _you_. I have to go and find him!_

"Sounds like I missed one raunchy party then," Remus offered in polite understanding.

Draco's eyebrows raised and he adjusted the collar on his shirt before swallowing. "You can only begin to imagine," he murmured. "Still, in Harry's defence, he did try to drink every last drop of absinthe on offer. I probably wasn't far behind on the firewhisky either."

Remus seemed a little surprised. From what he knew, Harry rarely drank anything that exotic. "Well then, I guess he must be due for some Sobrietus charms."

"I asked Dobby to give him one of my Sobrietus potions this morning. It was the least I could do after last night..." Remus could see Draco's own confusion over his feelings toward Harry. He had apologised, for what it was worth. At least he was trying to help, even if they were both coming to grips with a relationship that was speeding very fast to a rather explosive conclusion.

Remus assessed Draco's body language as he sipped his coffee, but he was fairly certain Draco had no idea of Harry's corresponding identity. Draco seemed somewhat distracted by the closed journal beside him, and Remus sought an outlet. "So, I see you've been writing to your friend? How is he?"

Draco looked back at the journal and Remus remembered the feeling that was now showing plainly on Draco's face. That look of hopeful longing that came whenever he thought about Sirius. "Oh, I think he's fine. We were chatting when Harry interrupted me. I tried to resume our conversation, but he hasn't responded." Draco put a hand on the journal, willing it to open up with more of Flash's comforting words.

It was then that Remus was absolutely certain that Draco had no idea to whom he was writing. He was even more certain now for the reason behind Harry's speedy exit. He needed to find him and talk him through this situation. If he knew Harry half as well as he thought, then he would likely be trying to bottle his feelings up until they burst. He didn't want to let that happen.

He chatted briefly with Draco as he tried to hurriedly finish his coffee. Seeing Emmaline's all-knowing gaze land in their direction, he made his excuses to Draco and went to talk to her.

"Leaving so soon, Remus?" she asked petulantly. "You've only had one coffee this morning. Surely I could tempt you with one of my apple almond tartlets, hmmm?"

"Sorry, Emmaline, but I can't stay. One of my dear friends has had a revelation. Something that he needs to talk about – to a friend."

"But surely he should be telling those sorts of things to a correspondent? Much easier to write things down, don't you think?" Her air of mystery belied the fact she knew exactly what had gone on. For a moment he wondered if she had anything to do with it.

She must have been a Legilimens, for she defended the unspoken accusation. "Oh no, my dear, I wouldn't dare interfere with the natural order of things. If 'Arry has learned the truth, then he has finally admitted his feelings to himself." She gave Remus a supportive pat on the shoulder. "Go easy on him, Remus. He needs someone to explain it to him. You know he's always needed guidance. Tell him why it has to be this way." Remus looked at her in surprise. Despite his suspicions that she was involved, it was still a surprise to see how well she knew people. Did the cunning old witch know everything?

"But Draco..." he started.

Emmaline hushed him up as she walked him towards the door. "But Draco nothing. It's 'Arry that you need to worry about right now, môn chéri." Emmaline's knowing smile irked Remus, as did the twinkle in her eye. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn she was Albus in disguise.

--oo0oo--

Draco was left somewhat bereft and bewildered as he drained the dregs of his coffee. He had apologised to Harry, yet he felt no better for having done so. He had not expected such a reaction from his former nemesis. Where were the explosive fireworks and harsh words? Even they would have been more comfortable than this feeling.

He really wanted to talk to Flash, but even he seemed to have abandoned him. He added a few more words to his journal in the hope of prompting Flash to write back. He could only hazard a guess that he had stepped away from his journal for a while.

_Well I wasn't as long as I suspected, but it's done. I've apologised, but I honestly don't know how he's taken it. He ran off in a tearing hurry. I don't blame him. I can only hope my apology wasn't what sent him away. He doesn't look terribly well – mind you, he did drink more Absinthe last night than any wizard should be able to handle. But I'm not making excuses. Somehow, I don't think that my apology was sufficient. _ _Another friend just joined me for a bit as well. I'm beginning to think that this whole idea of writing in a public place was a bad idea. I'm going to keep firmly to my rooms next time we write. _ _I think I'm going to have to do a lot more to really make up for my years of rotten behaviour towards him. You know, I thought making amends and apologising would help me to get over this new fascination with him, but the crazy thing is that after last night, I seem to have raised my level of obsession. I've just realised the apologising isn't where it ends, it's only the start. I've now got to prove that I meant what I said._

His concern for his friend heightened as no reply came in the journal – not even a quickly scrawled apology. For just a moment he realised how Flash might have read his words. _Could he be pissed off or jealous? He says he loves me. I really am an insensitive prick sometimes. Way to go, Malfoy._

_Are you around, Flash? _ _Ah, well, I guess you've been sidetracked. That's okay - I did intimate that I was going to be tied up for a while. I'm really sorry I didn't get to hear about your night. You seem like you needed to talk to someone, and as usual, I've taken over the conversation - I have a real knack for that. I only hope you'll tell me later – that's if you haven't already worked through it._

His shoulders slumped as he realised that he really should have been more sensitive in what he had written earlier on the page. _No doubt my admission of what I did with Harry has upset him - after all, he has told me he loves me. _Sometimes he hated the way in which his journal just drew the words straight out of his quill with little or no censorship.

_At least I've apologised to Harry. He seemed so distraught. I really should try to talk to him later when he's fully sober. _Draco rubbed his temples. _Still, I'm just as bad. _He had really drunk more firewhisky than he thought was possible and two doses of Sobrietus were still not enough to quell the dull headache throbbing away in the back of his head. It almost seemed that the pounding in his head was directly connected to the constantly replaying memories from the lavatory with Harry.

It had been unexpected. Tantalising, invigorating and new, yet thoroughly unexpected. Draco was still trying to wrap his head around the realisation that it had actually happened and that he was no longer dreaming. Well, at least now he had a better frame of reference in which to dream.

"Môn chéri. Why the long face? You look like you've lost a niffler and found an empty purse." Emmaline seemed to have a divinatory sense that told her when her customers needed another cup of coffee, for she had another steaming cup in front of Draco just before he realised he was still craving caffeine. Indeed, she followed that up with a plate of Draco's favourite petit fours - delicate choux pastry balls filled with custard and drizzled with caramel and chocolate.

"Ah, Petite mère, why is it you always know just what my heart desires?" Draco put on his best smile and gave her a warm hug.

"Probably because you don't know yourself. Don't worry, môn chéri. You'll work it out soon enough. Have a little faith in yourself." She walked off quickly, the seemingly random words of wisdom sounding even more cryptic than her usual advice. Even so, he wondered why it seemed like it was exactly what he needed to hear.

--oo0oo--

Remus didn't have to look far to find Harry. The maddening blur that wove frantically over the Quidditch pitch moved in a pattern that Remus remembered well. James had been the same when he was angry or overwhelmed with startling news. He could remember a day where his dear old friend spent over 12 hours on his broom - fuming over something that Lily had done. The details were now foggy, but Remus remembered the outcome just the same. James had often said that flying made all the worries of the world lighten, and he could think with more clarity. He even once asked to be able to take all his exams from the back of his broom as being on the ground was an impediment to his exam performance.

Some traits of the parents often rub off on the children, and it was no different in Harry's case. He had the best and worst of his parents. Like his father, he needed a physical outlet for his frustration. Like his mother, he wore his heart on his sleeve, and gave in to it all too often. Harry had had more emotional upheaval in his short life than anyone Remus knew. Right now as he was coming to terms with a startling revelation, he was flying like a man possessed – or a man who had nothing to lose. Remus was a little worried when he lost sight of Harry, and he raced even more quickly up the hill to the pitch. He was surprised at his own burst of strength – he was not usually so active the day after the moon, but he was not thinking of such things now. He stepped back and rested easily when he caught a glimpse of Harry sitting high in one of the viewing boxes.

"Harry..." Remus ventured as he walked up behind the slumped figure up in the stands. Harry didn't reply.

He put a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder as he sat down next to him. "Harry..." Remus suddenly realised he didn't quite know how to start the conversation, but remembered the journal. "... You left in such a hurry, you forgot this." He offered the journal to his young friend, but Harry gazed absently at a spot on the distant horizon.

"Burn it, Remus." Harry glanced at it menacingly for a moment, as if it were poisonous.

"Harry, what's happened? This isn't like you. You seemed so happy last night. What could have gone so terribly wrong?"

Harry laughed mockingly, but didn't reply immediately. Remus didn't push him and let him answer in his own time. Harry eventually realised Remus was still there and finally answered. "Oh, nothing, really. Just everything has gone arse up, and I'm such an unbelievable fool."

"Why don't you start from the beginning, Harry. You looked as if you saw a ghost when you ran out of Emmaline's, and then I saw you had been writing to Draco..." Remus halted as he realised his own mistake. Harry also noticed the slip and he looked directly at him. Remus could see the horrified disappointment in his eyes. Harry was never one for hiding his feelings, and those eyes were always so expressive.

Remus could see that Harry was trying to stay calm, but the fury was quelled deep below the surface. "How long have you known?" he snapped. He moved quickly and pulled Remus up by the lapels, shouting furiously. "HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN? IS THIS SOME SORT OF _JOKE_?" Remus did not fail to notice the sudden gust of wind and power that rose up around the tower as Harry's anger flared.

"Harry, calm down. I fear I do owe you an explanation."

Harry's nostrils were still flaring in anger, but he suddenly realised his own lack of control and looked around to see where he was and what he was doing. Remus suspected he might flee, but Harry only pushed Remus away gently, and would no longer return his gaze. "Too bloody right you do. Well, go on. I'm listening. This had better be good."

"Harry, please don't be childish about this. There is a perfectly logical explanation." Remus sat down and picked up Sirius' – Harry's journal. "When I first saw you writing in this, I immediately recognised it. Sirius wrote in it practically every day to talk with his soul mate. His soul mate had his own journal that he used to reply."

Harry's arms were folded and he was still pouting petulantly as he refused to meet Remus' eye. "You've already told me you were Sirius' soul mate."

"Aye, that's right. I am – I was..." Remus pushed away his own painful memories. This was about Harry and Draco now. "I lost my journal many years ago when I was in Paris. Actually, I didn't lose it; I somehow mixed it up with some books I left with Emmaline. At the time, I wasn't sorry to see the back of it." Harry seemed a little surprised by that admission. "It was during that period after Sirius went to Azkaban, and my feelings were... well, you could only begin to imagine how painful it was thinking that the one you loved had killed and betrayed two of your best friends."

Harry didn't say anything in reply, but pulled his knees up to his chest as he sat back on the bench, rocking back and forth thoughtfully. Remus continued. "I saw you writing in the journal not long before you made a pass at me, Harry. That's why I knew that I couldn't start a relationship with you – at least not in good faith. There was another man out there who I knew was going to make you much happier than I ever could. Harry, I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

"What about _Draco?_ How long have you known that I've been making a complete fool of myself in front of him?" Harry scoffed. "He's probably laughing right now." He hugged his knees back to his chest and looked away thoughtfully. "Why did I pour my heart and soul out into that bloody book? Why was I compelled to say what I did? Of all the wizards in this world, why did I end up talking to Draco?" Harry suddenly remembered he was talking to Remus and his eyes narrowed somewhat. "How... when did you find out that Draco was writing in the other journal? Why didn't you say something – _anything_?"

"I wanted to Harry, but Emmaline forbade it." Harry looked sceptical. "Oh if you really want to lay the blame on anyone, then it definitely should be her - she seems to have all the answers. All I know is that somehow that book landed in Draco's lap when he was living above Emmaline's store in Paris. Believe me, when I saw him writing to you just a couple of weeks ago, I was just as shocked as you are..."

Harry interrupted. "You could have said _something._ You know how I feel... felt about him."

"Would it have made a difference? I doubt your reaction would have been any less volatile. There's a reason for everything Harry, and with magic, it's not always immediately apparent. It's dangerous to interfere with the ancient magics. You can't lie in the journals and nobody can interfere with their purpose. You were always going to find out the truth when the time was right. Somehow, right now, your journal lifted the enchantments and decided it was time that you realised the truth of Draco's identity."

"But Remus, it's just a journal. How could it..."

Remus ventured a small smile. "This pair of journals is a powerful magical artefact, Harry. You have to stop thinking like a Muggle sometimes. They come from a very old magic – something that very few can explain, or even understand. Emmaline knows more than she is letting on. That woman is... an enigma."

"What right... who is she... how _dare_ she interfere!" Harry wasn't really sure who he was angry with, but Remus was going to let him vent his anger. "How could someone make something like that," he pointed to the journal, "and give me a false sense of security? It's bloody Tom Riddle all over again! I thought I was just talking to a stranger!" Harry was furious again. "Just... just get rid of it, Remus."

"If I thought it would help you, I would." He could see Harry's stubborn streak coming to the fore, and he tried a different tactic. "The journals have been bringing soul mates together for centuries. Possibly even longer. Your parents came together because of these books, Harry. I think what they do is identify two soul mates who are in danger of passing by, and then they somehow target their magic. Artefacts like this are never wrong, Harry. Draco is truly your soul mate."

Harry shuddered at the thought and buried his head in his hands. He sat quietly like that for a long time, seemingly wavering between anguish and resignation. Eventually he spoke. "Why now? I don't understand. If I know, then why doesn't Draco? He still seems oblivious. Surely he has a right to know..."

"No, Harry – you must not say anything to him." Remus said emphatically. "I've seen how you've been slowly changing your opinion over the past few weeks. You've had a major shift in how you perceive Draco Malfoy. Along the way you've discovered that you don't hate him as much as you would like to. I can only guess that something else might have happened that changed your opinion..." Harry gave him a frowning glare and then blushed deeply. Remus feigned ignorance and continued. "You finally worked out how you felt about Draco, so the journals obliged and showed you that you were ready to face the truth. I can only assume that Draco must still have some things to work out before he is ready to hear the truth. Tell him now, and you risk unknown repercussions and at worst you could both end up living out your lives as bitter lonely old men."

"I don't know if I really comprehend it all, Remus. Draco Malfoy is my soul mate? It's ludicrous."

"Weren't you telling me just the other day how you felt about Luc? You seemed quite sure about _him_." Remus gently reminded Harry of his words just the previous day.

Harry just shook his head in disbelief and wrapped his hands around his knees in a protective gesture. "It's insane!"

"It's about as insane as Lily Evans and James Potter ever getting together, that's what, Harry."

"Surely not..."

"I have watched you and Draco snark and snarl at each other for the better part of the past decade. Your mother and father were almost the same. They fought constantly until their last year at school. Harry, you would not be here now if it weren't for those journals. Lily despised James. He was the antithesis of everything she believed in. He was rich, exceedingly cocky and from a background that was the complete opposite to her modest upbringing. You thought Lucius Malfoy was a snob – James was almost as bad. He had been known to throw the term 'Mudblood' around a time or two – that was until you mother slapped him into shape." Harry seemed quite thoughtful at this news. Remus didn't want to interrupt the moment.

Remus didn't know how long he sat quietly and waited, but he knew he had to be there for Harry. It seemed like hours later when Harry finally spoke. "I told Luc that I loved him, Remus. I had fallen in love with the man in the journal. How could I not know him? How do I know that is Draco's real persona?" Harry was shaking his head and still seemed thoroughly confused by what he had learned.

"What does your heart say, Harry? When you close your eyes and think about your friend Luc, what do you feel?" Harry did indeed close his eyes, and Remus saw him take a deep breath as he tried to calm and centre himself. Reluctantly, a small smile crossed his lips.

"The magic of the journals will make you see the other person by their words alone – without all the other baggage that exists. You must have been ready to accept that other person into your life, because it has chosen now to make you see that it is Draco. He's not as bad as you might think, Harry."

Harry seemed to take quite a while to answer, and Remus felt that he should probably let Harry alone again so he could absorb the rest of what he had said. _Merlin knows, I could use a drink,_ Remus thought. He gently left the journal sitting atop Harry's knapsack as he got up to leave. "Perhaps you should go back and read through the journal thoroughly. Find out exactly what it is that made you fall in love with Luc. I know it's not much help, but it's the only suggestion I have at the moment."

"I'm sorry Remus. I'm sorry for turning on you before. My mind is still boggling at all of this. I don't honestly know what to think any more."

As he walked away, Remus noticed something different about Harry – something new. As Harry turned to look away, it struck Remus that since the previous day, Harry had lost the last vestiges of his childlike innocence and had finally become a man.

--oo0oo--

Harry eventually picked himself up from the Quidditch stands when he realised the foggy darkness surrounding him was actually nightfall. Returning to his rooms, he poured himself a generous cup of tea (despite his fervent desire for something stronger, he couldn't bear the thought of any more alcohol). He could still hear Remus' explanation for this latest mess in his life. _By words alone._ Harry had always surmised that there was more to the journal than met the eye. He just assumed from Ginny's assurances that his journal was harmless – merely a device to keep in contact over long distances.

Harry tried to relax he sat in his favourite chair, but the adrenalin still coursing through his system made it difficult to do so. The past 24 hours had been more than enlightening. His journal was sitting on the table, but he dared not to open it despite the fact his gaze kept turning in that direction. Eventually, he could ignore it no longer.

_My soul mate is Luc. Luc is Draco. Draco is my soul mate?_ No matter which way he looked at it, it all came full circle. _How in the four hells am I going to face him again with that knowledge? How will I be able to write to Luc knowing that? Draco and I are only just barely tolerating each other – well, when we're not drunk at parties, that is._ A small part of Harry's mind was still trying to keep Draco and Luc separate. He was feeling completely foolish for having once again bared his heart and now it was too late to take it back.

_By words alone._ This wonderful wizard he had admitted his love for was actually Draco? This was not something that he could just accept at face value. Remus was right. He was going to need to reread the entire journal to be sure. It was difficult to convince himself to open the pages and reread those words again without the enchantments that had concealed the truth.

He tentatively touched the corner of the journal. He was surprised when a surge of warmth came up his arm and a feeling of contentment shot through him. The warm smile that crossed his face suddenly darkened and he jerked his arm away quickly when he realised what was happening.

_Why haven't I noticed this before? The bloody journal has been manipulating my feelings!_ The book just sat there, seemingly innocent and inanimate as it silently dared him to try ignoring it. Harry's insatiable curiosity overcame self-preservation and he quickly flipped open the pages. Somehow it knew Harry's mind, and instead of opening at the page of the last entry, it opened at the very first page.

Even with a hefty dose of scepticism, the tense set of his shoulders was soon gone, and the briefest of smiles on his face soon turned into a full blooming grin as he began to read. His eyes did not leave the page until hours later, when the embers of the dying firelight winked out whilst he finished reading Draco's last words.

Sitting back in his chair, he finally admitted he was too tired to draw any more conclusions. Rereading Luc's words had reignited the spark of inner warmth that had burned out earlier in the day at the discovery of the truth.

_It's so bleeding obvious. How did I not see that I was writing to Draco months ago? I admit that I would never have imagined some of those things about him, but that is truly Draco. He's always worn some mask and this journal has allowed him to be himself. This man has to be the real Draco Malfoy. I would never have imagined it. How much of that would I have seen had I accepted his hand of friendship all those years ago? How different would both our lives be without the war?_

It felt awkward reading about himself – painful at times even, but he could not help but feel lighter in spirit when he read Draco's sudden change in feelings towards Harry. _He's been trying to apologise to me all this time?_ When he reached that day's entry, he had to stop and read it very carefully.

_...and all I could think about was wanting to do that again. With him._

Harry closed his eyes. Despite his inebriation, he vividly remembered what had happened in the lavatory with Draco. It had been quick and hot and Harry remembered that he felt so good afterward; he couldn't let Draco go without reciprocating in kind. _Draco wants to do that again – with me?_ He blinked owlishly into the newly stoked fire. _Is it possible? Could he possibly consider something a little more permanent with me? _His despair was replaced with a seed of hope as he realised that he had a chance to share something with Draco.

_But what do I tell him? Do I tell him that Flash and Harry are the same? _Remus' voice came to him clearly telling him that it would be a very bad idea to do so. Something else also nagged at the back of his mind – that sense of doubt that always dogged him just when he thought things were going to be perfect. _How do I honestly know that he doesn't know? Am I sure that he's not playing me for a fool? He has always been too good an actor. How do I really know that he has been innocently writing as Luc? It could still all be just some game. I need to know the truth!_

His head was swimming from it all. It was well into Monday morning and he could not remember eating at all. The Sobrietus had taken the edge from his hangover, but he still felt a little woozy from the alcohol. He was suddenly overcome with weariness, and he knew he needed to sleep before he could think about anything rationally. He did feel a little guilty that he left Luc hanging without any response, but a tiny amount of guilt crept into his conscience.

A quill was in his hand before he had time to think, and he had already written two sentences before he regained control of his hand.

_**I am sorry I never got back to you, Luc. After you said you were going, I got completely distracted and it is only now I get a chance to see that you wrote further. I am so happy that you finally apologised to him...**_

He frowned for just a second. _I thought the journal couldn't lie. Thank Merlin I wrote 'Luc' instead of 'Draco'. I wonder why that is? I am going to have to be extra careful now that I know who 'Luc' is._

Harry was still none the wiser as to what had made Draco have such a change of heart about him, but he could not doubt that Draco's apology had made him feel good. As he consciously thought of Draco and not Luc, his hand began to shake and he could feel the sweat breaking out on his brow. This was going to be harder than he thought.

_**I do have to go again, but I am sorry for rushing off...**_

_Which is true. I'm not lying. I regret rushing off, Draco, but I have to sort through this in my own way. _A half-formed thought had finally come together in Harry's mind after reading, and he smiled and nodded at himself as he added one last comment.

_**I will, however, be taking you up on your offer of asking a question the next time we talk. There is something important I need to ask.**_ **_Take care,  
Flash_**

_Ahh, that was really hard. _Harry's arm ached now that he had put down the quill. _How am I going to be able to write honestly to Luc knowing who he really is? _He closed the journal, having warmed somewhat to the idea that Luc and Draco were one and the same. He still wasn't completely convinced of Draco's complete ignorance of the truth, but if he passed Harry's little test, then he knew everything would be fine. Until then, he would keep his distance from Draco and try to not let his thoughts consume him too much. For now he would sit back and meditate and try to come to terms with everything. He was not allowed the luxury of denial, for he knew it to be true. For now he would live with the small thread of hope. Everything else could wait.

--oo0oo--

**June 16 - Monday**

Draco was enjoying his morning coffee as he gazed out the window. Looking back into his room, he shook his head at the fact that the castle could still surprise him after so long. Some time during the night, the room had expanded and a small kitchenette complete with dumbwaiter now adorned the far wall. He vaguely remembered Severus saying something about the castle adapting to accommodate to his needs during the holidays. He had absently been wondering how he would get his meals now that formal dining in the Great Hall was over for the summer. He fancied neither a long trek to the kitchens, nor a constant stream of house elves delivering meals.

He was actually quite pleased about this new addition. He missed having somewhere to prepare a few simple meals, and he made plans to head down to the village to gather some fresh food to tide him over. He was already praising Dobby's forethought, as there was coffee waiting for him. In fact it was the smell of a freshly prepared pot that had awoken him that morning. How his father could have ever managed to lose such a resourceful elf, he could only begin to imagine.

The castle seemed devoid of liveliness now that it was nearly empty. Still gazing out the window, he realised that part of this strange lack of routine had quite a bit to do with the fact that Harry was not in the courtyard. It was the usual time for the new Defence apprentice to be out there doing his morning forms, but Draco frowned when he realised that he was actually missing Harry's presence.

Surely he should not be feeling this way – after all, Saturday night had been a major turning point in their... relationship. Apologising to him had not helped either. If he thought either of those actions would have helped get his obsessive thoughts about Harry out of his system, he could not have been more wrong.

If Draco thought that sharing intimacy would make him stop dreaming about Harry, then he had been mistaken. His dreams seemed even more vivid than ever before. If anything, he could have sworn that Jean-Paul was fading from the dream, only to be replaced by more of that mess of dark hair and those green eyes. Of course, now that he knew exactly what made Harry moan, he could vividly hear the hitch of Harry's breath and feel those hands on his body. It was all too real.

He shook the image from his head. It was more than an obsession to be still thinking about it. He _had_ to stop thinking about it. He almost didn't hear the impatient knock at the door.

Severus entered, looking somewhat harried and flustered. He was wearing his travelling robes, and Draco raised an eyebrow as he headed straight over to Melchett's owl perch and began to stare at Draco's oldest pet. He was worried when Severus pulled his wand and pointed at the bird.

"What on earth..." he began, but Severus held up a finger to stop him. He continued to stare down at the cantankerous old owl until he hooted indignantly and ruffled his feathers. Seemingly satisfied, Severus stood up straight and nodded.

"I'm sorry, Draco. Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ is to know where I am going for the summer."

"I can be discreet, Severus," he said indignantly. Draco felt somewhat put out by his friend's secrecy.

Severus nodded, "I know you are, but it's Dumbledore I don't trust. I have no idea why he let Weasley onto the staff, but I will not have the lovelorn fool of a boy think that he can chase me from one end of the continent to the other!" Severus sounded quite exasperated.

Draco could not help but snicker as he realised the source of Severus' displeasure. "I must have missed something yesterday." Severus didn't seem amused by Draco's casual comment. "Oh Severus, what harm could come of it?"

"Harm? _Harm_? Draco, this boy thinks himself in love with me. He's apparently held a torch since his school days."

"He came through Hogwarts a few years behind you, Severus. I'd hardly call him a boy. He looks... quite fit, actually." Seeing Severus so flustered by the advances of Charlie Weasley was terribly amusing. Severus deserved and needed some happiness in life, and Draco suspected that this Weasley might just be up to the challenge of keeping Severus from getting old before his time. He didn't fail to notice that Severus had not once mentioned his own feelings towards Weasley. It was an omission that most people would have missed. Draco could only begin to speculate that there was more to this possible liaison than Severus was letting on. It would seem he had a whole summer to come up with the most wild and outlandish speculations of all. Severus would be most amused when he returned.

"Well if he's so fit, why don't _you_ distract him over the summer, Draco?" Severus snarked back, mistaking the reason behind Draco's smirk.

"Oh, no, no, no. I could do no such thing. Just what were you doing to my owl, anyway?" he asked curiously.

"Well he needs to know where I am so that you can write to me. I have every intention of keeping to myself this summer, Draco, but I will understand if you need me back here before the last week in August. I trust you have everything under control?"

Draco gave him a glare that showed he was not impressed at the doubt expressed in his ability to look after the lab during the summer holidays. There was extremely little he needed to do. He would need to help Pomfrey in August to help stock up the Infirmary's medical potions, and he would assist Pomona Sprout during the summer in harvesting a number of the school's private herb stocks. In between that, he only needed to pick up the ordered supplies as they came in, and brew up anything required by those staying behind. The rest of the summer was his to work on his research. That gave him ample opportunity to work on improving Remus' Wolfsbane.

_Unless you have a pressing need to brew something of a more... personal nature._ That damn voice was back in his head and he just knew it wasn't going to go away in a hurry.

"So Severus, are you actually planning on relaxing this summer? You do realise that is the sole purpose of a holiday, don't you?"

"Cheeky monkey. I have every intention of relaxing. Why do you think I am taking such precautions to avoid the likes of Dumbledore? For once I plan on doing what _I_ want. I will need the solitude to psyche myself up for another year of those imbeciles. It will be bad enough keeping them under my thumb without Weasley following me around like a lost puppy." Severus sounded dreadfully weary. Draco thought it was great that Severus was going away, but hoped he wasn't going to hole himself up in some damp and remote moor.

Draco knew that Severus craved his solitude, but he sensed that it was more out of habit than because he really wanted to be alone. He really needed to get involved in something that had plenty of social interaction. Draco wanted to make a suggestion when Severus looked at his fob watch and tsked.

"I have to go. You will be all right?" he asked in genuine concern.

Draco slapped him on the shoulder. "Get out of here you greasy git. Go and enjoy yourself for once in your life – if you can remember how." Severus' dark glare could not hide the quirk of a smile rose that rose in the corner of his mouth. Draco watched as he headed down the stairs back to his own dungeon rooms. Draco could not resist one final jibe.

"Don't brew anything I wouldn't brew!" He shouted joyfully.

"Cheeky monkey!" He heard Severus' retort just as he was closing his door. Seeing Severus gone, he looked around his humble rooms, feeling somewhat more at leisure than normal. It definitely felt like it was the holidays, even if he still had responsibilities. If he were younger and less resourceful, he would probably be feeling bored by now, but with one eye on his day robes, and another on the half read novel on the bedside cabinet, he ventured out of doors to enjoy the sunshine.

--oo0oo--

Harry slept in late on Monday morning, his dreams a confused bundle of images that were both intimate and somewhat nightmarish. He checked his scar, but felt no tenderness. He had been so tired that he had forgotten to clear his mind before sleep, but he admitted that the nightmarish dreams had not featured death and dark magic; rather they involved one very, very confusing blond who alternately was the most annoying and devious prat Harry had ever met, and the most heart-warming and intimately trusting friend he could ever hope for.

He immediately remembered why he was so conflicted, and knew that he still needed some time to reconcile the fact that Draco and Luc were the same man. He attempted to distract himself immediately from that thought, and decided the new kitchenette that had appeared in his rooms would help in that regard. He remembered some announcement from the staff party about the adaptive facilities of the castle now that the summer was upon them. Harry had not imagined that this would be the result. The castle was still throwing surprises at him, and he renewed his joy at the fact he could now call the place home.

Harry was not going to let anything ruin his day, as he planned on cooking up a storm. Harry had most of the summer to plan his new job role, but after such an eventful weekend, he would need a few days to just relax and come to terms with things. He faltered for a moment about what he would do when he ran into Draco, but he decided that it was pointless to plan anything. Nature would just have to take its course if he bumped into him.

He succeeded in not seeing Draco at all on Monday. Determined to spend a day _not_ thinking about him, or Luc, he found it nigh on impossible. Going about his business, he found himself unconsciously looking around for the blond. Still, it was a big castle and it was highly likely they could have missed each other.

Harry spent much of his day settling in to his room and deciding on best how to use his holiday time. He shared afternoon tea with Remus, but neither mentioned the events of the day before. Harry could see the unasked questions in Remus' eyes, but he didn't volunteer any information. There was an uncomfortable barrier between them, and he really wasn't up for any more conversation about Draco or the journals. He was surprised to learn that Remus would be also going away for a couple of weeks. He was due to go back to the Ministry to yet again advise them of his werewolf status, and to spend some time working with Werewolf Support Services – a task that gave him great personal satisfaction. Being such a high profile werewolf helped him to give some hope to other werewolves as he counselled them. The war had left a stinging legacy and the number of innocent victims of the war was exceedingly high. He wasn't planning to be back until later in the month for his Wolfsbane and transformation, but he promised that he was only a Floo call away if Harry needed him.

Harry was still a little annoyed that Remus had known the truth, but he tried to let go of the grudge. Lao Kuai had always spoken about the disharmony of negative emotions and the positive energy of forgiveness. He needed to live by that credo.

Just as he was leaving, Remus turned and made a suggestion, "I know you probably don't need to hear this, but try not to brood for too long. Perhaps you should talk to Emmaline if you feel the need to open up to anyone. She might give you a fresh perspective on things. But then again, that probably isn't the best idea - you're likely to end up with more questions than answers."

Harry filed that suggestion away for future consideration, but it was delayed a bit longer than necessary when he bumped into Charlie for the first time since the party. He'd been on his way to the Quidditch pitch in the hopes that another flying session would help to clear his head, when he almost literally ran over the new Care of Magical Creatures professor. "Oh, erm, Charlie…" Harry suddenly found himself feeling incredibly embarrassed as he remembered his behaviour from the weekend. He fidgeted with his broom and finally ran his fingers through his hair before shoving his hand deep in the pocket of his jeans. He was so nervous as he tried to force out an awkward apology that he completely missed Charlie's grin at the familiar mannerisms. Everyone who'd known Harry long had learned his typical nervous habits despite the fact Harry himself seemed oblivious to them.

"I wanted to, er, well that is, I need to say," Harry was more than a little nervous about this. He knew he had been a complete arse to Charlie at the staff party, and needed to apologise, lest he end up alienating the whole Weasley clan. "Er, sorry about being such a pillock at the party the other night."

Charlie, of course, would hear none of it and quickly brushed it off as insignificant. "Hey, don't worry about it. I have no idea how much absinthe you were drinking, but I'm surprised you were still standing by the end of the night," Charlie remarked gleefully.

_That's what Draco said too_, Harry thought. He turned the conversation around to Charlie's activities from the party. "Why are you so still so bloody chipper? I hear that your advances have made Snape flee the castle for the first holiday he's had in decades!"

"Oh I'm not worried about that," Charlie offered in reply. "Severus is worth every moment of my time, even if he takes years. Taming dragons can take decades, especially if you get one of the older, wilder ones. I said I wanted a new challenge. I think Severus Snape will fit the bill nicely. Of course, the final results will be well worth every minute." Harry could see Charlie mentally strategising plans to get the greasy old git into the sack. He just shook his head in disbelief, but would not begrudge him. After all, he was the one who had Draco sodding Malfoy for a soul mate.

They managed to both kill some time with a rather fast and furious one-on-one Quidditch game, and by the time that was done, he was famished. He offered to cook dinner for Charlie, and the friends managed to spend an enjoyable evening with good food and a decent bottle of wine. By the end of the evening, Harry realised that he was now over his crush on Charlie, and now that it was gone, he was glad for the friendship from yet another of the Weasleys. They were a fine and loyal family and Harry was proud to know them.

By Tuesday, Harry managed to bring some semblance of routine back to his day by returning to his morning forms and meditations. He wasn't sure if he was pleased or upset that Draco had stopped coming down in the mornings for a cigarette as he completed his T'ai Chi, but he could sense that he was still being watched and wondered if it was Draco. Wednesday morning, as he worked on a slow turn, he noticed that Draco was indeed still watching him from the window of his room. He could not help but smile surreptitiously, but wasn't sure whether it was because Draco was still around, or because of the sudden mental image from yet another of his intense and erotic dreams. Whatever it was, it helped him to attain his centre just that little bit more quickly.

This was the only time he spotted Draco during the days that followed. It was a strategic choice on his part to retreat and do his best to avoid Draco whilst he came to terms with everything, but Harry began to wonder if Draco was consciously doing the same, or if they were just coincidentally missing each other in their daily routines. Strangely, the longer this went on, the more he found himself missing Draco's company.

He knew that eventually they would have to talk again, face to face, but he would worry about that when the time came. He still had a very important question to ask Luc, and he realised that he wanted to avoid Draco. Once he had his answer, then he would know exactly what to do.

--oo0oo--

The new kitchen was a source of constant joy for Harry. Cooking was an outlet he had always enjoyed once he was free of the Dursley's kitchen. He had asked Pomona Sprout for a corner of the staff greenhouse, and was thrilled to have an area to work on his own herb garden. His last one had actually been shared with Priscilla and Walt back in Somerset, and it felt good to be able to magically encourage his herbs to grow without anyone getting suspicious.

He had already planned an entire year's worth of meals, and after inviting Albus down for an evening meal, was chuffed to learn that he could keep the kitchen when school returned. The headmaster was actually forthcoming – for once – with some ideas Harry could use to personalise his rooms at Hogwarts any way he chose. It was quite surprising to learn that the Headmaster's office actually once started out as a room the same as his. The longer Dumbledore had remained in the castle, and the more his needs grew, the rooms expanded and changed. Before he knew it, his room had moved into the top tower upon his ascension to the headmaster's position.

Harry could only guess that it was similar to the Room of Requirement's magic, only it worked on a much slower scale. The idea that his room would grow around him was comforting. As he looked around, he decided that he rather liked the idea of the castle adapting his rooms to his needs. This fuelled a thought, which he planned to test over the summer – something that could give him the best of both worlds. After all, he had every intention of living a long, full life. Living at Hogwarts just made it all that much easier for him to feel centred.

Unfortunately, as he fell asleep, he wondered whether or not the castle would suddenly sprout a door that led directly to Draco's room. As intriguing as that idea was, he really didn't feel up to explaining something like that if it were to suddenly appear.

--oo0oo--

Draco had decided that the Weasel was a bigger prat than he originally suspected. He made it an almost daily part of his routine to send another letter to London to enquire about the progress of his submission. He knew Ron had no intention of letting him access Malfoy Manor, but he refused to sit back and let the Weasel win without putting up a fight. Malfoys were not quitters. Never. If Weasley had an ounce of Slytherin sense, he would have turned Draco's offers to his own advantage. It was so easy to negotiate with someone when you knew they wanted something out of you. Weasley didn't want anything except satisfaction in denying Draco something he wanted. Foolish bloody Gryffindor.

Another letter to the Weasel at the bank was in store. Far be it from him to try and do anything that would risk his inheritance, Draco knew he had to grovel to Weasley and the FIGs. As much as he despised it, it was just another unpleasant task in a long line of unpleasant tasks he knew he would have to do.

Draco braced himself as he picked up the quill. It was becoming quite a chore, but he knew that if he didn't press the situation, Weasley would try to avoid the situation. With no answers to his previous letters, he tried, yet again, to word his request in such a way that would prove his sincerity.

_Mr Ronald Weasley  
Investigative Services Division  
Gringott's Bank_ _Re: The Holdings of Malfoy, Draco Lucien Darien_ _Mr Weasley,_ _I respectfully request admission to the potions lab situated underneath Malfoy Manor for the purpose of investigating any stores that may still be viable for use in my research. As mentioned before, I am in the midst of conducting several research projects, some of which may prove extremely helpful to the medi-wizardry field, in particular, Lycanthropy. _ _Unfortunately, some ingredients are nearing extinction and therefore very difficult to come by. Abraxas Malfoy was known for his extensive laboratory and variety of rare ingredients, which leads me to believe that the Malfoy Manor potions stores may be a valuable asset to my research and the work of Potions Master Snape as well. Although Ministry Aurors investigated the Laboratory during their search for any of Lucius' dark artefacts, no complete inventory of the laboratory's stores was made. _ _I am amenable to having a Ministry or Gringott's escort with me during this visit and will give my oath as a wizard that I am not intending to use anything in that Manor as a means of causing harm or aiding the Neo Death Eater movement. I can provide you with character references, should such a step be necessary._ _Please contact me at Hogwarts at your earliest convenience. Much of my medical research is on hold pending your response._ _Sincerely,_ _Draco Lucien Darien Malfoy_

It felt grating to abase himself in such a way in a letter to Ron Weasley. He was completely unsure of how his words were being taken, but the complete silence to his previous letters should have given it away. He neatly folded the parchment and sealed it with wax and his Malfoy signet ring. Melchett just blinked and rolled his eyes at the idea of yet another delivery to the bank. At least Draco knew he was doing everything he could.

The thought of some rare and extinct ingredients brought him back to his Grandpère's lab and the knowledge that it was always well stocked with rare and unique ingredients that were virtually impossible to find anywhere else. _Surely if there are any Pegasus Wingtips to be found, they'll be there._ The thought was rarely far from his mind.

Every day he would read and revise and double-check every possibility about the potion that would rid him of his cursed knee. He didn't need to reread the translation, for it was indelibly etched in his mind. Usually when he worked, his mind was almost completely focussed on the task at hand. Since coming into extremely close contact with Harry, he found that the slightest thing would turn his thoughts to the man.

Today it was the Jobberknoll feathers he was cutting up. The feathers were fine and soft, yet the black spines and hairs stuck out at all angles, making it dreadfully difficult to slice evenly, yet it seemed to behave in that completely unpredictable and unruly way that Harry's hair often did. Of course, this led him to think about Harry's habit of dragging his hand through his hair. He distinctly remembered Harry's unconscious desire to hide his scar during their school days, yet now, he barely realised that this habit had the opposite effect. Draco knew that scar – knew it almost as well as its owner did.

Petite Amie leapt out on to the window ledge with a loud thump as Draco snapped out of his reverie. He realised, only too late that he had missed the opportunity to add the sliced feathers, and the base was starting to curdle and separate as it boiled over. Draco cursed loudly in numerous languages, cursing not only his own stupid inattention, but the fact that as he watched the now glutinous white substance spit and hiss and splutter all over his robes, he was reminded of one exquisite moment shared with the least likely person, in the least likely of places.

Cleaning up, a stray thought crossed his mind. _Could I really have some sort of relationship with Harry? Don't be crazy, the only relationship you'll ever have with him will always end up a contest of wills and would probably result in a hex that has you wriggling on the floor resembling a flobberworm. Or your brain will turn to a gibbering mess because you can't think of anything else but him. _

_Although, _he thought, _I managed to get out of the lavatory without having some sort of hex placed on me. I barely stop thinking about Harry – perhaps he did manage to hex me after all. I know he defended me in front of the Weasel on that one occasion, but I'm fairly certain he would probably laugh at me if I suggested something as ridiculous as a relationship. _

Draco shrugged off the strange feeling and forced his thoughts away from frivolous fancies featuring Harry. A good dose of complex Arithmancic equations would definitely do the job. Who knows, he still might find some substitute for Pegasus Wingtips, or a cure for Lycanthropy whilst running the challenging combinations of numbers through his head.

Still, there was as much hope of that happening as there was of him ever getting a chance to relive those few stolen moments with Harry.

--oo0oo--

Harry had been slaving away in his kitchen and was busy chopping up some chicken breast when he felt a familiar warmth wrap around his legs. A soft purr gave away Petite Amie's game plan as she suddenly leapt up on the bench.

"Do you really expect me to let you stay there?" Harry asked. The look on the cat's face was quite innocent. Of course she had every intention of staying right there. There was fresh _chicken_. Where else was she expected to be? Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed a sliver of chicken and fed it to her. She was most happy about this, but was disappointed when he conjured a bowl and put the rest of her dinner down on the floor.

"Don't look at me like that. I know you only came in here because Draco's brewing something ghastly." She concurred with that and petulantly began to eat her food on the floor. Indeed, the only reason Harry knew Draco was even home was the fact that his lab seemed to be producing some incredible smells, and Harry wondered yet again about him.

From listening to Luc, Harry had gained a little perspective about Potions, and knowing what Draco was doing for Remus, he could appreciate that Draco was probably spending a lot of time on a task that for most would seem thankless. Knowing Draco's pedantic nature when it came to his work, Harry could sympathise when he heard a string of volatile language (in both English and French) waft in through the window on occasion.

A few times he wanted to knock and try for some casual conversation, but he knew that Draco would probably bite his head off if he tried something like that when he was brewing. Harry wasn't stupid. Draco was much like Snape in that regard. Even Petite Amie agreed, and he didn't blame her one bit for wanting to escape the wrath of the angered Potions apprentice.

A familiar whoosh of wings startled Harry from his reverie and he turned to find Hedwig landing gracefully on the table with his mail. She turned her nose up at the offered owl treat when she saw Petite Amie. The cat's gaze bore into Hedwig's before her whole body twitched and her tail shook furiously. Hedwig hooted in displeasure before turning her gaze to the chicken still on Harry's cutting board.

Harry rolled his eyes at once. "Honestly, do you think that _I_ might actually want to eat some of this chicken?" he fed a few more slices to Hedwig, who merrily took her lunch and headed up high into the rafters. Harry didn't fail to notice that she kept her eyes firmly glued to the cat the entire time.

"She's just a guest, Hedwig." The owl hooted reprovingly. Harry raised an eyebrow at her. He swore at times that she knew exactly what he was saying. "Yes, you just mind yourself and be nice, or next time she gets _all_ the chicken." She fluttered her wings in disgust, and Harry finished putting the chicken in the marinade. As he sat down to read his mail, he offered his faithful old owl one final compliment. "Don't worry dear Hedwig, you are the only woman for me."

Hedwig's satisfied coo sounded sceptical as Petite Amie chose that moment to sit in Harry's lap as he opened the _Daily Prophet_. "What the..." Harry could not believe the front page report on the Neo Death Eaters and their latest atrocities as they attacked a London test cricket match. The international match had attracted a sell-out crowd, and as the match was drawing to a close they struck, killing hundreds of Muggles. As a final sign of their intent, they blasted the stadium down upon their victims before raising a dark mark to the skies. The Muggle authorities cited a malfunction with the fireworks as the cause of the stadium fire and subsequent collapse. The hundreds of deaths were blamed on this tragedy.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath as he read the rest of the story. Absently fingering his scar, he remembered tossing and turning a little the night before, but he had been meditating and working doubly hard on keeping his control all week. He was unsure if he was doing the right thing by everyone by trying to avoid the connection to their dark magic, but wondered if sharing in the pain of their dark intent would actually help capture these Neo Death Eaters any sooner. He needed to talk to the headmaster.

As if listening to his intent, the floo flared brightly. "Good morning, Harry," Albus Dumbledore's face in the Floo was looking tired and drawn.

"Sir," Harry replied.

"Ah, I see you've read this morning's tragic news," he said as he indicated at the discarded paper on the tabletop.

Harry frowned and nodded, "Hmm, yes. I... I honestly didn't expect this... I didn't feel a thing, sir."

"That's excellent news, Harry."

"Excellent? I don't understand, sir. I thought..."

The headmaster stopped him in mid sentence, "It shows that you have you now gained back most of your control. You have done well. Nobody expects you to be a barometer for their activity, Harry."

But Harry had stopped listening to the Headmaster as he absently opened one of the letters in his mail. He suddenly looked down at the very familiar handwriting and scoffed aloud. "Is that so, sir. Well then, you had better tell that to the Ministry..."

"Whatever do you mean, Harry?" Dumbledore sounded puzzled.

"Only this," Harry shoved the letter into the Floo, and the Headmaster nodded sagely as he read it.

"They have got to be joking. I can't do it – I _won't_ do it." Harry was adamant.

"Now, Harry, don't be hasty..." the headmaster cautioned.

Harry laughed mockingly. "Oh, I won't be hasty, don't worry. I have every intention of responding to their offer."

Dumbledore looked over the top of his glasses at Harry. "Whatever you're planning, do be careful."

"Don't worry, sir, I've learned the fine art of diplomacy. After all, I learned from the best." His smirk was not lost on Dumbledore, but it didn't stop the worried look on his face.

After throwing some robes over his jeans and t-shirt, Harry was in the Floo and on his way to the Ministry within the half hour.

--oo0oo--

An hour later, he Apparated back to Hogsmeade in a fury. He was all ready to storm his way back to the castle, but stopped as he realised he needed to calm down. He was in no mood to hear any more bullshit, and there had been enough of that flying around in the Ministry to last a lifetime. The audacity of them! He needed to work off some frustration, but the grumbling in his stomach made him realise that he was ravenously hungry. He glanced up to see that the _Leaf and Bean_ was open, and decided that something frivolous to eat was exactly what he needed right now.

He tried to keep his anger and frustration concealed as he walked in the door, but Emmaline must have read his mind. No sooner had he sat down, than a steaming pot of Darjeeling and a large slice of fruit flan were right in front of him. Events of the morning churned through his mind as he ate, and he still thought them incredulous.

"If they think that I'll just happily waltz back into the Ministry, they obviously don't know me very well." Harry wasn't talking to anyone in particular, but he was surprised when he heard a reply.

"Talking to yourself now, 'Arry?" Harry looked up in surprise. Emmaline had managed to sit down in front of him and he didn't even notice. "You know, when I talk to myself, I usually get answers that I like." Her smile was infectious and he almost instantly felt a sense of warms run through him. "Although it sometimes helps if you talk things through with someone else."

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure what she meant, but he remembered Remus' words from earlier in the week. "Don't think I haven't got a few choice words to say to _you_." He pursed his lips in anger, but she dismissed them without a care.

"Why don't you tell me what the Ministry has done to upset you so much, then we can discuss other matters," she indicated that Harry should eat his flan as he spoke.

"I guess you saw the Prophet."

Emmaline nodded and frowned. "Such a terrible tragedy. What are the Ministry doing about it?"

Harry snorted derisively. "Oh, they're doing everything in their power, including having the gall to order me back to my old job."

"Can they do that?" Emmaline's eyes widened in surprise.

"I have no idea - but I gave them a piece of my mind and told them I wasn't interested in their power games, nor was I interested in all their empty promises. I don't think they're terribly happy with me, and neither are the reporters and photographers who didn't get the amazing scoop they had been promised."

Harry thought back to Gordon Bridgewater and Claire Guffries' incredible offer. They promised to forget Harry's _indiscretions_ if he just returned to the Aurors and helped to motivate them and rally the troops for the upcoming confrontations with the Neo Death Eaters. In their haste to offer him his old position, they had not realised that Harry was no longer the walking barometer that could identify when and where the Neo Death Eaters were striking. Claire seemed most put out by the fact that Harry could not instantly pinpoint their whereabouts.

They tried offering him everything from a pay rise, to the promise of his own classes once they had caught these latest Dark Wizards. Harry was not interested. He had been on the back foot since the moment he saw Rita Skeeter standing around outside Gordon's office. By then he was quite furious and he may have let a little bit of his temper sway his former bosses into submission.

They might not have backed him into a corner, for Harry told them in no uncertain terms exactly what they could do with their offer. Unfortunately, Claire had grown a bit of a backbone in the past few months, and as he was about to leave, she left him with some stinging parting words.

_"You know, it's a shame Harry. Such a waste of talent. It would be terrible if any more Aurors were to lose their lives unnecessarily because you refused to help. Still, if you want to be so selfish about it, I guess we'll just have to catch them on our own."_

Emmaline sounded shocked after hearing Harry's retelling of events. "Manipulating you isn't a terribly nice thing to do, 'Arry."

Harry looked at her with a touch of his fury still evident in his eyes. "No, it wasn't. I told them to sod off. I don't like being manipulated. I especially hate being treated like some pawn in a game I have no control over. I've done that before, and I don't particularly care to do it again."

If Harry thought Emmaline would be perturbed by Harry's anger that was now directed toward her, then he was the one to be surprised.

"You know, 'Arry. You are right. Nobody likes to be manipulated. But before you start to vent your anger in the wrong direction, I think that you should perhaps indulge an old witch for a while..." Emmaline's eyes smiled in mirth, but Harry's reply seemed somewhat harsh.

"Indulge? Emmaline, Remus told me you were mixed up with those wretched journals." Harry's eyes narrowed as he tried to read her reaction. Unfortunately, she already knew this. "Of course, if you think of it as an _indulgence_ rather than a manipulation of my feelings..."

"Nobody has manipulated your feelings, 'Arry."

Harry scoffed and he found it hard to take her seriously. "You call spilling my heart and soul into a journal, only to find out that the mysterious stranger I've been talking to and falling in love with is someone I can't stand? You're a nutter!"

"Nobody is being manipulated, 'Arry."

"Really?" he replied sarcastically.

"You can't force or change what is already hidden on the inside."

"Remus was right; you always come up with more questions than answers."

Emmaline scowled, but she was not angry, nor did she seem upset at Harry's accusation. "Remus should not be telling tales, but he answered all your questions, no?"

"What do you mean that it's truly hidden on the inside?" Now he was more confused. At first he was angry at his run in at the Ministry, now he was angry at Emmaline and her damn journals. Why wasn't she surprised or defending herself?

"Harry, if circumstances had been very different – if fate had not placed a prophecy in your path, your life would have been quite different."

"Do you really think so?" He asked mockingly.

Emmaline seemed unperturbed. "The journals have always helped to bring soul mates together when they were in danger of just passing by, but it hasn't changed your feelings in any way. They have helped you to see what has always been there. You have always had an intense relationship with Draco, no?"

"You could say that." He was beginning to see where she was heading. It was starting to make some sense.

Emmaline smiled in return. "You have always been fascinated by Draco, 'Arry. Your lives were always meant to be intertwined. They have been in past lives, and they will be again in the future. Neither of you could be truly happy if you continue the way you have in the past. The journals saw that you two needed to see your real selves so that a great injustice could be corrected. I merely watch over these journals and make sure that nobody interferes with the natural course of things."

Harry sat quietly for a moment and pondered her words.

She put a comforting hand over his. "I am sorry if you thought you were being manipulated. Ancient magic is an unpredictable thing, but you already knew that. It's up to you now to help Draco realise the truth. He's not quite as sure about what he wants out of life as you are."

Harry started to nod, but remembered something that Remus had not answered for him. "Draco _really _has no idea, Emmaline?"

She shook her head. "I have no doubt that you would already know if he had. You _can_ trust him, you know. He's actually quite vulnerable. He just doesn't realise it at times."

Harry thought about Luc and his admission that he turns everything into a melodrama. "Oh, I think he knows."

"Ah, but I don't think he's ever known what love truly is, 'Arry. I think you're going to have to show him just what it means to be loved." She smiled and grabbed both his hands. The many rings and bracelets adorning her gnarly knuckles and forearms suddenly fascinated Harry.

"You want me to tell him? But Remus said I can't..."

"Oh, no, you can't say a word in the journal. Luc has to work out for himself just who Flash is."

"How can I still write to him and not reveal the truth? My journal always seems to want to pull the truth out of me."

Emmaline smiled and patted him on the hand. "I don't think you'll have any worry, 'Arry. Draco isn't quite ready to accept the truth. Sometimes he needs a good swift kick in the... well, he sometimes needs a shock to make him see the truth. Give him some more time, but do try to show him the real Harry, not the boy his father trained him to loathe."

"But that's so unfair on him." Harry knew exactly how Draco would react if he discovered Harry had been keeping this information from him. "I just don't know if I can keep doing this in good faith."

"He'll understand. He might be a stubborn arse sometimes, but he'll come round. Now, don't worry. You just continue the relationship you have in the journal and when he is ready he will understand." Emmaline seemed so sure that everything would be fine, but she could see that she was still to convince Harry. "Look, you are not suddenly going to change your personality overnight. The man you have seen before you all these months _is_ the real Draco, only he doesn't always show his true colours – at least not until he gets to know you. Have more faith in yourself, Harry. After all, the journal chose you, and that's a privilege not given to many. You and Draco must be brilliant together for the journals to consider you both worthy."

Something Emmaline said made Harry think. "Emmaline, Luc – Draco once said that there were dozens of these journals in pureblood families. Other people know of them. Do they all help bring soul mates together?"

Emmaline looked aghast at Harry's words, "Oh no. There is only one _Journal Intime Partagé_ set. The rest are just charmed parchment made by wizards who heard the legend of the soul mate journals. They wanted some way to keep in touch with loved ones." She laughed suddenly. "But the funny thing, 'Arry, is that those who truly love us, never really leave us. Not in this life, nor in the next." She shook her head and smiled at her own joke.

Harry pondered over that for a moment, thinking of her meaning as well as the message Sirius had been trying to impart when he made a very similar statement in Harry's third year. Refusing to get suck into sorrowful thoughts, he brought his attention back to Emmaline and was about to ask another question, but she stopped him as she pointed her finger at him. "And before you ask, there are no answers for the questions you really want to ask. Just bask in the knowledge that you have found your soul mate. After all that you've been through, 'Arry, you deserve this happiness."

By the time he left, his lingering anger at his former bosses was all but forgotten.

--oo0oo--

For his part, Draco had been enjoying his quiet week. He really only needed to brew for a couple of hours a day, and that was always done by morning tea time. He had started on a few ideas for July's batch of Wolfsbane, but his early experiments were not going as he had planned. He cursed and swore and grumbled over the series of melted cauldrons that took him back to the start of his research. He was not, for once, blaming his lack of success on errant thoughts of Harry. They were true experiments and he wanted to make sure he eliminated every possible combination of ingredients.

He had been so sure about what he was going to do after talking to Remus before he left for London. The werewolf had been looking quite well, and Draco had been feeling confident in his Wolfsbane modifications. Until now. Unfortunately, he had spent much of that last interview with Remus thinking that he was looking rather too good, and his rather roving eye had lingered a little longer than was necessary. He suddenly realised that he was taking in Remus' best features, and mentally comparing them to Harry's.

He shook his head, but it didn't help. Draco cursed his prurient thoughts, for it seemed that no matter what, he could do little to get Harry out of his system. Through fate or sheer dumb luck, they had managed to avoid each other for most of the week. However, he found that he could not stop the unconscious new habit of drinking his coffee by the window above the courtyard. Harry's T'ai Chi was a constant routine in his day and he laughed at the irony of the fact that his own morning relaxation technique involved watching Harry doing his relaxation routine.

With so much spare time in his day, and such warm weather, Draco took every opportunity to get out of the castle. He ventured once into the Forbidden Forest to collect some Centaur spoor, but that was about the most distasteful thing he had to do that week. He was not one for the quiet solitude of a forest, and he had learned at a young age to avoid such places as much as possible. He felt his fear was quite rational; after all, he had quite a good idea of what was in most forests. The Forbidden Forest was no different, only its name warned of the dangers within.

Coming back, he spotted Charlie Weasley, and quickly realised he would ask the former Dragon handler to assist in future unpleasant collection tasks from the forest. He could not help but watch as Charlie was loading empty cages onto the back of a carriage. He was certainly muscular in all the right places, and Draco did not need to engage his imagination to know what was underneath those dragon suede trousers. Again, he did a mental tally of Charlie against Harry.

He could not help a pang of jealousy from running through him at the thought that this delicious male specimen was totally besotted with Severus. Severus was going to have his work cut out for him if he were to keep up with Charlie – or to keep running from him. _Why would anyone want to run from that? Charlie is divine. I think I'll get used to watching that over the breakfast table. I might even forgive all that red hair. After all, it's not his hair that I need to take an interest in, is it?_

Charlie. Something about the name suddenly struck. _Flash had slept with a guy named Charlie. Charlie was the one he was still lusting after. Could it be? Don't be ridiculous, Draco. How many Charlies are there in the UK? It's highly likely that a good proportion of those are well hung and utterly delicious looking wizards who are just oozing sex. But if this is Flash's Charlie, then I could probably find out who Flash is... _Draco stopped his line of thinking instantly. _Yes Draco, you know exactly what happened the last time you thought you knew who Flash was. _

With a shake of the head, he turned away and headed back to the castle. He was not foolish enough to make that mistake twice.

The rest of his week was very quiet, but he spent more time reading and browsing the stores in Glasgow. He was still on a very tight budget, but second hand books and coffee came at an affordable price, and the odd cinema ticket kept him entertained. He would never admit just how much he did enjoy the cinema. He could easily see why so many wizards would be enamoured with the idea of creating movie 'magic' for Muggles.

Of course, there were quite slim pickings to watch, and far too much female flesh or wanton violence for Draco's liking. The ticket attendant was most adamant that he would enjoy something called 'Charlie's Angels', but he decided a nice cartoon, complete with talking fish seemed quite entertaining. It reminded him of the Babel Fish he had once seen at the Magical Menagerie. They were quite rare and extremely difficult to train, but once you did, they would not stop talking.

He had never been to a film with so many young Muggle children in attendance. Fortunately he had a pain-killing potion in his jacket pocket that would quell the rising headache. He would have liked to help the young mother who was at the end of her tether with three young boys who all seemed to be complete horrors. He could understand Lucius' sentiments about avoiding Muggles if they were all like these boys.

By the middle of the movie, Draco noticed an excessive burst of unrestrained magic as the elder brother levitated his soft drink and tipped it over the younger brother who had thrown the popcorn. _Ah great, a Muggleborn troublemaker. Judging from his age I'll be long gone from Hogwarts before he gets his letter. _

He felt sorry for the flustered mother, and surreptitiously cast a small shield around the harried mother and the bickering children. They literally found themselves glued to their seats, and Draco, along with their mother and all the other patrons, were pleased they could watch the rest of the film in silence.

He was happily whistling the movie's theme tune as he returned to Hogsmeade. He was in high spirits and was about to step into the _Leaf and Bean_ for a chat with Emmaline, when Harry was just leaving the shop.

"Draco," Harry seemed a little startled, and looked back at Emmaline, who was now polishing glasses with a dishcloth. He seemed to be stunned by Draco's sudden appearance at the store wearing Muggle gear. Draco didn't fail to notice that Harry was admiring his leather jacket.

"Harry," he nodded in return.

It was the only conversation they had all week. Still, it was pleasant, and both men had very carefully eyed each other up and down (Harry definitely looked more relaxed and comfortable in Muggle gear rather than in robes). Draco noticed that Harry's hair seemed messier than ever and there was a hint of fury still lurking around the edges of his eyes. Something had pissed Harry off enough to make him lose his temper. Draco could see that much, but somehow he had regained his control and was now a lot calmer.

Draco turned to say something as he entered the store, but Harry was already walking away down the lane. He shrugged, wondering if the story in the morning's Prophet had done anything to feed his temper. Just as the door closed on the store, Harry stopped in his tracks and turned. He was torn between going back and starting a conversation with Draco, and blurting the truth. Emmaline had given him plenty more to think about.

So much to think about that Harry spent a great deal of time meditating. It was very early Sunday morning when he realised the whole crux of it all. His Anam Cara – his group of soul friends. Draco was the counterpoint to it all. That sense of anticipation that had been building for so long finally began to make sense. Draco was his soul mate and he could now clearly see that their lives had been intertwined since that first chance meeting at Madame Malkin's all those years before.

He felt a sense of _rightness_ about Draco – about being in the castle and finally, about admitting the truth to himself. Emmaline helped him to make that final connection. Unfortunately, if Emmaline was correct, then Draco was still oblivious and needed time to realise the truth. If only Harry could get past that nagging voice of doubt that suspected he was still hiding behind some mask.

Harry realised he could use the journal not for his own advantage, but to help Draco see the truth of the matter. But first, there was one thing he had to ask Luc to help cast out that echo of doubt in his mind.

--oo0oo--

_**Sunday, June 22**_ _**Hey Luc, you around yet?**_ _Yes, I'm here! How are you Flash?_ _**Hi! I'm doing okay, how are you?**_ _Oh well, the usual. Enjoying some relaxing time over the summer. Wondering just how much you're going to humiliate me by asking embarrassing questions. I am so glad you wrote the other day. I thought I might have scared you off or been a little too self centred that you decided to up and leave. What about your week? What's happened in the life of Flash?_ _**No no, you didn't scare me off at all. I just had some unexpected news and couldn't hang around.**_ _I knew there was some reason why I should not have been chatting to you in the coffee shop. I am sorry about your unexpected news. Is it all resolved now?_ _**Oh yeah, it'll be all right. Some things are still up in the air and I have to do some meditation and such to determine how I feel about things. I'm trying to react in the Asian manner, just let things happen and wait to see where it goes, which is why I'm not going into too much detail about it just yet... and well, the rest of the week has been really busy, so I just haven't had the chance to look for you since I left that note. I'm doing well, though, and adjusting to my new job coming up.**_ _That's good to hear! I like the whole idea of just letting things happen. I guess whenever we try to force things, they never really do turn out the way we expect. So, what's this new job like? Have you started yet?_ _**No, I'll be doing some preparation over the summer, but the real deal doesn't start until September. It's along the lines of my temporary position, but without the end date. I think I'll be really happy here now that I'm on as a permanent employee and it seems to be just what I've been looking for.**_ _I know that must be a relief. I admit that I was apprehensive about coming back here to start this job, but really, it is almost perfect. My mentor trusts my abilities and knows what I am capable of. He gives me plenty of leeway with my research, and now that he's gone on holidays (remind me to tell you why) I have a slightly lighter workload for the summer. Plenty of time for me to wander into town and catch up on lots of fine coffee. I admit to quite a few trips into the city to mingle up in the High Street. I've been enjoying a little bit of Muggle culture, thanks to you._

Harry paused for a moment as he realised that the mentor Luc had spoken of so many times was Severus Snape. He could not help but chuckle at the notion that Luc had mistakenly thought Flash was Snape, and wondered just what would have happened if Draco had actually approached Snape with those thoughts.

_**Sounds like you're enjoying yourself. I must say, Muggle culture does have its high points, and I'm glad to know you've been enjoying them.**_ _Yes, well I've learned that if Muggles are gullible enough to believe in talking animated fish, then they probably wouldn't find the Wizarding World all that strange. Still, I think it was only aimed at children. There seemed to be an inordinate number of them in the cinema._ _Besides, it was a lovely diversion. I needed to get away from work for a while. There are only a few of us left over the summer, and I had been trying to avoid too much contact with Mr-Saturday-night-in-the-Lavatory. Unfortunately, I've had him on my mind all week, and he's somehow insinuated himself even further in my dreams. Not that I'm complaining. I just... well, things are still a little awkward. You probably have no idea what I'm talking about._ _**Talking animated fish, eh? That one must have been interesting. I must admit I haven't been to the cinema in far too long and could probably use the escape from reality. As for your 'incident' and the dreams and such, well I think I can guess what you mean, and how awkward things must be.**_

Harry took a deep breath, wondering if he should quickly change the subject, but was thoroughly unsure how. Fortunately, the magic of the journals took over before he had time to gain control of the quill.

_**How are things with him now? Have you spoken any more? Any developments in regard to your feelings for him? I mean, you suggested that your activities were quite hot, but is it just lust, or do you think you feel something deeper for him?**_

Harry felt awful, but his curiosity was always rampant at the best of times. He felt like he was taking advantage of Draco, but he was genuinely only wanting to know about his own future chances with Draco. It might be the only way he could ever face Draco and learn the truth.

_Sweet Merlin, I don't know what to think. I've known him practically half my life, but it's like I'm only just beginning to know him, if that makes any sense. I keep seeing these other guys - Merlin there is this absolutely divine Adonis who is now working here and he's the one who has his sights set on my mentor (hence his sudden pressing business elsewhere for the holidays. Honestly, I think he would be good for him. He needs to loosen up a bit and I'm sure this fellow would keep him quite... loose). _

Harry knew that this was Charlie that Draco was talking about, and felt a slight stab of jealousy. Even Draco was thinking of him in such a way? _Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Charlie has always turned heads. It just goes to show that Draco appreciates similar tastes to yours. _

_But as for my fellow, I'm seeing him in a completely new light. I've been having those lust filled dreams about him since Beltane, so I don't know. I did chat with him and he seemed quite upset about something. I applied some of your cool and calm logic and he seemed a little better. I honestly don't know if it is just lust. It doesn't feel like it is. _ _I think I'll follow your lead again and just let whatever happens happen. How's that? I won't make a melodrama either way. But since I was distracted by the Adonis, what I meant to say was that I kept seeing them, and I am now comparing them all to him. I haven't done that since I was with Jean-Paul._ _**That sounds like the best way to handle things, especially in a situation like this. Honestly, it's really nothing you can control either way, right? **_ _You are quite right, as usual Flash. Que Sera, Sera. So, does Spanish do it for you as much as the French language?_ **_Oh, I thought that was French! But alas, I can handle the little phrases because they're easy enough to figure out, and of course, it's written, so it won't start turning me on the way spoken French does._**

But just as he wrote that, Harry's over-active imagination thought of Draco's melodic tones speaking long and slow in French. Just the thought was enough to make his heart beat just a bit faster, his breathing just a bit shallower. _I have to stop thinking like this. It's not fair, not knowing who he is_, he thought. He continued to read on.

_Ah, good. I'd hate to fluster you and cause you to lose concentration._

Draco could not help the slightly flirtatious tone in his voice, because he started to think about Harry again – specifically Harry speaking Parseltongue. _Snap out of it! Merlin, you're thinking about Harry even now! So naturally you've started flirting with Flash. Good one, Draco. _

_I'm sorry, Flash. I couldn't help myself. I started to drift off and think about him. He speaks another language, you see, and I was wondering what it would be like to hear him speaking it again. It's quite distinctive. But you don't really want to hear any more about me talking about him. It really isn't fair to you._ _**No, it's okay Luc. You shouldn't have to censor your thoughts just because of my confession, and frankly I don't think these journals will let you hide much anyway.**_

Harry was conflicted between feeling guilty at how unfair this whole thing was to Draco, and feeling curious about what information he could get. After all, didn't Emmaline tell him that Draco needed to know how he really felt about Harry before he realised the truth? Surely this was helping. Again, the quill seemed to get away from him.

_**So, you're both bi-lingual then? Is he from another country?**_ _Well yes, you could say we are both bi. Bi-lingual that is - I'm not sure if he's the other type of bi or if he's just completely bent. At least I've not heard any gossip about him with the women - not that I really paid much attention. But I just haven't been able to get him off my mind all week. Even my cat has taken to visiting him, but she's a trollop and will sleep with anyone for food._ _Now, tell me. Don't think I've forgotten. _ _**Sorry, I'm still laughing at the starving trollop cat. Surely she's not that bad.**_ _Well she's far from starving, but she's been casting her feline wiles at him at all hours. I think she likes him more than me._ _**I'm sure it's just the start of a beautiful friendship. Can't have your cat hating him now, can you. I doubt the cat likes him more than you, but perhaps she's a good judge of character? **_ _She might be at that. After all, she loved me first! And she did follow me all the way from home with my Petite Mère._ _**Oh, yes of course, Luc, and if she loved you 'first' then that's just a perfectly clear example that you must be a fabulous man! Perhaps he's a better cook!**_ _Oh no, I'm definitely more fabulous. I don't know how good his cooking is, but I have smelled some delicious dishes coming from his kitchen, but I do know he couldn't boil a simple wart removing potion if he tried. I should know. I suffered seven years of Potions with him!_

For the first time Harry definitely knew he was talking to Draco. That was a sure sign of the cocky Malfoy arrogance. Harry laughed but didn't even blink as he continued to chat obliviously. He nearly forgot he was talking to Draco as it felt like he had connected again with Luc.

_**Sorry, you were saying before I interrupted you with my hysteria over the cat?**_ _The other week you were going to tell me something about your horrid Saturday night. Do you still need to talk about it, or has it resolved itself?_ _**Oh, it was just the beginning of the unexpected news I mentioned. Suffice to say an old acquaintance and current colleague is not at all what I thought he was and I'm still trying to process the new information.**_ _Ah, I see then. Glad that you are working it through. It seems we've both come a long way since we started to write in these journals. _ _**It does seem that way, doesn't it? **_ _Yes, it does. So, when you last wrote, you mentioned that you finally worked out what question you were going to ask me. Now before you do, I'll try to give you the answers to my most embarrassing moments._ _**Okay, this should be interesting... I'd like to see what answers you give without a question...**_ _My Teddy Bear's name was Sal (he was green and it was short for Salazar. He had red eyes and black fur); my favourite comic was 'Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle', but Father never let me buy them – so I stole all my copies; and I was active in competitive sport - at my mother's insistence. Thankfully, I had to give up active participation once I left for school and moved on to more manly pursuits. There, did the answer to your question fall somewhere in that lot?_ _**Actually, no. Not at all.**_ _Bugger. You mean I didn't cover all bases?_ _**Are you still willing to answer my actual question though? So long as it doesn't include revealing your real name, floo address or place of employment?**_ _I was so sure you were intent on asking me something terribly embarrassing about my childhood. Here I was thinking you were going to ask about my ballroom dancing trophies. I made a promise. I'll answer your question, Flash. I owe you that much. I don't go back on a promise. Damn, I didn't mention the ballroom dancing a moment ago, did I? Cursed journal._ _**Nothing wrong with ballroom dancing, Luc. It's a beautiful thing to watch and I'd love to see your trophies some day. **_

Although Harry had a very clear mental picture now of Draco that was certainly not going to go away in a hurry, he knew it was now or never. The moment of truth – for both of them.

_**Seriously though, I put a lot of thought into something I'd like to know about you, something that hasn't really come up in our chats. **_ _**I finally decided that I want to know what your deepest, darkest secret is. I don't mean the secret comics or the deeply hidden voyeurism, but your real honest-to-Merlin darkest secret.**_

Draco nodded and pursed his lips. He had half been expecting a question like this, but he knew that the topic had to come up some time. _Better to tell him now and know that you have at least been honest with him. You haven't been lying to him, Draco. Just be a man and spit it out. You haven't had to tell anyone your sordid past before – your reputation preceded you._

Harry didn't fail to notice the longer than usual pause. Was Draco trying to do some very swift thinking? Was this the final straw? Would he reveal the whole thing as a farce? Harry didn't know, but if Draco truly was the evil git he had imagined for half his life, then he was probably trying to convince the journal to let him lie.

_**Sorry, Luc. Was that too personal?**_ _Are you sure you don't want to reconsider and ask me about my hidden stash of 'Wizard Wangers' magazines? I started collecting them when I was only 11. _ _No, I'm just stalling now. I want you to know that I have not been totally honest with you all these months. I haven't lied – well this journal won't let me, but it's more like it's been a lie of omission._ _Before I say anything else, you need to know a bit more about my background. _ _**Ok.**_ _I had a rather unique position in the war, actually. It was such a unique position that there were only two of us working in this capacity. My mentor was the other one, and he had been working in this capacity since the first fall of Voldemort. I don't know how he could do that for over 25 years, but he did. I won't go into much more boring detail, suffice to say that I had probably one of the most unenviable tasks during the war. _ _**I can understand that... I had quite a unique position in the war as well.**_ _I was in a very awkward situation. You see, my father was a heavy supporter of Voldemort. So heavy that for a while as a child, I knew no better. My mother, rest her soul, only followed him out of fear. _ _Okay, I'm stalling again. I'll say it plainly, with no more omissions. My deepest secret starts with the fact that my father was a Death Eater, as were most of my mother's family. _ _Please just hear me out. My father had always assumed that I would follow in his footsteps, without any argument. I could not condone that, but I agreed to work as a spy for Albus Dumbledore. I agreed to go undercover. For most intents and purposes, I was a Death Eater. I had to kill and rape and do everything ghastly, yet at the same time I reported back to the Order of the Phoenix with vital information. At least I think it was vital. I never knew of the Order's plans for fear I would be found out and tortured for the information. _ _So there you have it. I was a Death Eater. Yes I still have the tattoo to prove it. Well, the ugly scar from where I had to have it removed by Muggles. That's another story for another time, however._ _It's not exactly the sort of thing I start off telling new acquaintances at parties, but most people who know me already know of my history._

Draco was wondering about Flash's ominous silence at the other end of the journal. He has also been expecting this. _Now I really have scared Flash away._

Harry, for his part knew most of what Draco had told him, but he had never really given thought to what Draco and Severus had to do as they spied. As distasteful as it was to him having to cast Unforgivables, he suddenly saw it in a completely different light to realise the not only had they had to do the same, but to be an effective spy, they would have needed to involve themselves in the torture and rape of Muggles.

Harry felt a wave of sympathy go out to Draco as he realised for the first time the difficulty Draco had after all that. No wonder Snape was such a closed and unpleasant personality. He could see how Draco could end up the same if someone didn't help him.

Of course, he realised now that Draco had been telling the truth. He had no idea that he was writing to Harry, and he was being completely honest. This thought lightened his mood considerably.

_**Thank you, Luc. I know that must have been very hard to reveal, despite the pull of the journal. I appreciate your honesty and your trust, it truly means more to me than you could know. I'm sorry that I made you say it. I won't betray your trust. **_ _I would not have said anything if you did not already have my trust, Flash. That is the big preconception everyone has had about me all these years. Like I said, I have notoriety. Father was just as well known, too. I'm sure that it won't be much of a stretch for you to find out who I am, and I completely understand if you just happen to stumble across that information. After all, you were planning on meeting me in a month or so._

Draco had an awful feeling that Flash would probably want to cancel their meeting now – his words were all politeness and concern, but Draco had lived for too many years with the legacy of his past. Very few people would stick around after hearing that. It was one reason why he fled to Paris.

_**I wouldn't 'try' to find out... that would be unfair. After all, I have my share of notoriety, believe me, and if you really wanted to, you could find out who I was, too.**_ _No Flash. You know, I feel a little bit better for having told you that. It was like a great big albatross hanging over me. I guess it is better than you finding out from someone else. That would be horribly unfair to you, and I value your friendship too much for that. I'm just sorry that I also told you about my embarrassing childhood on the dance floor. I should not have been so hasty to second-guess you._ _**There's really no need to be embarrassed about that, either. It's just part of your past, and your past shaped you into the person you are today.**_ _I guess that's true. Not that it's done much help lately. Can't trip the light fantastic any more. The war at least put an end to that. My knee won't be doing any 'Paso Dobles' in the near future._

Harry could only feel for Draco and know how much his injury has affected his life. Knowing now that he was missing out on something else that he apparently excelled at was just another blow. If only he could get Ron to see sense and let them in to the Manor so he could once and for all check for that rare ingredient.

His quill hand was shaking, and he realised he would not be able to chat much longer without revealing anything. Besides, he needed to sit back and absorb everything he had learned from Luc that night. _From Draco. _

_**That may be true, but you never know what wonders will be discovered by some medi-wizard or Potions master in the future. **_ _**Listen, Luc, I hate to run off, but I really need to take care of some other stuff. I have a friend getting married soon and there's preparations to deal with and such... you know how it is.**_

There it was. The dismissal. Draco had heard it so many times before. Too often. He blinked and barely noticed the moisture that was forming in the corner of his eye. He took off his reading glasses and recast the cleaning charm on them. However could they get so dirty? His quill was shaking as he held it firmly, and he barely noticed the just how firmly his own lips were pressed together in that scowl that formed the protective mask that hid his true personality.

_Yes, Not all of us have the luxury of too much time on our hands. You have a great time. Will I catch up with you soon? Or is next Sunday better? I know I don't want to chat from the coffee shop again - too many interruptions._ _**With the wedding and all, I think Sunday might be better. I hope to have more free time after this is over, but as I'm the best man I have a rather large part to play.**_ _Sure thing Flash. Well, do have a wonderful time. All that heterosexual love and all. Do keep me apprised if you notice any worthy talent at the wedding, won't you?_ _**Will do. You take care, and I'll catch up with you in a week!**_ _Au revoir, Luc._ _**Bye, Flash.**_

_Well, Draco. Congratulations on fucking up yet another beautiful friendship. You only have yourself to blame, really. Don't fool yourself. You saw how quickly he politely signed off. No bets taken that he'll find some excuse to cancel the upcoming chat. Just you wait. _

Draco poured the last of the firewhisky into a glass and sat gazing into the fire. It was going to be another long and lonely night. For once, the alcohol didn't warm the cold, hard lump that had formed in Draco's chest. He couldn't bring himself to look at his journal, and he couldn't even bring himself to think.

--oo0oo--

Harry felt positively rotten. He knew he had rushed hastily at the end and gave Draco a rather rude brush off, but what else could he do? He closed the journal and headed directly for the decanter. He was going to need a very stiff drink to help digest all that he had learned.

Yet through all that pain, he came to the realisation the Draco truly was Luc – there was not a single bit of doubt. He had professed his love to Luc, and now that he knew Luc was Draco, he didn't find that thought nearly as bad as it seemed. In fact, the smile that appeared on his face spoke volumes.

His thoughts turned to his soul group – his Anam Cara. He had unconsciously thought of Draco as a member of that group, but now it made perfect sense that he was there. He had always clashed with Draco from the very start. Obviously their souls had always clashed in some way, causing such high sparks. Now that they had been somewhat open and trusting, their souls were beginning to flow together, and they were definitely soul friends.

Harry was blessed with so many soul friends. According to the Irish, with so many soul friends, Harry would have arrived at that most sacred place: home.

Somehow, Harry knew that was the truth. He was definitely home.

--oo0oo--

**June 23 – Monday**

Popping down to London for the day gave Harry an opportunity to have lunch with Ron. Hermione was so busy with her new role that he was surprised she was even allowed to take time off to get married.

As much as he loved popular Muggle culture, Harry was finding Muggle London a little stifling. Being back at Hogwarts made Harry realise just how much he really did belong in the Wizarding world. The sweltering summer heat didn't really bother him as he had cast a cooling charm over himself, but it had been quite some time since he had been stuck in such a throng of people. Muggle or Wizard, Harry was never really fond of crowds at the best of times, but today he was particularly irritated by them.

Glad to have his errand behind him, Harry stepped gratefully back into Diagon Alley. Even the cries of recognition from a few people were not so bad after the jostling Muggle crowds. He could only guess that Ron would be pleased at the surprise he would get on his stag night. To accommodate everyone's wishes, Harry planned a night of high carousing at a well known Muggle pub. This place was a common stop for many Muggle stag parties, and it was only around the corner from an equally well known strip club. Being Muggle, Ron's new father-in-law would be able to join in the festivities, and Harry could ensure that all the boys kept their wands away.

He knew Hermione was adamant that the Weasley brothers would only get up to mischief if left to their own devices with Ron. Harry figured that by staying in Muggle territory, no Weasley Wizard Wheezes and no hexes could spoil their evening. Harry really had no idea where to start the planning. He hated to admit that it was Oliver who gave him the idea. As he tried to wrack his brain to come up with some sort of party that Ron would thoroughly enjoy, he remembered a conversation with Oliver many months before about the drinking habits of single heterosexual males.

Harry had indulged Oliver one night and at Ollie's insistence, they wound up at a Muggle gay bar in the middle of Chelsea. Memories of his time with Ollie were not quite as painful now, but he was quickly realising that his past lovers were all just one great learning experience that he needed to help him see exactly who and what he wanted out of life.

_Without Ollie_, he admitted reluctantly, _I probably would not have started writing in the journal_. _I wonder if that was by chance, or was that something else that was out of my control?_ Harry shrugged as he entered the elevator to Ron's office. He had given too much thought to everything this past week. He needed to stop second guessing and go back to doing what he did best – being clueless and going with gut instinct. After all, that had worked so well so far.

Ron's secretary had already gone to lunch, but the door to his office was open. Harry could not help but smirk as he saw Ron practically swimming in the piles of paperwork on his desk.

"Harry!" Ron's face lit up as he saw him lounging against his door. "What 'choo doing in town?" he asked in genuine surprise.

Harry casually strolled in and plonked himself down in the comfy armchair opposite Ron's desk. "Oh," he grinned, "I had... business." He quickly tried to deflect the conversation. "Fancy some lunch? I could eat a hippogriff."

Ron raised both eyebrows and smirked. "Smashing idea! I was hoping someone could come and rescue me from all this shite. The one thing I don't need now is more paperwork, but if I'm going to take time off for our honeymoon, then I want to be sure everything is in order."

Harry grinned. He remembered the piles of useless paperwork that the Ministry loved so much, and knew he made the right decision not to return to the Aurors (even if he had wanted to). He could only assume the bank was just as fond of it. Why Ron actually enjoyed it, Harry could only begin to imagine. "Just give me five more minutes, Harry, then we can duck down to that new place around the corner. Everyone's raving about it."

Harry sat back and quietly listened to the scratch of Ron's quill as he signed a few more papers. The signed parchments folded themselves and took off down the hall to their respective destinations. The familiar flutter of wings suddenly broke the quiet as an owl swooped low, landing directly in front of Ron.

"Gerroff, pesky bloody bird." Ron feverishly shooed the bird away. Harry thought the bird looked familiar, but was distracted as Ron grabbed the owl and threw it bodily back out the window. He came back with a number of scratches over his hands. He ripped open the envelope and quickly scanned the first couple of lines of the message. Snorting in disgust, Ron banished the letter to the fireplace. Harry heard Ron mutter a few choice words under his breath, but he distinctly heard the word 'Malfoy' somewhere in the mix.

Harry suddenly remembered seeing the bird recently hanging around the courtyard at Hogwarts and knew it to be Draco's. He was quite startled by Ron's rather assertive dismissal of Draco's correspondence, but he had an inkling of what it might be about.

"Is Draco still asking you if he can get access to the Manor?" Harry asked casually. He was most likely wanting to get into the family potions lab. _If he finds what he needs, then he can brew the potion to cure his cursed knee._

Ron snorted. "Stupid bloody ferret writes practically every day. I don't think he can get the hint. The answer's still no."

"Aren't you being a little harsh, Ron?" Harry couldn't see what the real problem was. "I think his request is perfectly reasonable."

"Oh? Do you now?" Ron seemed a little put out that Harry didn't agree with him. "I'm really not surprised he'd try to wheedle his way into your good graces."

Harry just blinked. "What's that supposed to mean, Ron?"

"You seem to have become awfully friendly with the Ferret of late, Harry. Are you sure he hasn't hexed you or anything?"

Harry suspected Ron might be feeling a little jealous of the fact that he was now friendly with Draco. "He's not as bad as you think. I've left the past in the past, and now we've both grown up. I think you should probably do the same."

"Have you listened to yourself, Harry? This is _Malfoy_ we're talking about here. He's slimy, manipulative and I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw the scrawny little..." Ron's voice and temper were both rising.

"Ron! Keep your hair on, there's no need to get aggressive. You really have no valid reason to stop him."

"No _valid_ reason?" Ron shouted incredulously. "Harry, I don't know how Malfoy's blinded you, but I have dozens of extremely good reasons why I don't think he should be within Apparition distance of this country, let alone Malfoy bloody Manor. These Neo Death Eaters are far too interested in Malfoy for him to be completely innocent of any involvement with them."

"Oh, and I suppose you have _proof_ that he's involved?" Harry retorted.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll catch him out soon enough. If he thinks he can just boss his way around..."

Harry could not believe Ron's complete inability to forgive and to see that Draco was the victim of the Neo Death Eaters. "Ron, I think you're Niffling around the wrong tree. Draco isn't..."

"Harry," Ron cried, "listen to yourself. You're calling him _Draco_. You're defending him. There's definitely something wrong there. Look, I know you're terribly gullible and that you're quite vulnerable..."

"I am _not_ gullible..." Harry was affronted.

"Right," Ron remarked sarcastically, "Harry, sometimes you so desperately want to believe there is good in everyone. That little faggot is working you…"

Harry bristled at Ron's language, but chose to ignore the slur. "Ron, why are you so against Draco going to the Manor? He's _helping_ people now. He needs potions ingredients and some of them are quite rare. What's the problem with me accompanying him? I've been to Malfoy Manor before and it's no…"

"Why are you pushing this?" Ron's temper flared. "I've said no, and that's final."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. Why don't I talk to one of your superiors – someone who isn't so close to the case? I'm sure they'll have no problem. You're just being stubborn." Harry knew that nobody but Ron would have a problem with him accompanying Draco to the Manor. It really was no problem. He wanted to do this – after all, he was the one who gave Draco the vain hope that he might be able to remove his curse.

"Now you think you can just come in here and tell me how to do my job? You're not an Auror any more, Harry, and you've not been able to boss me around since the final battle. I sincerely doubt he's trying to help anyone but himself, Harry."

"Trying to make you see reason is not bossing you around, Ron. Why don't you get someone else to look after Draco's money if you're going to be so unreasonable about it? It's obvious you can't be objective about him at all. I'm sure Draco would have no trouble with that."

Ron snorted in disbelief. "_Draco, Draco, Draco!_ Have you listened to yourself lately?"

"I just can't see why you can't forgive him. I have. He's never done anything wrong. He isn't a Death Eater, he never was. He might have been an obnoxious snot at school, but he's grown up. Perhaps you should too, Ron." Harry didn't want to hear any more of Ron's inflexible argument.

Ron just shook his head. "Harry, I am more convinced than ever that Draco has done something to affect you. I'm worried about you, Harry. You've changed these past few months. Ever since you left Oliver and the Aurors, you've changed."

"Of course I have, Ron. Best decisions I ever made." Harry wasn't going to let Ron change the subject. "Just agree to let Draco go to the Manor and I'll accompany and vouch for him. It's simple. I'm sure Hermione would agree. I still think you should get one of your superiors to handle this case because it's obvious you aren't working for Draco's best interests."

Ron eyed Harry in disbelief. "You really have been getting in cosy with Malfoy if you're starting to think of going over my head will resolve the issue. I'd expect something like that of a Slytherin. Don't even think about it, Harry – I won't stand for it."

"Well I wouldn't have to suggest it if you could just be reasonable." Harry hated arguing in circles with Ron, but he wasn't about to see Draco miss out on something because Ron was being a prick. They hadn't disagreed like this since Harry was in the Tri-Wizard tournament. Back then it was his stubbornness and inability to clearly see the obvious that angered Ron. He really had not changed in the decade since then. "He really does do some great work with his potions – he's brewed a wonderful painkiller that's better than anything I've ever had – and you know how many painkillers I've needed in the past. He's really helped Remus with the Wolfsbane. Can't you see that you're just doing this out of spite?"

"That little faggot is playing you, Harry." Ron shook his head.

"Don't call him that, Ron." Harry had never heard Ron use such vehement language. He'd never heard him say anything even remotely prejudiced before. "Just think about who you're saying that to."

Ron was not apologetic. "How do we know he didn't hex you to make you think that, Harry? I wouldn't put it past the bastard. One minute you're kissing Cho and making eyes at my sister, the next you tell me you prefer buggering boys. It was unnatural, and wrong, Harry! It was all a Slytherin plot to make you think that as a distraction from Voldemort..."

"That's enough, Ron!" Harry didn't have to listen to incredulous stories from Ron's vivid imagination. "I don't know why you're suddenly so homophobic, but I can assure you that who I choose to shag has always been completely my own decision. You're barking if you think Draco had anything to do with it."

Ron laughed suddenly, a twisted smile on his face. "Now I see what this is really about."

"What?" Harry had no idea what Ron was thinking.

"You're sticking up for him because you and he... Shit, Harry. Please tell me you aren't shagging that pointy-faced bastard. Could you fuck your life over any more?" Harry didn't have an answer for Ron. He was still trying not to lose his own temper over Ron's sudden bout of homophobia. What had brought that on? Had someone hexed _him_?

"Merlin's balls! Are you crazy? You always make stupid decisions when you think with your dick, Harry. Malfoy, for Merlins' sake. I thought sleeping with my brother was the stupidest thing you've ever done, but it seems you've just gone one better."

Harry had an unconscious urge to grab his wand. He was beyond feeling rational. "My private life is my business, Ron, as you've pointed out to me on several occasions. Only you could twist and turn your own stubbornness into an attack on a fundamental part of my personality. If you must know, I'm helping Draco because I'm making up for all the years of passing unfair judgement on him. He deserves a chance, just like everyone else. I don't know why I'm wasting my time trying to convince you. You have no understanding of the guilt I carry. But tell me one thing. You always told me you were okay with the fact I was gay. Have you suddenly had a change of heart?" Harry remembered with dread the thought of telling his friends that he really didn't want to date any girls, and that he found himself more attracted to men. He thought it went rather well at the time, and they had always seemed so supportive.

Ron didn't respond, but he couldn't look Harry in the eye, either. He nodded painfully at Ron's silent admission of guilt. He took a deep breath to remain calm – arguing with Ron was pointless. If he was going to turn this argument into some sort of gay bashing thing, then their conversation was over. He got up to leave.

"Where are you going?" Ron snarled. He seemed surprised that Harry was leaving.

"I've suddenly lost my appetite." Harry stormed out and didn't look back.

--oo0oo--

**June 26 - Thursday**

Harry was still furious at Ron and his blatant refusal to help Draco. Why was he being so irrational? Ron's harsh words were still playing in Harry's head, and the last thing he really wanted to do was spend an evening with someone who all but admitted, after half a lifetime, that they were uncomfortable about something as important as your sexuality.

Harry might have been totally blown away by Ron's temper, but he knew his own stubborn nature when it came to what he thought was right and wrong. He was all ready to forget about the stag night, and assumed that he would no longer be welcome at the wedding, but a frantic visit from Hermione the day after the argument brought about an uncomfortable truce.

Hermione, for her part, wasn't about to see her wedding destroyed because her fiancé and her best friend might come to blows because they were a pair of stubborn gits. Hermione reluctantly admitted to Harry that Ron may not have been entirely honest about his feelings towards Harry's sexuality. He had been convinced at first that someone had hexed Harry into thinking that way, but he tried hard to accept that part of Harry's personality. Hermione admitted it was hard at times, but it had been especially difficult after Harry admitted sleeping with Charlie.

Harry was completely floored by this revelation. He always thought Ron's joke about keeping his private life private was just that – a joke. He would have loved to confront Ron about this, but he was still angry. He did agree, for Hermione's sake, to be there for the wedding and to give Ron his stag night. He had done all the work for it anyway, so all he had to do was show up. He promised not to mention any topic that would reignite their feud.

But for Harry, it became an evening where he had to prove something to Ron. For years he was proving himself to almost everyone except his best friend, but now he needed to show him that just because he didn't love women, it didn't mean he was any less of a man.

Although Harry would be the first to admit that his usual party planning involved plenty of good wine and good food with lots of relaxing music in the background, he knew that Ron was always bored at his parties. The twins had agreed that Harry's choice of party venue was just the ticket.

The wizarding contingent all arrived separately. Fortunately the Weasleys were all able to blend into the Muggle surroundings without raising too many questions. Harry and Charlie Apparated from the Hogwarts gates together, and Arthur arrived with Hermione's father in his car. Arthur was beaming from ear to ear. The two older men seemed quite intent on their conversation about car engines, but they promised to share a couple of rounds and then let the boys have their little party without their interference. Indeed, the Minister of Magic was infinitely more excited about Ron's soon to be father-in-law than he was about keeping his rowdy sons in line.

The pub was hot and overcrowded, with a local football team having their end of season celebration at the other end of the bar. They were rowdy and itching for a fight. Things were going smoothly and with so many people, Ron had barely said two words to Harry. This suited Harry just fine. Now was not the time, nor the place for them to continue with their disagreement. Discovering that Ron was the groom, the barman's eyes lit up and he put out a dozen shot glasses. Very soon each glass was lined up with something different. Ron's eyes bulged as he realised he was expected to drink all of the shots in a row. He looked warily at the twins, but they had promised Hermione that no Wheezes would end up in any of Ron's food or drink. Bill and Percy certainly seemed to be encouraging him.

Everyone seemed to be relaxed and enjoying themselves, paying out quite severely on their youngest brother. Half way through the night, Fred decided to get up and start the round of toasts to the next Weasley groom. Harry had only been drinking modestly – the pub really was a little too rough for his tastes, and their house wine was shite. He would have done anything for a butterbeer, but he ended up nursing only his second glass of Guinness.

Charlie had noticed Harry's lack of exuberance throughout the night. "Harry, you aren't your usual bubbly and bumbling self tonight. Are you staying off the lager for any particular reason?" he nudged Harry and winked, knowing full well what Harry had done the last time he got drunk around Charlie. "You've barely said two words to Ron all night." So someone _had_ noticed. He was glad it was Charlie, at least.

Harry shrugged and nursed his beer closer. "Oh, we're just having a little difference of opinion over something. It will sort itself out soon. I hope." He murmured the last.

Charlie put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm afraid our little brother got most of the Weasley temper. I hope he hasn't been too rough on you."

Harry smiled at Charlie, "Nah, it's fine. You would think I'd be used to his moods now." _You would think that he could have been honest with me all these years. How come I never noticed before? _"I just wish he weren't so stubborn. Has he ever said anything to you about being gay?"

Charlie's mood soured for a moment. "Not in so many words, Harry, but I know he and Bill are more alike than they would care to admit. He's never said much to me, but I know he thinks the same as Bill. I was actually surprised he took it so well with you – I thought he must have just had something about his brother being gay. Still, I think he'll have his hands full with Hermione."

"Too right," Harry replied, a little calmer now that he was enjoying Charlie's company.

"Still, Harry, you could have picked somewhere we could have at least had something to look at – there's barely an ounce of talent in this room – present company excepted."

"I thought you only had eyes for greasy gits, Charlie," Harry offered in good humour.

Charlie raised an eyebrow and whispered conspiratorially in Harry's ear, "Oh, but there's no reason why I can't look at the menu, is there?"

The pair of them laughed and shared a knowing smile. Now that he was friends with Charlie, Harry found that he was more relaxed around him, and as part of Charlie's flirtatious nature, he found Charlie's arm around his shoulder, but more in a show of support than in affection.

"Oi!" Harry and Charlie turned at Bill's voice. Harry could see the look of disgust on Bill's face, but wasn't sure if it was genuine, or fuelled by several shots of alcohol. Bill had been drinking rather heavily since they arrived.

"'Choo poofters can't leave off for one night?" Bill's words were slurred, but Harry could still sense the venom behind them. He suddenly remembered Bill was rather outspoken in his homophobia, and cringed as he realised that he seemed to be itching for a fight. He sighed as he realised it was a futile hope to think that the night would go by without any problems.

"Not now, Bill, this is Ron's party, after all," he asked hopefully, but saw a few more eyes were now staring at him – and Charlie.

"Why not now? Certainly nobody wants to watch you and my brother getting all cosy with each other. It's disgusting." Bill's words were loud and a few other patrons at the bar overheard, and were quite vocal in their support to get rid of the 'poofters'. Bill continued. "I thought we agreed, Charlie, that you wouldn't flaunt your abnormality and embarrass the rest of the family, and I wouldn't try to hex your balls off."

"Bill... the _Muggles!_" Percy whispered rather loudly. Harry agreed. He really didn't want to be cleaning up after a mess in an overcrowded public bar. Charlie groaned.

Charlie rose and stood nose to nose with his brother. The pair were evenly matched physically, and Harry tried to crawl even further into the back of his chair. "I thought this was a family outing and we were here for Ron."

"It is a _family_ outing, and Harry's practically family, Charlie. You're just a sick and twisted pervert." Harry had no idea what had made Bill so belligerent, but he could not discount the Muggle liquor. He realised, almost too late, that some wizards did not take well to Muggle alcohol in their systems. It made them more aggressive than normal.

Ron just giggled and snorted. "S'funny," he offered in a very drunken voice. The bar shots were finally starting to hit his system. Harry hoped the aggression wasn't going to show up in Ron as well.

George piped up to help quell any further disaster. "Ron, I really think you should probably lay off the alcohol for a bit. You have no idea what you're saying." He was firm. "You too, Bill."

"Why am I not surprised to see you taking their side. You faggots all stick together, don't 'choo? The only reason I'm drinking this Muggle piss is that this party is so boring. Where are the strippers? You should have trusted _me _to organise your stag party, Ronniekins. At least I know how a bloke wants to spend his last few nights of freedom."

Ron was still a little confused by everything going on around him. He tried to put on a stern face, but just ended up with a comically vacant stare. "Strippers?" he asked. "Where?"

Bill was still processing everything he'd already heard. "Sweet Merlin, Charlie. Can't you keep your hands to yourself? It's bad enough that you and George have to shove your abnormality in everyone's faces all the time. But cracking on to Harry is just plain sick. He doesn't want you breathing down his neck."

Ron laughed, "Charlie. Charlie and Harry. Doesn't matter Bill. Harry's told me in the strictest confidence they've already shagged. So really, it's all in the family. See?" Ron was trying to prove a point, but it had all come out wrong. Unfortunately, the only bit that Bill heard was the fact that Harry and Charlie had once shagged. Harry could not believe what he was hearing. He was suddenly regretting the fact that he had told Ron.

Charlie didn't seem too perturbed, but he was obviously more used to his older brother's prejudice. Bill looked at them incredulously. "Is that true, Charlie? Merlin, you're more disgusting than ever. Harry's so much younger than you. Filthy faggots." Bill was vehement in his words, but Harry really had not meant for this to get out of hand. Ron was more drunk than he had thought possible. Despite their difference of opinion, he knew Hermione would not be impressed if he ended up at home in worse condition than this.

For now, he wasn't thinking about that. He stood and tried politely to excuse himself. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remain calm. It would do no good for anyone if he let his temper get out of hand. He really didn't have to sit here and listen to this sort of abuse. Charlie might be immune to it, along with George and Lee, but Harry didn't need so-called friends suddenly turning on him.

"Running away, Harry?" Bill stood and was blocking his path.

"I'm sure you gents would have a much better time without my company." He turned and addressed Ron directly for the first time. "Ron, I'm sorry that your party has come to this and doesn't live up to your expectations. I was planning on taking you to a club around the corner after this, but it seems that some of the other guests would rather I leave." Ron stood up – very carefully, but was full of his usual bluster and bravado. Harry could see him trying to go for his wand, but forgetting he had left it at home.

"'Choo walkin' out on my party, Potter?" Harry would have thought the whole thing farcical had they not had their recent disagreement. Now his much larger and extremely aggressive older brother was now backing him up. Harry saw Ron face him down as he had seen him face Draco on countless occasions at school.

"Ron," Fred called out cautiously, "sit down before you make a scene in front of the Muggles. You're too shitfaced to win a fight. Especially with Harry."

As Harry tried to side step his way to the door, he could hear Charlie calling him back. He needed some space and in his hurry, he was jostled by a burly footballer at the bar. "Watch out you poncy little shirtlifter." Harry had no intention of starting a fight and mumbled, "Don't worry, I'm leaving." He was beginning to wonder if coming to this place was such a good idea.

He could hear Ron calling out behind him, "So, going back to your ferrety new best friend?"

Harry turned to look at Ron with deep regret. He was trying desperately to remember that Ron had been drinking heavily and was not fully responsible for what he was saying. Charlie and George were also standing, and he knew this was going to get very ugly if he didn't walk away. "I promised to leave Draco out of this tonight, Ron. But perhaps he _will_ be more reasonable company than you. At least he has always had the balls to tell me honestly what he thought of me. You don't have to pretend to accept the fact I'm gay, Ron. You could at least just be respectful about it."

"'M perfectly capable, Harry, of doing my job. I don't need the likes of you tellin' me what I can and can't do. If I say Malfoy is a risk, then he's a risk. Why can't 'choo respect _that_?" Harry wondered for a moment what Ron was talking about, but realised he was continuing their argument from earlier in the week.

Harry rolled his eyes, "He's an innocent victim and if you weren't so stubborn you would see that he is no more a Neo Death Eater than I am." Harry's temper had been simmering for most of the night. He was still angry at Ron for his stubborn nature, and he had agreed that he wasn't going to drag their personal disagreement into a family gathering.

"Ron, that's enough," George and Fred were also very wary of creating a scene, but they had noticed the flickering lights in the bar and were fully aware of the full force of Harry's power when it got out of control.

Ron saw Harry's patronising eye roll, and fuelled by goodness knows how much Muggle alcohol, he suddenly became more aggressive. The sneer on his face was positively unpleasant and he was reminded of the way Ron usually spoke to Draco. "Oh, so you'd rather believe Malfoy now than me? I'm still not sure that he hasn't done something to make you feel this way, Harry." A light suddenly went off in Ron's head as he saw Lee holding on to George's waist. "Or is it that he's a stinking little bum fuck..."

Ron didn't get his sentence out because Harry's fist connected with his jaw. He was glad for the foresight that made him put his wand in his boot, for it was too far out of reach to get to easily. He would have hexed half of Ron's face off by now had he managed to get his wand in his hand. A good punch was the next best thing to shut him up. Unfortunately, he heard and felt the bone in his fist crack.

Ron staggered back a couple of steps – stunned. Harry seemed to be staring at his own fist, and the rest of the pub's patrons had silenced completely. Charlie was trying to grab Harry and hold him back, but it only gave Ron a perfect target for his own fist, which landed square on Harry's nose, thoroughly shattering his glasses.

--oo0oo--

Standing on the footpath a few minutes later, the entire party was unsurprised they had been kicked out of the pub. Lee, George and Charlie were tending to Harry as Bill, Percy and Fred were offering Ron comfort.

"I'm sorry about that, guys," Harry tried to apologise as the blood flowed freely through his nose. George surreptitiously brought out his wand and attempted to stem the bleeding.

Charlie snorted. Harry realised he was trying to suppress a laugh. "Oh, don't be sorry. I never realised until now just how much like Bill he is. I guess the Muggle booze brings out the best in his belligerent temper. What was all that about Malfoy?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, that's just a disagreement we've had for a while now." He looked over to check on Ron, but saw the burning hatred in his eyes. "Looks like I'm uninvited to the wedding, guys." He said dejectedly. Hermione would be thoroughly disappointed. This night could not have been any worse.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Harry, I think Ron will get what's coming to him. He didn't just insult you tonight, but all of us." George sighed. "I really hate it when Bill gets on his high horse. I have no idea why he's so homophobic, but I never guessed ickle Ronniekins would feel the same."

Harry shook his head. "Neither did I." He watched as Bill led Ron away down the street – in the direction of the strip club. He tried to feel some sympathy for his friend, but he just felt numb instead. Had Ron always felt so strongly about this, or was he just being a big man about it in front of his oldest brother?

How could Ron hide such strong feelings about this for so long? The more that he thought on it, the more he realised that Hermione had been quite vocal in her support, but Ron had been very silent. Could he have been pretending for all those years? Amazing how one little disagreement could lead Harry to see his best friend in a completely new light. _But then again, Harry, you've managed to discover that Draco is completely different to the boy you thought you knew, too._

Harry shrugged, his head was hurting, as was his fist. He really got no satisfaction from hitting Ron, but that Weasley stubbornness was so infuriating.

The bleeding had stopped, but the pain was beginning to intensify. Charlie handed Harry back his glasses, which had been repaired. Unfortunately, his nose was now so swollen, he couldn't put them back on. "Don't let a little bust up like that worry you, Harry. He'll come round." Charlie examined Harry's nose more carefully and winced when Harry flinched in pain. "Merlin, are you all right? Little brother sure knows how to land a punch."

"Don't suppose you have any painkilling potion?" He asked hopefully.

"You need to get that looked at, Harry. You don't want to end up with a conk the size of Snape," George offered.

Charlie laughed, "Oh, I don't know, that might add a little bit of character." He handed a small vial to Harry, who downed the potion gratefully. It tasted horrible, and Harry knew from the taste that it was a commercially made painkiller. Ever since Draco had given him his own brewed painkiller potion, nothing else seemed quite the same.

"Thanks. I should probably head back. Sorry to have ruined the party," he said again.

"Ruined!" George exclaimed, "My dear you were the life of the party! I always hate those sorts of things. He was right about one thing. I would really love to gatecrash Hermione's hen's night. I hear that Ginny got her a couple of rather fit young fellows..." George tried desperately to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, but Harry could not help but laugh.

"Well I certainly don't feel like going home just yet," Lee said to George. "Why don't you and I head to that new club down the road? The one where we'll all feel a little more welcome."

Harry, feeling quite down, decided to skip the gay club. He really should have gone to St Mungo's (he doubted Poppy Pomfrey would have appreciated a late night call), but Charlie convinced him to share a couple more rounds of real drinks back in Hogsmeade.

Charlie started as he pushed the firewhisky in front of Harry. "Here, get that into you. That will make the pain go away, for sure." Harry's hand was now throbbing in pain and he wondered if he had done more damage to his wand hand that had only just healed. He snatched the glass with his left hand and quickly downed the drink. It burned down his throat and helped take the slight edge off his pain. It helped him to relax somewhat, which made him realise just how tense he had become.

"So, I noticed that you seemed quite irate that Ron was bagging Malfoy. I didn't think you and he were that close." Charlie raised an eyebrow as Harry nearly lost his mouthful of drink. "Is there anything you're not telling me, Harry?"

Harry ran his hands through his hair, and couldn't decide what to say to Charlie.

Charlie decided to answer for him after a very long and quiet pause, "Don't worry, I think I have some idea what is going on."

"Do you?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I've seen the way you've been watching each other – how you're both stepping around each other and pretending that nothing has happened. I'm not stupid. I also heard Remus muttering something the other day, and he seemed pleased," Charlie shrugged, "but I'm only guessing."

Harry seemed surprised that someone had been paying attention. "I didn't realise. Am I that transparent?"

"No, but I do have to confess that I might have wandered past the lavatory the other night during the staff party," it was Charlie's turn to blush and look away.

Harry blinked for a moment before he realised that Charlie must have overheard – or seen what he and Draco had been up to. "Oh."

"Oh indeed." Charlie smiled and put a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder. "Far be it for me to pass judgement, Harry. I'm just letting you know that if you want to talk to someone, then I'm always here."

"Thanks, Charlie." Harry was glad for that much, at least. He was staring down the barrel of the end of a friendship with Ron, and quite likely Hermione too, and he realised he needed all the friends he could get.

"Of course, if you want my opinion, the two of you are one fucking hot item." Harry couldn't see very well without his glasses, but he could tell Charlie's grin was genuine and so infectious that Harry could not help but laugh. The idea that someone had been watching was quite titillating. "D'you think all Slytherins are that good with their hands? Or is it just Potions masters?"

Harry was indeed having much more fun with Charlie.

--oo0oo--

**June 27 – Friday**

Unfortunately, he wasn't having that much fun the next morning. He remembered staggering back up to Hogwarts with Charlie some time in the early hours of Friday morning. Madame Rosmerta had shown the pair the door not long after closing time, but it took them an inordinately long time to make it back to the castle. It was not shaping up to be one of Harry's better days, and it had little to do with the raging hangover that he had been expecting. He remembered the punch that Ron threw that had connected with his nose, and the searing pain that followed. Of course, after downing Charlie's painkilling potion, he had found the pain bearable, but he was suffering now for that delay.

Daring to look into the mirror, he could not recognise the face that was staring back at him. Harry could still recall the sound of breaking bone as he recalled Ron's punch landing square. The two dark black eyes made him look like a startled racoon as he tried to blink in the dim light. His fist was swollen to twice its normal size, and he knew a trip to Pomfrey was inevitable.

Just as he was feeling human enough to head to the infirmary, a familiar ball of feathers came tearing in through the window and nearly bowled Harry over. He mistook Pig's exuberance for his usual excitement, but as he took the proffered envelope he recognising the Howler.

HARRY POTTER! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT? YOU PROMISED ME THAT RON WOULD RETURN HEX FREE! NOT ONLY DID HE COME HOME WITH A BROKEN JAW – THANKS TO YOU – BUT FRED THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE FUN TO THROW A HIRSUITUS HEX ON HIM AND NOW HE HAS NO HAIR! YOU DO REALISE THAT IT WON'T GROW BACK IN TIME FOR THE WEDDING!

The volume was slightly muffled as she must have been interrupted whilst charming the Howler...

AND DON'T THINK I'VE FINISHED WITH YOU RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY. DON'T THINK THAT I HAVEN'T SENT A HOWLER TO NEARLY ALL YOUR BROTHERS! YOU'LL BOTH BE APOLOGISING AND SORTING OUT YOUR DIFFERENCES BEFORE TOMORROW, OR THERE ISN'T GOING TO BE A WEDDING! AND DON'T YOU EVEN THINK OF UNINVITING HARRY. HE IS GOING TO BE YOUR BEST MAN WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT. I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T TALK TO EACH OTHER, BUT YOU WILL ACT CIVILLY AT THE WEDDING, OR YOU'LL BOTH LOSE SOMETHING EXCEEDINGLY MORE VALUABLE WHEN I HEX YOU. I WANT HARRY TO STAND UP WITH US BECAUSE HE IS MY BEST FRIEND TOO.

I CAN'T BELIEVE THE TWO OF YOU ARE ACTING LIKE FOURTEEN YEAR OLDS! HONESTLY! Harry could hear the depth of her anger under her lecturing tone. He was disappointed in himself for letting his temper get the better of him, but he knew he was only partly to blame.

The Howler combusted in a huge ball of flame as Hermione's words were finally silenced. Pig had obviously listened as Hermione had created the Howler, for the small bundle of energy continued to hoot and holler in a similar tone. She ducked and wove around Harry in protest, venting her own anger and doing all she could to frustrate him. Harry was ready to strangle her, but knew it would do little to mend fences if he managed to kill Ron's beloved pet.

He reluctantly admitted that things had gone way too far with Ron, but he was still stunned and smarting from Ron's comments the night before. Ron had always seemed so understanding about Harry's sexuality, but he wondered why Ron had been reluctant to say what he really felt before now.

Then again, Bill's thoroughly biased attitude was blatantly obvious and he was undoubtedly influencing Ron to some degree. He wondered how their original disagreement about Draco could dissolve into such an argument. If Ron could get off his high horse long enough and stop his stupid pride from getting in the way, he would see that Harry was only trying to help someone. Why was he refusing to see that Draco was not the Death Eater he imagined?

Still, he could not help but smirk at the thought of Fred throwing hexes at Ron. _Serves him right,_ Harry thought. _I doubt Hermione has healed his jaw cleanly. I bet she left the pain on purpose to make him suffer. No doubt Pomfrey will do the same to me if I dare go up and see her. She really doesn't approve of mindless violence, even if it knocks some sense into a drunken pillock._

He doubted Charlie would be in any fit state to cast a Sobrietus. He knew Remus would be sympathetic to his plight had he been there, but just as he stepped out into the hallway, he looked up and saw Draco coming out of his room.

"Merlin, you look bloody awful, Harry." Draco sounded sincere, but had a smirk on his face. "Had a rough night? Or did you decide to get up close and personal with the front end of the Knight Bus?"

He tried to smile, but it hurt too much. "You could say that. I got in a fight."

"Was that Granger's dulcet tones I heard squealing at the top of her voice?" Draco moved over to get a closer look at Harry, and dragged him closer to the nearest window. The light in the hallway was quite dim and Draco was squinting without his reading glasses. "I didn't think you would let a Muggle get the better of you. Were you a little under the weather, or did you leave your wand at home?"

Harry was trying hard not to look Draco directly in the eye, for he could feel his piercing gaze. He wasn't sure if there was disapproval or humour in it, but he was trying very hard to ignore the fact that Draco was standing so very close. "No, it was Ron."

Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked as he reached for his wand. "I always suspected he would fight dirty. Muggle tricks, huh? I hope you gave as good as you got."

Harry tried to smile and laugh, but ended up snorting inelegantly. "Don't worry, I doubt Hermione will heal him with a gentle touch."

Before he knew it, Draco had cast a Sobrietus charm, and Harry was feeling a little less light headed. Unfortunately, all the dulled pain from his nose was now back in full force.

"Now, I'm no Medi-Wizard, Harry, but I've done this before." Before Harry could protest, he felt Draco cup his face with both hands. He seemed to intently study Harry's face for a moment before bringing his wand up to touch the tip of the broken nose. Harry heard the softly muttered healing spell and the pain in his face worsened momentarily. He could feel the cartilage and bone realign and ground his teeth in protest. After a moment the pain became more subdued and the light became a little brighter as he could now open his eyes fully.

"There, that should do it. You still look like shit, Harry, but at least you won't end up with a nose like Severus." Draco smirked and Harry was a little disappointed when they broke their touch.

"Well then, I am more than indebted to you," Harry laughed and tried a genuine smile.

"So, what on earth could have given the Weasel a reason to hit you?" Draco asked.

Harry thought about it, and realised that his frustration with Ron might have started out with his refusal to let Draco visit the Manor, but after the stag party, he knew there was a lot more there that they would need to work out. "Oh, he's just being more stubborn than usual. We had a little disagreement and I guess I really don't know him as well as I thought."

Draco cleared his throat and coughed. "Yes, it's amazing what you discover about people just when you think you have them all figured out."

Harry looked at Draco in complete surprise. "Yes, quite." He returned the warm smile.

--oo0oo--

Madame Pomfrey had grudgingly healed Harry's hand, but luckily the bones were not broken, so it was as good as new. She didn't offer any more painkillers for his nose, but did glower severely in disapproval at him. Grateful to have avoided a lecture with her, he knew he had to see Hermione and Ron. It was not something he could avoid.

After Flooing to London, he spent most of the afternoon staring awkwardly at the rug by the fireplace as Hermione gave both him and Ron a dressing down. Ron looked just as bad as Harry felt, with his lower jaw puffed out like a balloon, but it was the fact that she was forcing them to apologise that was hardest.

Ron did look quite comical with his bald head. Fred had done a complete job on hexing every hair. Harry could not help but be amused by the fact his head was also freckled, but his amusement was short lived as he remembered Ron's scathing words.

Ron seemed apologetic and admitted that his words were fuelled by a little too much alcohol, but he also admitted for the first time that he had always struggled with Harry's lifestyle choices. Hermione had tried to make him see that Harry really had no choice in the matter, and that was a fundamental part of who he was. He admitted to the vain hope that Harry might one day change his mind and eventually marry his little sister – if only to stop her and her man eating ways. Fortunately, Ginny had put paid to that when she told Ron in no uncertain terms that she would not even consider being with Harry even if he were heterosexual and available.

He also admitted that he was mostly jealous of the fact that Harry seemed to have become friends with Malfoy. This was most likely the crux of their whole disagreement. Knowing what he knew, he realised this was going to be much harder for Ron to deal with, especially if his relationship with Draco became even closer.

Harry apologised to Ron for being overbearing about his work. He knew Ron was very good at his job and that he would try to respect the decision he had made in Draco's case. Harry promised he would, if Ron was sure that he had Draco's best interests at heart when making the decision, and not letting his own bias cloud his judgement.

Ron seemed a little reluctant on that point, but at least they had (under Hermione's scrutiny) managed to patch up most of their friendship. But it wasn't quite that simple. The crack in their friendship had left a permanent mark that would always be there despite the repairs. He was happy that he could be there for his friends on their wedding day, but now he knew that there was a slight rift that would separate him from them forever.

Saturday dawned clear and warm. The traditional family ceremony was to be held at The Burrow. Apparently Hermione had given all of Ron's brothers a similar dressing down, and Bill seemed quite subdued as he arrived for the wedding. Harry did not fail to notice the distance between him and Charlie throughout the celebration, but all of Ron's brothers seemed to be on their best behaviour.

Harry had discovered that he had butterflies in his stomach, and he wasn't even the one getting married. Harry had not seen Ron in such a blind panic since the day of the sorting hat – half a lifetime ago. The pair had faced many battles together, but Harry knew this one was for Ron alone. In a way he was quite relieved.

"Come on, Ron. You've fought Trolls and Death Eaters. Surely this can't be worse?" Harry tried to lighten the mood. Ron seemed somewhat grateful. They were still a little stiff in each other's company, but Harry knew that only time would help in that regard.

"Easy for you to say, Harry. You're never going to have to do this."

"What, get married? Who knows," he smiled knowingly and Ron's eyes widened in both fear and apprehension.

"Hermione loves you very much, Ron. I have no idea why, but she does."

"She really does, doesn't she?" Ron could scarcely believe it himself.

Harry was genuinely happy for his friends. He tried to straighten the tie on Ron's robes. "Look, Ron, I do want what you and Hermione have. I would find myself quite content to find that special someone and share my life with him. We all want that. It just happens that my special someone won't be a woman. And definitely not your little sister."

Ron nodded absently, his mind obviously quite distracted by nerves. His face was somewhat green, and if Harry had not known any better, he would say he was about to start belching slugs. In a final bid to distract Ron, he knew what would really throw him into a spin. "Even Charlie has said he's ready to settle down."

"Charlie's found someone?" Ron tried not to sound too interested, but Harry did give him a genuine smile.

_Oh Ron, if only you knew the half of it. I really don't want to be around you if Charlie ever manages to convince Snape to come home and 'meet the family'. _The thought of that really made Harry grin, and he used that to help him make a somewhat agreeable truce with his oldest friend. "I'll let him tell you all about it."

Ron took a deep breath and looked out the window. He started rocking back and forth in nervous anticipation.

"Well, Ron, it's time."

--oo0oo--

The ceremony was beautiful. Molly cried, Ginny cried, Hermione was aglow and Harry admitted later to a few moist lashes. As head of the family, Arthur performed the traditional wizarding hand fasting. Normally, Hermione's father would have completed the ceremony, but since he was a Muggle, Arthur performed it all. Mr and Mrs Granger were there, but the rest of Hermione's Muggle acquaintances would be at the Registry Office for a repeat performance later in the day.

For a few hours during the day, Harry nearly forgot the unpleasantness that had recently passed. He did feel a little bittersweet to know that things were going to get a whole lot more complicated with Ron if things with Draco... well _if_ things with Draco...

Harry spent an inordinate amount of time during the day thinking about Draco. He knew that things with him were only going to become more intense now that he had finally realised the truth. He had found his soul mate and was in love. He wished he could be there right now to share in the wonder of the day, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that things with Draco were going to be smooth sailing. He could only begin to imagine the palaver that would go on with Ron if... _when_ he and Draco managed to sort out their lives.

Harry's secret smile was not truly for the bride and groom. It was for the realisation that Draco was Luc, and that for the first time, he really could see himself spending his life as Draco Malfoy's soul mate. Heart and soul and... well, everything.

--oo0oo--

**June 29 - Sunday**

"Ron?"

"Hmmm?" Ron was lazing with his head in Hermione's lap as they enjoyed the warm sunshine and fresh air in Southern France. Even Ron had to (reluctantly) admit that Harry had chosen a perfectly wonderful place for their honeymoon. He might have been shite at organising a stag party, but Harry did know a thing or two about a quiet and romantic getaway, but he couldn't bring himself to think about such things at the moment. Hermione's hand was absently rubbing the fuzz of hair that was regrowing on his head as Ron had been lazily fidgeting with Hermione's wedding band. He was still trying to get used to the weight of his own. Hermione could only smile every time she caught him unconsciously grinning as he did so.

He had fallen asleep under the gigantic tree in the grounds of the chateau with his head in her lap. As he dozed, Hermione was enjoying one of the books from the chateau's copious collection. Ron had no problem with that. They were all written in French, and his mastery of the language started and ended with the names of the local foods, of which there were plenty.

"I know the last thing you want to talk about is Harry," Hermione began. Ron scowled. "But, do you remember who recommended this place to him?"

Ron opened one eye and looked at his wife. "Fancy a place like this, do you Mrs Weasley?"

Hermione swatted him playfully and rolled her eyesm but continued her questions. "Did he mention anything to you about the owner?"

"Actually, he did. When he gave me the portkey, he said that a very close friend had recommended it to him."

"Oh, that would be this Luc fellow – the one who he writes to in his journal?" Hermione asked keenly.

Ron shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Do you think there's more going on there than we know?" Hermione was dogging Ron with questions he didn't really want to think about, let alone answer. He thought they had an understanding that Harry wasn't coming along with them on this occasion.

"Why the sudden interrogation? What bee have you got in your bonnet now, Mrs Weasley?"

Hermione scowled thoughtfully, "We're going to discuss this Mrs Weasley business later, Ron. I'm just really worried about Harry - and not because of what happened the other night. He's either bottling things up quite madly, or he's no longer confiding in us like he used to."

Ron snorted bitterly, "Well he's certainly cosy with Malfoy these days." He saw the disapproving glare on Hermione's face. "Sorry, I promised I wasn't going to talk about him, didn't I?"

Hermione ignored him and continued. "You know, didn't Harry say that this Luc character owned a place in this part of the world?"

"I honestly can't remember. I suppose he did. Why are we playing 20 questions, my dear? You know I'd much rather be playing..."

Hermione swatted away his hand and sat up further. "No, Ron. I've just realised something." She indicated the book she had been reading. "You say that Harry's pen pal, Luc, owns a place in this part of France. Harry's been friendlier with Draco, and he's not confiding in us as much as he used to."

Ron nodded in agreement, but could not see where this was going. He knew better than to interrupt his wife in the middle of a thought connection.

"And according to _Francois' French Wizarding Peerage_," she waved the book under Ron's nose, "It would seem that we are currently guests at the estate of one Draco Lucien Darien Malfoy."

Ron sat up straight and looked at Hermione. "That is not a funny joke, love."

Hermione was adamant. "It's no joke! Look it says it right here – and this is a wizarding publication, so it's self updating."

Ron just stared at the meaningless French on the page, with Draco's name printed blankly in the middle of the page. He believed Hermione. A sudden flashback to his knowledge of Malfoy's financial affairs made him recall the fact that Malfoy did indeed own outright a chateau in the south of France.

"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed.

"I know, you do realise the connection now?" Hermione thought Ron made the same connection she did.

"This is bloody brilliant!" He cried.

"What? It's brilliant that this mysterious pen friend of Harry's must be Draco? And that Harry must know, and that's why he's been so keen to help him?"

The smug grin on Ron's face suddenly fell. "What?"

"Well that is the logical conclusion, isn't it? This guy he's been writing to must be Draco. Ron, can't you see? Harry's found himself confiding in Draco Malfoy!" she sounded a little exasperated.

Ron grabbed her and started to kiss her fervently.

"Ron! Aren't you the least bit concerned about that?" She tried to break away from his amorous advances, but he was too strong, and she was only putting in a half hearted effort.

"Harry's old enough to get out of his own messes, 'Mione. If he can kill a Dark Lord, then he can sort out his own tangled love life." The feral grin was back on his face as he spoke.

"Besides," he helped Hermione up and began to lead her back towards the chateau, "If this is Malfoy's house, then I think we should use every moment of our time wisely. There's plenty of rooms in there that need christening. I think I'd like to see just how much of Malfoy's furniture we can debauch along the way."

It was many hours later when the implications of what Hermione discovered finally hit Ron. He sat straight up in bed as if waking from a particularly nasty nightmare.

"Harry and Malfoy? But... but I was only joking! Bloody hell!"

--oo0oo--

Sunday wasn't one of Harry's better days either. He was still feeling a little deflated after the wedding. The rift between him and Ron was healed, but Harry knew things might never be the same again. He was thrilled that his friends had finally married after a courtship that was half a lifetime in the making, but he didn't quite have the same sense of joy that he might have once had. Being without Ron's friendship was something Harry didn't want to think about. Even if they were somehow moving apart, one thought had sustained him throughout the wedding. The fact that he had finally realised that he wanted to share his life with Luc – with Draco – had been a poignant moment.

Of course, now he faced the battle of trying to make Draco see him for who he truly was, without giving away anything through the journal.

The cursed journal.

Writing had never been so difficult. It took a lot of control not to let anything slip as he wrote. He knew that if he continued to talk to him with his current knowledge, he was likely to slip up and Draco would eventually find out, making for a nasty state of affairs.

He wondered how the magic of the journals could make him write truthfully from his heart, but it allowed him to 'lie' and refer to Draco as Luc. Perhaps it was still because he thought of him as Luc. It helped that he thought of 'Draco' as being just another of the masks he wore. But it was a valid fear that he might accidentally slip and call him Draco in the middle of a chat, and that would just not do.

Knowing that Draco trusted him was very important. That trust had been gained over months and months, and the guilt was just too much. No matter how much he wanted to talk to Luc, he lost his nerve at the last minute and couldn't go through with it. He quickly penned a short note to Luc stating that he was going to be busy. It made him feel positively awful, but he would try and garner enough courage to write something to him next week. Who knew, Draco might even know the truth by then.

--oo0oo--

Of course, Draco saw the polite brush off as confirmation of his worst fears. His deepest, darkest secret had been too much for Flash, and he had expected this.

Why should Flash be any different to any other wizard who survived the war? Draco suspected he had already done his research and discovered his identity, making it all the more easy to make excuses and avoid him in the journal.

Draco wrote a polite reply, fully understanding Flash's busy schedule. He hoped they would chat next week. He highly doubted it would eventuate.

He spent the rest of the night staring into the fire. Not even Petite Amie's warmth could diminish the chill that grew inside.

--oo0oo--

Draco felt he had nothing left but to bury himself back in his work - again. The sheer routine of constantly brewing kept him calm, along with his new habit of surreptitiously watch Harry in the courtyard as he worked on his meditations. Draco wondered briefly if he should start something like that, but his mood was too apathetic to contemplate it for long.

He had not failed to note that Harry seemed somewhat more wistful, even though he sensed that he was probably avoiding him too. It concerned him to think that Harry had fought with Weasley, but he had not run into Harry again since their little encounter in the hall. _First Flash, now Harry. It seems that I'm obviously losing friends as quickly as I'm making them. I am definitely cursed._ He might not have been talking to him in person, but he was certainly spending most of his dream time in Harry's company. At times, he thought he was making love to Flash, but when he looked down, all he could see was messy dark hair, and Harry staring back at him longingly.

Without the benefit of a school schedule, Draco could barely remember what day of the week it was and the days were running together. Just as long as Harry was there doing his Tai Chi in the mornings, Draco knew he was going to make it through the day.

His correspondence with Arianna was a bright spot during such a bleak time. He really did miss her quick wit and bubbly personality. News about people he knew and snippets from the French papers made him feel a little homesick. Arianna said she missed Emmaline dreadfully, but Draco doubted that highly, for she continued to make mention of a man in one of her summer classes. She seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time writing about him, and that made Draco smile.

Hearing about Paris and feeling homesick would invariably send him down to spend an hour or two with Emmaline. It was the closest he would get to being there, and at times like this he wished for his apprenticeship to be well and truly over. At least his chateau had been leased for almost the entire summer, which gave him quite a few extra Galleons in his purse. A few years earlier and Draco would have baulked at the amount of money he now lived on, but he really had no other choice, and there was no point in complaining about it.

Although the moment he could lay his hands on his inheritance, things would change considerably. He might have lost considerable millions to the Neo Death Eaters, but if Weasley would do his job properly and stop being petty, his fortune might nearly reach its former level by the time he turned 25. It wasn't the first time he thought about getting rid of Weasley and having someone else look after his affairs. He doubted the weasel was looking out for the Malfoy estate's best interests. It was grating, to say the least.

Perhaps then someone would allow him access to his Grand-père's lab at the Manor. He was frustrated, not by Weasley's refusal to let him go there, but by the fact he wasn't sure if he would actually find what he was looking for. There was only a possibility that there were any Pegasus Wingtips in the lab. He didn't want to have his hopes up for another two years, only to discover that it had all been in vain.

--oo0oo--

Draco sat back in the cool shadows of the Leaf and Bean. The summer sun was always welcome in Scotland, but a few days of it and everyone was complaining of the stifling heat. Draco's robes were spelled with a cooling charm, but even so, it was somewhat stuffy and stifling in Emmaline's little corner of the world.

"Bonjour, Draco," the voice came from nowhere and startled Draco from his comfortable musings, making him jump in his seat. He was not quite as vigilant as he should have been, but even after all this time the sound of Jean-Paul's voice could still make him pliant and weak willed. Fortunately, he was too stunned to notice the latter.

"J... Jean-Paul. Qu'est-ce que vous faites ici? _What are you doing here_?" He dared to meet Jean-Paul's eyes and saw so much he had forgotten about his last lover. The sound of his voice was familiar, but the feel of the hand on his shoulder and the crinkle of laugh lines around his smile had been forgotten.

Jean-Paul politely queried if he could sit down and Draco nodded, still too stunned by his sudden appearance to disagree. "Oh, I was in the neighbourhood, thought I'd drop by on my crazy old Aunt who suddenly decided to pack up her life and move to Scotland. I needed to see for myself that she was looking after herself."

"Oh," for a split second, he thought that Jean-Paul might have come to see him alone, but after his current disastrous run of bad luck, he knew better than to voice such a ridiculous fancy.

"But, when I found out that she was following _you_, I had even more reason to come." Draco could see the raw honesty behind Jean-Paul's words, and for a moment his heart warmed.

"But what about your work – won't the Sheik..."

Jean-Paul waved the conversation away. "The Sheik has passed away. In the end... I could not save him. My services are no longer required. I find myself now at a loose end. I thought I should do some travelling, visit my beloved Aunt, mend a few fences." Draco knew that his last words were directed at him.

Draco didn't really know what to say. He never thought he would see Jean-Paul again, despite numerous occasions where he thought he would try to contact him. Seeing him right there, just after he had decided that that chapter of his life was definitely over, was most disconcerting.

Jean-Paul noted the worried look on Draco's face. "I'm not here to start anything, Draco. Not unless..." he waved the thought away, "but we never did get to say goodbye properly. I thought I should make it up to you for that. How about some dinner on Sunday night – purely as friends?"

Draco was speechless. Just when he was feeling down from his lack of contact with Flash, Jean-Paul walked right back into his life. He really did need someone to talk to. He agreed, after only the slightest of hesitations, but quickly wondered if he had done the right thing.

Jean-Paul smiled at the acceptance and grabbed Draco's hand firmly. The warmth of Jean-Paul's touch was more than welcome. It had been too long. As soon as it was felt, it was quickly gone, only to be replaced by a quick peck on the cheek. "I have to dash, sorry, mon ami. But I look forward to dinner. There's things we need to... discuss."

As quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared, leaving Draco confused, bereft and in quite a quandary as he watched Jean-Paul walk out onto the street. That brief touch brought back such vivid memories of their more intimate moments together in Marrakesh. It confused him because as he left he recalled the touch of Jean-Paul's hands – hands that he had dreamt about now for months. Only now he wondered why they didn't feel like they ought to. Where were those familiar calluses - calluses formed from many hours gripping a broom. His parting thought as he watched Jean-Paul leave was not whether he did the right thing by accepting the invitation, but if Jean-Paul's arse would look as good as Harry's in a pair of jeans.

He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that it was a question that begged to be answered.

--oo0oo--

As he left the Leaf and Bean to return to the castle, doubt struck and he wondered if he had been too hasty. Why had Jean-Paul suddenly reappeared just when he was completely over him and was ready to embark on something new?

Draco had no idea what to do, and in his musings found himself wandering past the school greenhouses. He noticed Harry was working inside, but he could not understand why his feet took a detour in that direction. Harry looked like he had been working hard – his sleeves were rolled up and he had a smudge of dirt on his face. The last of the bruising from his broken nose was beginning to fade, but Draco watched closely as Harry took care in tending to the new rows and pots of herbs. As hard as he tried not to, he spent nearly all his time watching Harry through the window.

He was unsure of where things stood between them since the night of the staff party. Even though Draco had helped him the morning after his punch-up with Ron, Harry was still seemed somewhat hesitant. Still, he didn't blame him. After all, he didn't expect wine and roses - not after so many years of fervent animosity. Despite this hesitancy, he noticed that the animosity was now gone, and for that he was glad. As he thought about Harry and Jean-Paul, he wondered exactly what it was that he wanted from Harry. Did he want something - anything? It was all too confusing.

With nothing better to do, Draco tended to a number of shrubs and vines that needed pruning. Quite a few herbs could be picked and dried, so Draco lost his thoughts amongst the mindless task. Of course, it gave him a perfect vantage point to quietly watch Harry at his own work. He was impressed to note that Harry was no slouch when it came to tending to his herbs - he knew exactly where to pinch the stems to encourage new regrowth and not destroy the plants. It was quite startling to discover things he never knew about Harry. He seemed to know his way around the non-magical herb garden quite well.

"Hi Draco," Harry sounded cheerful as he mopped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and pushed his glasses up his nose, all without letting his hands touch his face. Draco was suddenly startled out of his daydreaming. Harry's wand was in the back pocket of his jeans, sticking out at a precarious angle. Draco found that quite a charming and innocent look, for he certainly seemed quite happy as he worked. Harry seemed quite calm and serene, which helped him to feel a little more at ease. He smiled and continued the conversation.

"So you're the guilty party? I wondered who was cooking up a storm all week." Draco sniffed at the aromatic herbs in the air and correlated them to the wonderful scents that came wafting in through his window late in the evenings.

Harry smiled warmly, "Yeah, that would be me."

"I never imagined you could cook, Harry. You were so crap at Potions." Draco began plucking ripe shrivelfigs from the vine as he chatted.

Harry shrugged, "Oh, well, I suppose it's a bit similar, but I know it's not going to blow up in my face if the ingredients are a little out of balance. I just add more of something else. But isn't it great we have these kitchens?" Harry seemed quite pleased by the idea. "I'm planning on keeping mine after school resumes."

"I admit it's not a bad idea. So long as I have my morning coffee when I wake up, things will be great." Harry smiled at that comment and Draco had to admit it wasn't so difficult to talk to him any more. He appreciated the fact that his apology was accepted, and he was even more grateful that Harry had the decency not to mention their activities in the lavatory. He still wasn't sure what had come over him at the time, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to acknowledge it publicly. Right about now, he would have dearly loved to talk to Flash, but a scowl crossed his face at the thought. He doubted he would be hearing much from him again.

"Draco, what's wrong?" Harry asked. It seemed he had been watching and had seen the sudden darkness cross his face as he thought of Flash. "You look like you just remembered some bad news."

Draco shrugged it off. "Oh, it's nothing for you to worry about."

Harry didn't fail to notice Draco's sullen preoccupation as they talked amiably. He had no idea what was wrong, but he recognised the look of concern on the blond's face. He wondered what could be worrying Draco to such an extent. Could it be something about his access to the Manor? Harry had no idea. Again he felt the guilt for fobbing off their chat and promised himself he would be there for Luc that Sunday night.

Draco needed someone to talk to – of that Harry was sure. Inspiration struck, but he hesitated before carefully broaching the subject. "You know, you're welcome to come over for dinner any night. You can pick my cooking to pieces if you like and cast aspersions upon my skill with a saucepan. There are a few recipes I'd like to try, but I just wish I could get this coriander to grow properly. It's used to a much warmer climate." He sighed in frustration as he looked at the limp and dying plant.

"Have you ever thought about putting a _Revivicus_ charm on it?" Draco suggested. Harry noticed that Draco didn't react to or specifically answer his dinner invitation.

"How about Sunday night?" Harry could not help himself. He thought the idea of dinner with Draco would help ease him into spending some time later writing in the journal.

Draco sounded somewhat disappointed,"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, but I've got plans on Sunday with an old friend. He's coming to Hogsmeade to visit his aunt. It's Emmaline's nephew, actually."

Harry was stunned. _Emmaline's nephew – why that's Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul is coming to town? And he's having dinner with Draco?_

"Oh," Harry said dejectedly. "I didn't realise. Sorry. We could perhaps make it some other time." Harry hid the hint of jealousy that crept into his voice. He didn't think Jean-Paul would ever rear his head again. This definitely complicated things. He knew exactly what Draco thought of Jean-Paul, and he was immediately quite put out by the news. He turned and concentrated on the herbs before him, not really paying attention to what he was doing. Pulling his wand from his back pocket, he cast the _Revivicus_ charm. The coriander bush thrived and the leaves seemed full of life.

Harry quickly changed the subject to get away from all thoughts of Jean-Paul. Draco was obviously not brooding over things if he thought about having dinner with the man who had been so important to him. For a moment Harry wondered if he had left things too late. He needed to get away from the subject. "So is Snape enjoying his holiday?" Harry knew that Charlie had been the cause of the Potion master's sudden departure from the castle.

Draco quirked the corner of his mouth in a wry smile. "I think he is. I doubt he's being chased by an oversexed Weasley with a penchant for Dragons."

"Yeah, Charlie can be quite persistent when he tries. Still, I have no idea what he sees in Snape."

Draco actually laughed. Harry had not seen Draco laugh so openly before - not without any malice behind it. "Don't look at me, I have no idea either. I mean Severus is a great friend and mentor, but I can't even begin to think about..." a shiver ran down Draco's back, and it must have gone down Harry's at the same time. They laughed together.

"As much as I hate to say it, he will probably be very good for Severus, but you didn't hear that from me."

"Right, just like you didn't hear from me that Charlie's already got his plan of attack set out. Don't underestimate Charlie and his plans. He's a man who knows what he wants and will stop at nothing to get it. I doubt Snape has a chance."

--oo0oo--

Draco had been surprised at Harry's dinner invitation, and he would have most likely joined him had he not already accepted Jean-Paul's invitation. He didn't realise the pang of regret that would accompany the fact he had to decline Harry's offer. Draco wondered why he was looking forward so much to Jean-Paul's visit. Was it the fact that he missed his touch, or the fact that he needed someone he could talk to? He had no idea, but it was times like this he really needed to talk to Flash, and more than once he thought about just writing down his feelings, but he felt too self conscious. He had even pondered the idea of talking to Harry, but he didn't want to spoil what they had so far - whatever it was that they were sharing.

A letter from Severus on Saturday came as a complete surprise. Naturally, it gave away no detail of where he was and what he was doing. The parchment had been charmed to prevent it being traced. The only thing he said that gave away his feelings was the fact that he mentioned Charlie Weasley in the letter.

**If you see that good for nothing flashy Dragon tamer who has the gall to think of himself as a teacher, just let him know that whilst flattered by his offer, I am not interested in his advances.**

_You can tell him yourself. I'm not your bloody messenger service. Still, the fact that you mentioned him means he has gotten to you. _Draco could not help but smirk at that. _He will do you good, Severus. _But he did frown as he read the last part of the letter.

**I felt it prudent to advise you of the fact that I saw a couple of your old school acquaintances this past week. Don't worry, they did not see me. I thought I might keep myself busy by applying some old skills to keep an eye on them. Mr Nott was never the observant one, and Mr Flint, well, when he's not on a broom, he really hasn't got a clue. Stay alert, Draco. Remember your lessons. They'll hold you in good stead. I'll keep you posted.**

Draco frowned. He had seen some Neo Death Eaters and he hadn't mentioned where he was? _What in Merlin's name are you thinking, Severus? You must be mad. Of course I remember everything you taught me, I'm not stupid!_

He thought long and hard before penning a reply. He had no idea where Severus was, but Melchett seemed to know where to go when Draco handed him the scroll.

_**Severus,**_ _**Why does my divinatory sense tell me that you really aren't having a holiday and that you have taken it upon yourself to seek out our old acquaintances? If this is the case, then I can see that senility has taken hold early. You must be mad to think you can do this on your own. **_ _**Where are you and what have you gotten yourself into? If Nott and Flint are around, then you can bet that the rest of the gang are nearby. Those two could never be trusted on a short leash. I don't doubt that you are staying far away, but just be careful! Please! **_ _**Relax, Severus. Enjoy your holiday. You know, that's why people usually have a holiday – to enjoy themselves. Have you contacted the Aurors? Should I make mention of what you've seen to Dumbledore? Do be careful. I'd hate to have to tell the dragon tamer of your untimely demise. **_ _**Draco**_

--oo0oo--

Draco now added his concern about Severus to his quandary about Jean-Paul and Harry and life in general. His confused feelings needed some sorting out, but try as he might, he reluctantly admitted that writing to Flash was the only way to sort them out.

He picked up and put down his quill a half dozen times. Should he really be bothering Flash any more? He knew that the polite brush off was just a way of trying to ease off on their friendship. Eventually he decided that he needed to just put the quill to the page and write. If Flash didn't read it, then he would just keep it and use it just like a normal journal. He still felt somewhat attached to the actual book, despite the fact that Flash was keeping his distance.

Something comforting came over him as his quill touched the page and he soon found his voice.

_Bonjour Flash,_ _Now I know how we said that we would write on Sunday nights, but I find myself worrying over a few things today and as I had a loose end I thought I would write them down before they festered any longer. I did miss our chat last week, but I do understand when you have a busy schedule._ _Things have been somewhat strange these past couple of weeks. It could have an awful lot to do with the fact that with school holidays, this place is deathly quiet. There are only a few people still here for the summer; myself and Mr-Former-Burning-Hatred being two of them._ _I'm going to have to come up with a better name for him now. I don't hate him any more and things are actually quite... congenial. I guess we have both been allowing each other space after our little indiscretions in the lavatory the other week. _ _We have managed a couple of civil conversations. He's made absolutely no mention of my apology, but he's acting as if he's accepted it – with no questions. I'm not used to people doing that. But of course, now that I've entrusted you with my deepest secret, you can probably understand why I find acceptance difficult from those who have known me for a long time._ _He's still featuring quite heavily in my dreams and I have to admit that I did manage to get quite a good look the other day whilst he was pottering around in the greenhouse. What it is about sweat and dirt that makes for much greater viewing pleasure? He has a penchant for wearing Muggle clothing, which I have recently come to find quite comfortable – both to wear and to watch. My apprentice robes are ghastly and itchy and have too many buttons. The only thing they really have going for them is the fact they have those protective spells woven into the fabric._ _I really didn't want to say much about him, but now I'm rambling on, aren't I?_ _Actually, I'm more concerned for my mentor. He has gone on holidays, as I said, but he's just mentioned that he's spotted a few of our old wartime acquaintances. I'm quite certain they are tied up with these Neo Death Eaters, but he's not telling me where he's gone or what he's up to. I do worry about him. _ _I'm not sure if I should tell anyone about his run in with these fools. Should I tell the Aurors – the bunch of incompetents that they are? Or do I tell the Fiscal Investigative Goblins who have been keeping my funds frozen whilst they investigate whether or not I'm associated with these Neo Death Eaters? _ _That's something that I thought was going to settle down, but it seems one of the bank's representatives is a wretched git who I haven't been able to stand since our school days. He's taking great pleasure in the fact I'm in this destitute situation, and he's getting off on the power trip of denying me a few simple requests._ _My family property is here in the UK, and it's currently inaccessible to anyone, myself in particular. I need to get into my Grand-père's potions lab to check for the existence of an extremely rare ingredient. I just need to know if it's there or not. He's being unreasonable and I'm trying not to let his childish refusal get to me. I just want to find out if the ingredients are there so I can move on._ _Just to complicate things, he's best friends with Mr-Looks-Great-in-Sweaty-Clothing. Unfortunately, they've had a bit of a row, and I have an awful feeling that it might have something to do with me. It's just a hunch – call it my own divinatory sense at work. _ _It's only a suspicion, but I don't know why he would want to defend me. I never asked for it. It's flattering to think that he would help (being helpful is in his nature – he was a Gryffindor after all... I can only assume you went to Hogwarts and will have some idea of the nature of Gryffindors), and I honestly don't know how I could repay him. The last thing I want is for him to argue with his friend. _ _Still, his friend is a first class git and a thorn in my side and I wish he could see common sense. I'm trying to be open and up front about everything, and he's taking great pleasure in denying everything._ _Which takes me to the most confusing thing about this week. Mr-Looks-Great-in-Jeans actually invited me to dinner. I can't believe he asked. I don't know if he'll ask again, because I turned him down. Why? Well, you wouldn't believe just how complicated things have suddenly become._ _I discovered that Jean-Paul is in town. He's not specifically here to see me, but I couldn't very well say no when he invited me to dinner, so it looks like I will be meeting up with him again. I don't know how I feel about that right now, but confusion comes to mind quite readily. Unfortunately the dinner invitation was for the same night. I know he was disappointed by my knock back._ _I won't say that I was glad to see Jean-Paul, but I won't say that I was upset by it, either. No matter how many times I tell myself that I am over Jean-Paul, I still have this nagging sense of doubt about whether or not I did the right thing. I should not have left him the way I did. It was stupid, but now I need to do it properly. I need to be sure that I did the right thing. Yet again I'm turning something into a gigantic melodrama._ _See. Now I'm glad I put quill to paper, even if you aren't there at the other end. It has at least helped me to sort out my confused thoughts and lead me to the conclusion that I will just have to wait and see what the immediate future holds. _ _I probably won't get a chance to be around later, but if you get a chance, please just write and say hello._ _Au Revoir,  
Luc _

Draco realised how desperate that sounded, but there was little he could do to erase it now. He closed the journal after signing off. He had no idea if Flash would even bother to read it again, but at least Draco felt better for getting his thoughts down on parchment. If Flash bothered to reply, it would be a bonus. But he wouldn't hold his breath waiting for that to happen.

--oo0oo--

Harry closed his journal. He still could not believe that Jean-Paul was in town. It was something to note that Draco had not expected it either, but nevertheless, he felt a surge of unwarranted jealousy. He felt guilty for not being there for Draco when he wrote, but if he were being completely honest, he probably would have let the secret out if he had been there to reply to Draco. Of that he was sure. Severus' run-in with the Neo Death Eaters was a concern, and he made a mental note to inform the headmaster as soon as possible.

Emmaline's words about Draco returned to him. _He needs to find out the truth on his own._ Harry didn't want to risk affecting that. Although knowing Jean-Paul's reputation, he wondered if Draco would be placing affection in the wrong direction. For the first time he wondered if Jean-Paul was too good to be true. He wondered if his intentions were as honourable as they seemed. The idea of Jean-Paul and Neo Death Eaters together was something he had not contemplated before, but it was something he could not dismiss. Too many years of Auror training made him look for patterns in things that might not be instantly obvious. Could Jean-Paul be some sort of Neo Death Eater operative? They did, after all, have an inordinate fascination with Draco's estate. It was something that bore much thought.

But more importantly, Harry wondered if he had left things a little too late. Was it too late to let Draco know that he was still interested, and how was he going to do that with the awesome spectre of Jean-Paul lurking around?

--oo0oo--

**July 6 - Sunday**

It was not sheer coincidence that led Harry to be at the Three Broomsticks on Sunday evening. Without a dinner companion, Harry wandered down to Charlie's rooms to see if he would like to share a meal. The pub was Charlie's first suggestion, and they took a quiet stroll down to the village.

Harry knew from talking to Charlie that Ron and Hermione had returned from France, but he felt a little awkward contacting them. He would wait a while longer before contacting them. He tried to tell himself that it was because they would appreciate the time alone, but he knew it was for deeper reasons than that.

He felt a keen friendship brewing with Charlie; the sort of friendship that had been missing with Ron for a while. Of course, it helped that Charlie could see things in the same way as Harry. Staring at a cute wizard as he passed was something they could both share together. Charlie Weasley was definitely a member of Harry's Anam Cara.

Talk over their quiet dinner at the pub invariably returned to the topic of Severus Snape. "I honestly can't think of one single redeeming feature, Charlie. What do you see in him?" Harry pondered aloud.

Charlie grinned around the mouth of his butterbeer bottle. "It's not all about looks, Harry. There's his voice, for starters."

Harry shrugged. "So?"

"Couldn't you just imagine what that voice could do to you... whispering all sorts of impure things at you..."

"Enough already!" Harry covered his ears. "I really shouldn't have brought up the subject, should I?"

Charlie smirked, "Too right. Still, when he comes back from his holiday, I'll be here and he hasn't seen persistence. I can wait. It will all be worth it." Harry didn't know if he should mention anything to Charlie about Severus' meeting with the Neo Death Eaters, but before he could say a word, Charlie continued his banter. "Ooh, there's a live one." He indicated to the new arrival. "I think he'd be man enough for you, Harry."

Harry turned surreptitiously to check out the man just hanging up his jacket by the door. He was tall, dark and had an aura of sensuousness about him that definitely oozed from every pore. Harry had no doubt that witches would literally fall at his feet. He took a seat alone on the far side of the pub. Something puzzled Harry about his presence, but for a moment he couldn't think why.

"There you go, Harry. A tall, dark and handsome stranger arrives in town. Tonight must be your lucky night!" Charlie remarked, nudging Harry cheekily.

Harry didn't answer, for in the next minute he spotted Draco entering the pub. He was resplendent in his finest robes, and Harry saw a broad grin on his face as he spotted the handsome newcomer. In an instant he knew this man to be Jean-Paul. Harry could not help but stare at the warm kiss and friendly brush of hands as they sat together at their corner table.

Charlie's eyebrow was raised. "Well at least we know the stranger plays for the right team. I didn't know Draco had a boyfriend." Suddenly remembering Harry's interlude with Draco and seeing the look now on his face, he quickly apologised. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry, too mesmerised by the sight, quickly dismissed the apology. "He's an ex boyfriend of Draco's, actually. At least I thought he was until this week. His name is Jean-Paul, and he's from Marrakesh." He didn't realise just how hard his fingers were curling around his wine goblet. Any harder and it would shatter into small pieces.

"Really? Pity he's taken," Charlie whispered conspiratorially. "I could certainly use the diversion." Harry simply smiled, but no laugh came to his eyes. Hearing that Jean-Paul would be in town, and seeing him first hand with Draco made for a multitude of different emotions – all bad.

He barely tasted his dinner and could not remember later what Charlie had talked about. He spent the entire evening casting glances in Draco's direction. Luckily, they were sitting directly behind Charlie, so he didn't notice Harry's inattention. Draco's back was to him, but the occasional bout of laughter from their table was clearly overheard. It was nice to hear Draco laugh, but he had to work hard to fight the jealousy that was ever present.

It felt like the longest dinner Harry had ever eaten.

--oo0oo--

It felt like the longest dinner Draco had ever eaten. In the secluded corner of the Three Broomsticks, Jean-Paul was talking eagerly about dozens of topics. Draco had barely said a word. The food was pleasant (as pleasant as pub food would ever get), but Draco barely noticed. He was too busy watching Jean-Paul's eyes. He could see that the medi-wizard was passionate about his work, and Draco hoped that he nodded in all the right places, because he sure wasn't listening to a single word he was saying. It had been too long since they had last been together. Despite the fact that he left Jean-Paul for a myriad of reasons (none of which he could recall at the present time), he found himself staring at the other wizard longingly.

He also recalled that Harry and Charlie had been sitting in the pub when he arrived. Judging from the prickling feeling along the back of his neck, he was being stared at.

"That young man, the one with the glasses – he seems to have taken to staring at you," Jean-Paul was curious.

"Oh, that's Harry."

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow, "Just Harry? It seems to me that he's a little bewildered by your choice of dinner company this evening."

"I can imagine why," Draco gripped his wine goblet firmly. "He finally asked me to dinner tonight. But that was after I accepted your invitation."

"Sweet Merlin! I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't know you had someone else." Jean-Paul leaned back and all pretence of flirting was suddenly gone. "I came tonight wondering if you had moved on yet, or if there was a faint hope that..." He didn't finish the sentence.

Draco nodded in understanding. "I think I have moved on, Jean-Paul, but it's very early days with Harry. Too early, in fact. I doubt it will lead to anything more than a few more angry grudge fucks, if I were to be truly honest. We, er, we have quite the history."

The twinkle in Jean-Paul's eye showed understanding. It might have only been a dinner invitation, but Draco could see the dark lust pooling in Jean-Paul's eyes, and sensed that he had been hoping for more this evening. The nearness of Jean-Paul's flesh had itched at Draco's senses throughout dinner. A sudden sense of regret overcame him at the thought that this could very well be the last time he saw his former lover, for if he still felt this way around him, he knew it would be almost useless to resist his charms.

As the evening wore on, and more of Rosmerta's top quality port had been imbibed, the pair had exchanged plenty of gentle touches and soft whispers. The subtle flirting had continued throughout the evening, with Draco glad for the relief of unburdening his troubles to a friend.

Jean-Paul was understanding and obliging and knew exactly the right words to say to Draco. Even when Draco said that he couldn't consciously spend any more time with Jean-Paul, he agreed wholeheartedly, but then moved in for a deep and long kiss. Draco willingly accepted, and drew his former lover in further with his elegant hands cupping his face. Their bodies pressed closer as the heat of their passion erupted right there in the darkened corner of the pub.

The pair was oblivious to any of the pub's other patrons. Indeed, Draco had completely forgotten that a pair of brilliant green eyes had been watching for a considerable time. The welcoming warmth of Rosmerta's was suddenly a little too stifling for Harry, who had only been listening to Charlie's conversation with one ear. Every touch and every smile drove another dagger of jealousy through him, and he spent much of his evening working on keeping his control. Draco didn't take his eyes off Jean-Paul the entire evening, although Harry met Jean-Paul's direct gaze at one stage. Only then did he start to understand the spell this wizard wove. Even Harry reluctantly admitted he would find it hard to resist such a man were he to be on the receiving end of those affections.

At first he thought it might be a trick of the light, but he saw Draco smile. Not a sneer, not a smirk, but another of those true smile. Directed purely at Jean-Paul. Harry was stunned. In all the years of knowing Draco, he could not once recall the blond having smiled like that. It was a little heart wrenching to know that it wasn't directed at him, but it changed the whole demeanour of his face. He finally had to look away when Draco's smile broadened and extended to show the lust sparking in his eyes.

For months Harry dreamt of seeing that lust, only it was directed at him, not some lump of solid masculinity that could give a brick wall a hard on. Draco looked like he wanted to be desperately ravaged, for when Jean-Paul moved in to kiss him, it was the most erotic kiss Harry had ever witnessed. He barely heard Charlie speaking, for he was too drawn in to watching the show at the other end of the room.

Harry was stunned by the solid passion of that kiss. For two men in a public place it smacked of all the familiarity Harry knew existed between the pair. He closed his eyes – he could watch no more. He didn't realise the intensity of his grip on the table until he felt the ache in his thumb. The image was not erased when he reopened his eyes, but Harry managed to keep himself calm. _It's pointless feeling jealous – Draco doesn't know yet that you are his soul mate, and you have exchanged no other promises._

He found his gaze drawn to those lips – lips he continually dreamt of capturing in such a kiss. With a great deal of control, Harry's jealousy was pushed far aside, but he found he could not tear his eyes away from the couple that were kissing and smiling and behaving just like the old lovers that Harry knew them to be.

Harry eventually came to his senses when Charlie kicked him under the table. Blinking rapidly, he saw Charlie was part way between grinning and showing sympathy to Harry. "I somehow think that he isn't as much of an ex-boyfriend as you might think."

Harry tried to keep the dejection out of his voice, "I guess I was sadly mistaken."

"Still, they are a sight to watch, aren't they?" Charlie wriggled in his chair, adjusting the obvious arousal he was feeling. Harry also felt a little restless from the sight of such a decadently erotic kiss. He could only imagine what it would be like when they were alone – if they even realised they weren't alone. Harry loosened his collar - was Rosmerta fiddling with the heating charms in the room?

It had seemed like an eternity since they started the kiss, but suddenly Draco pulled back, his face kiss swollen and his eyes full of unsated lust. Harry inwardly cursed his own inaction and his own hesitancy. If only... He couldn't begin to play the 'if only' game – it always lead to such painful conclusions. But it still stung to see his soul mate in such an intimate touch with another man – and someone Harry knew had been quite special to Draco.

The image of Draco kissing Jean-Paul was burned into his retinas and for once he wished he could have left his glasses at home – if only to be able to not see such an image. Seeing this put all his dreams into perspective. He would have to do some serious work to make Draco see the truth. Jean-Paul was an unnecessary complication.

Harry stood quietly to leave. "Where are you going?" Charlie asked.

Loosening the collar on his shirt even further, Harry felt quite flushed. He threw his Sickles on the table. "Oh, I just need some space. Thanks for the company, Charlie. Sorry I... I just have to get out of here."

Harry dashed out the door, not looking back. He didn't notice the pale grey stare that followed him in concern, nor did he see the warm brown gaze that followed both of them.

--oo0oo--

Draco knew he had the willpower of a flobberworm. He knew that he would be in trouble the minute he heard Jean-Paul's sensually rumbling voice that spoke straight at his groin. Feeling those lips on his stirred emotions that he had tried to bury, but they burrowed to the surface all too easily. Their kiss lingered forever, but Draco knew that it was just the beginning. Jean-Paul begged the question, and Draco responded in the affirmative. He almost forgot they were daring to show their longing in public, but the slamming of the door as Harry walked out brought him quickly back to the present.

He had no doubt that Harry had seen more than he bargained for, and a surge of guilt passed through him. It was unfair that he turned down Harry's dinner invitation, but this would have just rubbed it in further. Once upon a time Draco would have revelled in seeing Harry Potter hurt beyond belief, but now he knew Harry did not deserve such treatment. He had given up so much.

"Draco? What's wrong?" Jean-Paul saw the hurt on Draco's face.

"Nothing," he replied. "I just need... I need some fresh air."

"I'll walk you back to the castle." It was spoken as a statement, not a question. Draco nodded in reply. Their slow amble back to the castle was calm and peaceful. Draco had not expected such an intense rekindling of feelings. Not when every second thought in that regard had been for Harry. Leaving Marrakesh had been the right thing to do. He still needed to find what he was looking for, but just when he suspected that Harry might be somewhat involved, Jean-Paul came back to confuse him further.

They walked in silence for the most part, but Draco found comfort in the warmth of Jean-Paul's touch on his shoulder. Draco was struggling a little as they reached the rooms under the Quidditch stadium and he stopped to rest his knee. The Medi-wizard questioned the current health of Draco's cursed knee, and he found himself talking avidly about the possibility of finding the cure.

"You don't happen to know anyone in Marrakesh who might have some Pegasus Wingtips?" Draco felt a little awkward for asking, but he was beyond desperate to find some.

"You know I'm hopeless around Potions, Draco. If Achmed doesn't carry it in his stall, then I don't know it exists." Jean-Paul seemed disappointed he could not help.

Draco nodded, "I've already written to Achmed, and he doesn't have any." He kept the hurt from his voice, but Jean-Paul embraced him again and kissed away the hurt. This time there was no audience and the dark surrounds allowed Draco to follow the intoxicating scent that was Jean-Paul. The touch of his tongue and the feel of the coarse stubble on his face bringing back vivid memories of those moments of bliss with Harry.

_Harry's lips aren't as soft, but his tongue... Merlin, his tongue is so pliant and yielding and soft and velvet... _Draco was beyond coherency as the kiss deepened. There was an urgency to Jean-Paul's movements as his hands moved to grasp Draco's hips firmly. Their bodies ground eagerly and Draco knew he could not deny himself this touch any longer, even if he felt that he owed some sort of explanation to Harry.

A small groan escaped Draco's lips as he found lips and teeth and tongue bathing a path down his throat; teasing and taunting and tantalising as each button was slowly undone. He felt the firm assurance of thumbs as they slowly made their way to touch the skin beneath his shirt. A sudden smirk and a half formed laugh escaped his lips as he suddenly realised this was a test. The master was assessing the student to see if he learned anything from the Tantra begun so long ago.

Draco had certainly not expected to find himself in such a situation with Jean-Paul, but he was well beyond caring. The light was dim in the dressing room, but with a wave of his hand, Jean-Paul wandlessly ignited a few of the sconces along the wall. The communal showers adorned the far wall, and without a second thought, Draco guided them over before turning on the taps. The cold water certainly cooled his ardour. The contrast between the warm wetness of Jean-Paul's tongue and the stinging cold of the water was more arousing than he ever thought possible.

His body certainly reacted to Jean-Paul's attentions. As he moaned in delight, an echoed gasp came from the other side of the room. Looking up, Draco locked gazes with a pair of familiar glazed green eyes.

--oo0oo--

Harry needed time to think – time to clear his head. Why had Jean-Paul returned now? If Emmaline was his aunt, surely she would have made mention of his visit before now. She knew that Draco needed to learn the truth – why was she allowing this? Harry was confused, hurt and he knew that no matter how much control he practiced, he would find that the seeds of jealousy were difficult to remove. He couldn't bear to see Draco with anyone else – it wasn't right and it wasn't fair.

Harry's thoughts were a jumble as he headed straight to the broom shed and took off on the first broom that fell into his hands. He never noticed it was an old Nimbus 2001 that now belonged to the Slytherin Quidditch team (its former owner had donated it back to the school upon his graduation). His flying patterns mirrored his confused thoughts as he circled around and through the Quidditch rings.

_There's no point in crying over it now, Harry. You are just going to have to work harder to show Luc that Flash is worthy of his time. Why do I dither around and leave things to the last minute?_ He came to no solid conclusions, but the flight certainly helped him to calm down. There was no bitterness and he knew that if Draco found that he was happy with Jean-Paul, then he would accept that decision. _Yeah, right. _The decision was made. He had to tell Draco the truth – just as soon as he could get him alone.

Placing the broom back in the shed, he laughed at the irony as he realised just whose broom it was he had been flying. The familiar hammer and singing of the pipes alerted him to the fact that someone else was in the Quidditch rooms. Frowning at who it could be, he could only assume Charlie might have decided to go for a spin as well, and then taken a shower here. The weather was certainly steamy enough. Harry felt the cooling sweat as his shirt clung to his body. Another sound made him curious to investigate.

In all his days, Harry would never forget the sight that greeted him and the way the light played on Draco's hair, the exact difference in colour as Jean-Paul's hands roamed over Draco's body. But most of all, Harry was drawn to the entire tableau. He suddenly realised he was spying on Draco as he was about to have sex. In that moment he realised numerous things, one being that he had never watched before, and secondly, the fact that he had admitted as such to Luc, who had highly recommended watching.

Auror instincts took over momentarily and he slunk back into the shadows. But not once did he take his eyes from the scene before him. An hour earlier, Harry never wanted to see Draco with Jean-Paul again, but now he suspected the inevitable outcome of what he was watching, and he was not about to turn and look away.

He never realised the involuntary gasp as his glasses fogged up from the humidity and they nearly slipped from his nose. He briefly hoped they wouldn't notice, but he found (once his glasses cleared) that he was staring directly into Draco's icy blue gaze. He stopped momentarily at being caught out, but the gaze was not shocked, nor surprised. Indeed, Draco appeared to gain even more pleasure knowing he had an audience. His eyes dared Harry to look away now.

The view was truly mesmerising.

--oo0oo--

Draco knew Harry was watching and he felt a sudden urge to show off. The idea of an audience always made Draco a lot less inhibited. Harry stepped back into the shadows, but he was sure he could still see those deep green orbs gazing and blinking like a stunned animal in the wandlight.

Jean-Paul's lips teased his neck and ear and he heard the low whispered words. "I know you want him, Draco. I can feel the energy between you. You want him to be here. It's his hands you want on your body, isn't it?"

Draco was stunned speechless as Jean-Paul's questions delved deeper and became much more personal. Things were happening too fast and it would soon be over. "You want him, he's what you've been searching for, isn't he?" Jean-Paul hissed in his ear. As he fought to answer, a profound sense of relief overwhelmed him.

Yes, Harry was who he wanted.

The thought of Harry was not so stupid, and the months of dreaming, the hot and heavy encounter and a complete change in thought made him realise this. He wanted Harry. Harry was the one he needed. He wanted to stop right there and finish off with Harry, but it was too late.

The smile on his face at that critical moment was not one of joy for his current lover. It was for the realisation that he needed and wanted to be with Harry. Staring directly at Harry, Draco knew that all he wanted was to share all future moments like this with Harry. That sense of longing was gone. It was right.

Harry watched and writhed as Jean-Paul whispered obviously dirty thoughts into Draco's ear. He had no idea what they were for he spoke French and that alone was enough of a turn on. Judging from Draco's reaction, they were the most titillating and desirous thoughts possible. Harry wanted to desperate interrupt and push Jean-Paul out of the picture and finish things with Draco.

Sated, yet aroused, Harry watched and was completely stunned as Draco continued to look at Harry – that look of total completion and satisfaction crossing his face again. Only this time, Harry knew that Draco meant it for him.

--oo0oo--

The sense of something missing – something more – was no longer there as Draco came down from the heights of passion. Instead the desire to share life and love and intimacy filled him and he knew that he would only ever feel that again if he shared it with Harry. Harry was who he wanted, who he was looking for.

--oo0oo--

Harry didn't remember leaving or returning to his rooms, but he took a cold shower upon returning. The vivid memory of that haunting look on Draco's face was all that filled his mind. That look - that one look that Harry knew was just for him had crossed Draco's face, and Harry knew it to be real. Draco was his soul mate and he never wanted to share that with anyone else.

The jealousy and confusion of seeing Draco with Jean-Paul had been replaced with an insatiable curiosity. Rather than feeling guilty for being caught watching, he found himself somewhat liberated. Not even the thought that Draco might continue his dalliance with Jean-Paul could stifle his mood. He was spurred to action. Now he needed to let Draco know exactly how he felt.

He toyed with the idea of replying to Draco's journal entry, but knew he would give too much away. Harry had to make the next move, not Flash. He would have to work hard to turn Draco's eye from Jean-Paul, and he knew just the thing.

--oo0oo--

Next door, Draco lay awake in his bed – alone. His mind was racing from the aftermath of another sublime sexual encounter, only this time he realised things would never be the same again. He never got a chance to ask Jean-Paul how he came to the conclusion of what Draco needed, and how he knew that it was Harry. Jean-Paul's sudden departure left Draco wondering if he was upset. All Draco knew was that he was grinning like a loon, and was very much looking forward to turning that obsessive fantasy into reality.

--oo0oo--

Back in Hogsmeade, Jean-Paul took the proffered cup of coffee from his aunt's hands.

"So, is it done?" she asked curiously.

"You already know, so I don't think I have to answer." Jean-Paul wasn't entirely impressed at his aunt's machinations.

"You were the one who wanted to be involved in this business, Jean-Paul. I never said it would always be pleasant." There was no twinkle in her eye now.

Jean-Paul scoffed sarcastically, "Right. I gained no pleasure whatsoever in what I had to do tonight - and right in front of Harry, too."

"But did it work?" Emmaline was insistent, completely ignoring her nephew's crass language.

"Undoubtedly, Tante. You have my word. Draco's turned the corner and realises now who he wants. Despite your assertion that you never get involved, you certainly know how to manipulate..."

"I _don't_ manipulate," she retorted emphatically. "Draco needed to see the truth – plain and simple. If it meant that an ex-lover had to show him, then so be it. I merely sent you in his direction to help him see the truth."

Jean-Paul was still unimpressed and seemed quite put out. "Of course, the ex-lover who has no investment or say in this situation. It had better bloody well be worth it."

Emmaline smiled, the twinkle returning in her eye. "Oh don't worry, Môn chéri, rest assured, it will be well worth every moment."

--oo0oo--

Remus was due back at the castle any day now, and little did he know that two young men were both looking forward to his return, for almost exactly the same reasons. Draco was eager to discuss the upcoming moon and his plans for the latest batch of Wolfsbane. He was unsure about whether or not to broach the subject of Harry with Remus. His startling revelation, coupled with the fact that Jean-Paul mysteriously left town the very next morning, and left him unsure and in a quandary. He needed to talk things through with a friend. Flash would understand, but Draco was hesitant to write any more. It was apparent that Flash had not read has words and it would seem that their correspondence had ended. Remus would understand.

Of course, Harry also needed to confide in Remus – for now he found that he needed to talk to someone. He couldn't exactly tell Luc what he saw. His guilt about that was palpable. He certainly wasn't expecting to feel such a bout of intense jealousy over what he witnessed.

"Remus! When did you get back?" Harry moved aside to allow Remus entrance into his rooms.

"Pretty much now." Remus grinned.

Harry smiled as they sat down in the overstuffed armchairs by the fireplace. He'd known Remus wouldn't be away for long, but he hadn't realised how much he would miss his company and their afternoon teas, especially since he'd been in such a snit when Remus left. A wave or two of his wand assured that the teapot was quickly steaming and the necessary accompaniments were ready and waiting for them.

He was looking a little pale, but it was understandable with the moon so near. Despite this, he was still looking fitter and healthier than he had in years. Truth be told, Remus had been looking a good bit healthier for quite some time and Harry now knew that it was a result of all the work Luc had talked about extensively in the journal. Of course, he'd known for some time that Draco was working on the Wolfsbane potion, but only now could he truly appreciate how much time and effort went into it and how much it truly meant to him. He knew this, not by Remus' testimony or by Snape's praise, not by Dumbledore's trust or by Draco's work. No, Harry knew this by Luc's words alone.

"So, Harry. I see you seem to be a lot more settled than you were a couple of weeks ago," Remus smiled as he delved into Harry's freshly baked goods. "Mmm, and I can see that you definitely have a winner here with this food. It's delicious."

"Thanks. How was London?" Harry was playing the perfect host to Remus, and by the time their cups were empty, Remus had exhausted all the small talk.

"Now, what's really been going on, Harry? What's been going on with Luc? How's Draco?"

Harry fidgeted and attempted to stall for a little time, which seemed pointless, as he really had been dying to talk to Remus. He sighed, "Hmm? Oh, well it's going all right, I suppose. I mean, we've not actually talked much lately, but I've been putting a lot of thought into the matter."

"Why haven't you talked?" The sly smile on his face suggested that he knew precisely what was going on, but he played it up, waiting to see what excuse Harry would offer. He mentioned it all, but only gave a sketchy detail of the fact that he saw Draco and his ex-boyfriend sharing a rather intimate dinner (and more).

Remus silently smiled, took a sip of his tea, added another dollop of honey and gave it a quick stir, then took another sip. Finally satisfied, he gently set his cup down (being innocuously elegant as always) and turned to face Harry fully. "You know, I imagine that must be about how Sirius felt when he discovered I was the one in the journal. He knew first; realised it by putting together the nights I didn't write with the nights of the full moon and suddenly everything fell into place for him. He told me later that once he made that connection, he nearly smacked himself for not having realised it sooner when there were so many things that should have been obvious."

Harry laughed. "Yes, you don't know how many times I've had that conversation with myself as well."

"So you can imagine how it will be for Draco. He'll realise the truth at some point, and he'll very likely go through a period of wondering how he could have missed it. Then, if you're both very lucky, you'll go through many, many years together, wondering how you could have fought so much in the first place and thanking your lucky stars that those journals chose you."

Harry didn't miss the underlying sadness in that statement. He realised that Remus must have hoped and wished the same thing for himself and Sirius, only to have their time together interrupted by deception and then cut short by tragedy. He regretted not writing in the journal, and in that brief moment, he realised just how deeply he loved Draco and how broken and lost he would feel if he were to lose that love for any reason. _So this is what it's like to have a soul mate_, he pondered.

--oo0oo--

Remus managed to turn the conversation his way when collecting his first dose of Wolfsbane on Saturday. Draco seemed quite subdued. The amount of work he was undertaking in his lab was a clue that he was unhappy about something. "So, how's that mysterious wizard you keep writing to? Been keeping you up late at night burning the midnight oil?"

He could see by the way that Draco's face dropped almost immediately that he had struck a chord.

Draco shrugged it off. "Oh, things are okay, but I think he's backed off a little."

"Really? Why would he do that?"

"Well, I guess it might have plenty to do with the fact I might have mentioned a few of the more juicy details of my past. I doubt he's enamoured about the fact that he's writing to a former Death Eater spy." The tone of his words worried Remus, for he could sense the dejection in Draco's voice.

"Are you sure you're not imagining it?" Remus asked cautiously.

"Definitely not, Remus. I've spent too many years at the hands of such treatment. I know that he's begged off our chats because he's uncomfortable..."

"Is it possible that he might just be busy, Draco?"

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, right. Like it's just a coincidence. Don't worry about him, Remus. I doubt I'll be talking to him for much longer."

Remus could do little to pull Draco out from his black mood. He didn't try too hard, for he had seen Sirius in such a mood before, and he knew now that it was definitely an inherited trait.

--oo0oo--

The loud banging on the door startled Harry. Remus strode through looking quite irate after Harry let him in.

"Remus?"

"I never thought I'd see the day when I'd say that I was truly disappointed in you, Harry James Potter." Remus spoke sharply, and for just a brief second, he felt like a schoolboy again.

"What do you..." He had no idea what had brought on this disappointment.

"You promised me you would write to Draco! You never mentioned anything about avoiding his chats! He's practically resigned to the fact that he'll never hear from Flash again! Just what have you done?"

"He's what?" then Harry remembered. "Oh, yeah. I might have brushed off a chat or two, Remus. But it's so bloody hard! Every time I put the quill in my hand, I fear I'm going to just blurt out the whole truth. You know how those books always pull the truth from you? Besides, I don't want to run the risk of telling him if he's not ready. You were the one who told me that."

"You have a choice, Harry. You can take a chance as Flash, and let Draco discover the truth, or you can let your fear take over and risk destroying everything you have with Luc."

Harry seemed surprised at Remus' choice of words. "I'm not afraid..."

"You just _said_ you were," Remus pointed out.

Harry turned and looked away. Remus was right. He had been too scared to talk to Luc. He was afraid of losing it all. Could his inaction do the very same? "I don't know." Now he was just confused again. He felt torn. Draco was Luc. Why was he trying to impress one, when he was doing such a great job to alienate the other.

"Okay, Remus. I'll do it. Not like it's as difficult as fending off a Troll or a Dark Lord, is it?"

--oo0oo--

**July 13, Sunday evening**

As the time drew near to chat, Draco became more agitated. He told himself that he wasn't to expect anything from Flash, but a thought tugged at his mind that kept the journal, and Flash, constantly in his thoughts. Tired of waiting and tired of playing coy games, Draco grabbed his quill to end the charade.

_Flash,_ _Look, I know that you've been avoiding me. I'm quite used to that sort of reaction when a person learns of my sordid past. Why would I expect anything different? Please don't insult my intelligence and tell me that you can't make our chat tonight. I do understand, honestly. _ _If you do feel like writing, well, then maybe I have misjudged you. I've been known to make mistakes in the past – but you already know that. If I don't hear from you again, well, all I can say is that I'm sorry to have disappointed you so. _ _I won't take up any more of your time with my meaningless rambling, Flash. I probably won't be around for the rest of the night. I would appreciate it if you could let me know about our imminent meeting. I'd like some notice so that I don't make any fruitless plans. _ _Again, I'm sorry that I've disappointed you,_ _Luc_

Draco closed his journal with mixed feelings. He really didn't want to do it, but he thought he would save Flash the pain of having to come up with yet another excuse to avoid their chat.

Besides, it had seemed like a good idea after the first bottle of wine.

A delivery of a large crate of wine had arrived earlier that day. These bottles were from his winery and Allen, the lessee, had sent the crate from the bumper crop of the new vintage. Draco had been brooding for most of the weekend, and the wine had seemed like a good excuse to forget about life for a while.

Other than Weasley being his usual thorn in his side, things had been going so well. One minute, he had a wizard professing his love. The next, he was barely even responding. Just to make his life even more complicated, he found out that he wanted to share something with a man whom, until recently, was at the bottom of his favourite persons list. All those months of cursing the dream and now all he wanted was to feel it for real. Not that thinking about Harry was anything new. It's just that his childish schemes had now turned to thoughts on how he could get to once again experience the intimate touch of Harry.

Unfortunately, Harry was running hot and cold. His peaceful morning rituals remained the same, but Draco sensed a tenseness about them which left him feeling a little less relaxed in the mornings. Whenever they did meet in the halls, Harry would either rush away quickly, or chat amiably for quite some time. Like a true English gentleman, Harry never once mentioned what he witnessed down in the showers. Draco didn't know why he wanted to broach the subject with Harry, if only to somehow mention the fact that he'd like to do that all over again, only with Harry standing in for Jean-Paul. For some reason, he couldn't actually elaborate that idea to Harry.

His maudlin mood had been festering for days, and he was keenly missing Flash and his witty words. It did not help that Weasley was still refusing to see him, speak to him, or even acknowledge his letters. He would be tenacious on that front. After all, he could not think of anything more he could lose by playing Weasley at a game that was inherently Slytherin. He would win in the end, of that he had no doubt.

Even though he had confidence in his business dealing, he missed the way that Flash used to make him feel special and important. Draco had always thrived on such assurances. He missed their casual flirting and now the shadow of his past could not be so easily forgotten. Yet again the Death Eaters fucked up his life. He couldn't bear to look at the journal again, so he shoved it under a pile of newspapers.

As he stared into the flames, he refilled his goblet and took another hefty sip. _Is it possible that I might have somehow been in love with Flash, too? Is it as ludicrous as it sounds? After all, Flash admitted it to me. It's not impossible._ It was a thought that churned through his mind for a considerably long time.

--oo0oo--

After Remus' rather stern chastisement, Harry knew he could no longer avoid sitting down and talking to Luc. He felt truly awful for leaving no indication of his absence in the journal, but when he opened it for the first time that week, he sensed the overwhelming sadness. He could not explain it, but it didn't need much explanation after he read Draco's words.

_Merlin, does he really feel that way? _Harry felt about as low as he could get. How could he not foresee this? Was this one of those dire consequences that Remus mentioned?

Looking up at the clock, he thought perhaps that Draco might still be around. _How long ago did he write this?_

_**Luc, are you still around?**_ _**Luc?**_

Harry was starting to get a little frantic.

_**I honestly don't know what to say, Luc. In part you are right, but you are also terribly mistaken. Yes, I have been somewhat distracted by some rather life changing events recently. It was remiss of me to avoid our chats, but please believe me when I say that it has absolutely nothing to do with your past. **_ _**I guess it is time to be honest with you.**_ _**The reason why I've been avoiding you is because I've really not known what to say. Not about your past, that's... well, that's all in the past, isn't it?**_ _**The thing is... things have been in turmoil here. I know it might seem crazy to you, but in these past weeks, I've started to grow closer to someone I never imagined possible. Someone I probably once hated. After helping you to get past your derision with Mr Looks Great in Grungy Jeans, I realised I needed to take my own advice and stop being unfairly judgmental.**_ _**I tell you in one entry that I love you, and that I know it is true and right and honest, and almost in the next breath I find myself falling for this man. You no doubt think I'm a right wally.**_ _**And you ask why I've been avoiding you? I guess I'm not as brave as everyone thinks. I haven't abandoned our friendship, Luc, and I would be devastated to think that you might not get to read these words. Somehow, this feels worse than when I thought you had been killed by Neo Death Eaters. Knowing you're there and not wanting to talk hurts more than you could possibly imagine.**_ _**I still want to meet you, Luc. Nothing about that has changed. Don't think I have forgotten that date. But we'll talk before then, I hope.**_

Harry waited, wondering if Draco was actually reading his words, or if he had decided to put the journal away. He could not believe his own stupidity. As he waited for a reply to appear in emerald ink, he had a horrible suspicion that Draco wasn't even home. Racing out into the hall, he knocked urgently on the door to Draco's rooms. He knocked again – harder – hoping perhaps that he was in his lab, or possibly sleeping. For a brief moment he wondered if he might be with Jean-Paul.

"Oi," The portrait of the former headmaster yelled crossly at Harry. "D'you think you could keep that racket down? Some of us are trying to write." For the first time, Harry realised that the occupant of the portrait had been painted sitting at a desk, writing in a book with a quill. Only now did he notice the strange co-incidence. "Besides, he's not there. Been gone for an hour or so now."

"Do you know where he went?" Harry eagerly asked the portrait.

"How should I know? I'm a portrait, not a bloody doorman!" he slammed his book shut and tutted, mumbling under his breath about how hard it was to get good staff as he shuffled away from his frame.

Harry wandered dejectedly back into his room. He had no idea where Draco was, but he didn't need to guess the blond's mood. He couldn't just sit back and wait – he needed to find Draco and somehow explain himself or do something to make up for his own stupidity.

Grabbing his boots, he was about to head down to Hogsmeade, when he rolled his eyes in realisation. Pulling open the top drawer of the desk, he pulled out the Marauder's Map. With so few people in the castle, it was not hard to find Draco. Clearing and refolding the map, he wandered over to the window. Looking down, he easily spotted the blond sitting in the soft moonlight. Harry was breathless for a moment. Draco seemed quite the ethereal figure in all that soft light.

On closer inspection, he could make out that he was sitting by the edge of the courtyard's fountain, a cigarette in one hand and a wine goblet in the other. He could not make out the expression on Draco's face, but he could only assume that he was not in a convivial mood.

Draco was undoubtedly drunk, or well on the way, if Harry's guess was correct. _Did I cause this?_ His guilt was evident as he looked back at the journal. _Well he isn't going to answer me now, is he?_ The blame lay squarely on his shoulders as he closed his journal and returned it to his desk. Pulling open the drawer, something heavy clattered inside and his eye caught something shiny. Draco's belt buckle. Somehow, in the weeks since their little indiscretion in the lavatory, he never got around to giving it back.

Inspiration struck, and his face lit up with a smile as he grabbed the buckle before racing out the door.

Harry had wanted to sneak up quietly on Draco, but the crunch of the gravel under his feet gave him away. Draco turned suddenly, but quickly went back to staring silently at nothing.

"Nice night to be out." Harry came and sat on the ledge next to Draco, his gaze turning to the nothingness in the distance.

Harry could almost feel Draco's defensive mask as he sneered. "Oh yes, beautiful." The sarcasm was visible in his words. Draco took another long drag on the cigarette before noisily exhaling. Harry thought Draco had given up smoking – he had not seen him do it for a while anyway. Was he to blame for that return to bad habits too?

Draco turned to look at Harry, and he could feel the gaze burning into him. He could not bring himself to meet his eyes. He was certain he would give away his secret if Draco looked too closely.

"Thought I might come down here to enjoy some fresh air and get completely smashed, but I see you've already started without me." Harry tried humour to lighten the mood.

Draco wallowed defensively. "'M not smashed."

"Right, and I'm not the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World," Harry retorted in good humour. Draco snorted in his goblet at the retort and Harry could not help but smile.

"Here, I found this. Thought you might want it back." He handed over the belt buckle.

"You came down here _now _to give me this?" Draco looked sceptical.

"Sure."

"You're a terrible liar, Harry. You Gryffindors are bloody awful at hiding feelings. What 'choo want to say to me?"

"How – oh never mind," Harry was going to defend that statement, but realised he couldn't because it was true. "You're right, that's not the only reason I came down here. I... I thought you might want to share some supper with me. I might have cooked a little too much, and well..." Harry indicated at Draco's empty wine goblet, "... nobody should be drinking alone."

Draco looked at the goblet and tipped it upside down to check the level. He seemed surprised it was empty. "'M fine thanks, Harry."

"No you're not, Draco. You're slowly getting drunk – in public I might add. I always thought you Slytherins prided yourselves on your ability to do things like that discreetly."

Draco scowled. "I'm perfectly sober, Potter. Besides, sitting in a courtyard of a practically empty castle is hardly _public_."

"Fine, then. Suit yourself. I just thought you'd cherish an opportunity to whinge and put down my cooking skills. It's not every day that I give you an opportunity to do that."

"Is that a challenge?" Harry saw a familiar quirk in the corner of Draco's mouth. He was actually looking forward to the challenge. Harry realised that no matter what, everything was always going to be a competition between them.

"Why not? I'll let you bitch and moan and complain about my sloppy skills with a saucepan. If you really don't like it, then I won't bitch and moan and complain about your filthy smoking habit."

"A free shot? Well, who would argue with that. Come on then, Potter, I haven't got all night."

--oo0oo--

Draco swallowed the last mouthful, and carefully dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, taking the opportunity for another mouthful of wine. "Why are you staring at me so intently? Waiting for the poison to kick in?" he replied smartly. He was quite stunned but secretly thrilled by Harry's timely supper invitation. It had proved to be an opportunity to take his mind off such an otherwise miserable evening. He didn't need to think about Flash, and the more he realised that, the more he saw that this was a perfect opportunity to start building some quality time with Harry. For his part, Harry seemed oblivious to the confusion going on in Draco's mind; relishing his role as host and cooking an amazingly simple, yet divinely flavoursome Asian chicken dish.

Harry smirked. "I didn't hear you complain. Admit it, you liked it."

"I can't believe it. Harry Potter can actually cook. I never thought that all the magic in this world would allow such a miracle to happen!" Draco waved his arms melodramatically. Harry was an exceedingly welcome distraction that was just the tonic he needed to forget about Flash.

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it?" Draco noticed the blush in Harry's cheeks.

Draco laughed, "You really think? I would not have believed you had prepared and cooked such a delicious meal if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Of course, I could offer you a full critique, but you'd probably have an excuse for everything. Your chopping technique is still sloppy, granted, but your potions were utter shite at school. You wonder why I kept an eye on you nearly every potions class?"

"I just assumed you were practicing casting your evil eye on me," he retorted.

"Harry! How you ever passed your NEWT, let alone make it into the class is still a mystery. You were hopeless – a little better than Longbottom, granted, but I was worried you were going to blow us all up. I was convinced you were planning on it so that none of those evil Slytherins would join Voldemort." Draco realised what he said, and suddenly became sombre, "Of course, you could have done that and saved a few of us a lot of hard work." He started to think about all the former Slytherins who joined the Dark Lord. Nearly all of his own class went dark and were killed. He wondered at times if he had been the reason for some of the decisions of his classmates. Did they simply join because he did? What would they have done had they known Draco's real motive for joining Voldemort's forces? It was a depressing question – one Draco asked himself often when he was feeling down.

Harry watched the play of emotions on Draco's face as he suddenly fell silent. Harry could not help but bear all the guilt for Draco's current mood. If there was any way he could help him snap out of it, then he would do it. The meal seemed to help, but he needed to bring Draco back out of this mood, and quickly.

"So, do you always like to try every bottle that comes out of your winery?" Harry picked up the bottle and examined the label. Draco had returned to his room to pick up a bottle of wine to share with the meal. Harry had been enjoying the wine. It was full bodied and had a great nose - a little sweet but it accompanied the flavours in the chicken rather well. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth as a wicked thought crossed his mind. "Still, I would have preferred a Chardonnay. It would have been perfect with that chicken. Don't get me wrong, this Rosé is marvellous, but you can't pass up a good white wine."

Draco quickly tried not to choke on his last sip. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you are a Chardonnay lover, Harry?"

"Oh, and you think that because you own a winery you are an expert on the topic of wine, hmmm?" With a flick of his wand, he banished the dirty plates. Here was something he knew they could safely discuss.

Harry's tactic seemingly worked. For the next half hour they sat by the fire as Draco denigrated everything possible about Chardonnay, whilst praising almost every other type of wine. Harry just sat back and let him. He could not help his smile, for he was truly seeing Luc in his natural state.

Draco was not at all surprised that Harry was a Chardonnay sipper. He could just imagine Harry sitting around and sipping it whilst contemplating his navel and talking crap like most other faux wine lovers who loved nothing more than to talk tosh and listen to the sound of their own voices. To his surprise, Harry seemed quite knowledgeable about a good many labels, and despite his penchant for Chardonnay, he did have a healthy regard for other fine wines.

"Whenever did you manage to get your hands on a bottle of _Curvé Dom Perignon Millésime_? I only ever thought there were a half dozen bottles. I was sure that my family had the last of them." He really seemed quite knowledgeable, but Draco suspected he might have finally caught Harry out in a lie.

"Oh, but I have your family to thank for that, Draco. It seems two bottles of it were in the cellar of the Black home in London. Actually, it was Sirius, and that very wine that got me interested in it in the first place." Harry fondly remembered that single Christmas with Sirius. It might have not been the most auspicious start to a holiday, but it was the most time he had spent with Sirius, and it pained him to think it was the only significant time he ever truly had with his godfather.

Sirius had taken it upon himself to drink his way through the entire cellar of Grimmauld Place as he was confined in yet another prison. Harry had caught him in the kitchen very late one evening staring at the unopened bottle. Remus was out on business for the Order this night, and thinking back now, Harry realised that Remus' absence could have been part of the reason for Sirius' mood. He sat Harry down and very carefully took the better part of an hour to teach Harry all he could about wine. He spent half his lecture in a mocking tone, explaining it in a parody of his own father's clipped tones. He then spent another half hour with Harry explaining the reason why even the purest of pure-blood wizards would not use magic to open a bottle of wine.

After a two hour lecture, Harry was so hyped up to share in this bottle of wine, that the first taste literally was ambrosia. Harry had preferred to drink wine from that time on. His own interest was mostly because it was something he could still share with Sirius, even after death, but he admitted that it was something he had grown to love.

"I never knew of this Grimmauld Place." Draco mentioned as they had moved to the chairs by the fire, "But Mother never spoke that often of her family. I knew one of her sisters was a fanatic, and she dared not to talk of her other in front of my father. I think they were close, but father would never have allowed her in the house. I think she married a muggleborn wizard." Harry nodded. He would have liked to have known Draco's mother a little better - any woman that had to put up with Lucius Malfoy for so long must have been of strong character. Harry's heart went out to Draco as he remembered Luc's words about his mother.

Clouds had rolled in to cover the moonlight and the temperature had dropped sharply. A storm was undoubtedly coming. Draco murmured absently. "But I can't believe you got the taste for wine from the Blacks – I guess their legacy will live on in a good way."

Draco sounded slightly bitter, and Harry could see Draco was about to brood again. The whole point of this evening had been to make it up to Draco for Flash's failings. He pondered how he was going to do that when Draco stood suddenly.

Draco wandered over to the window when he realised he was being maudlin. He didn't need to spill all his problems in front of Harry. It was bad enough that he had suspected he was planning on drinking himself stupid earlier. This dinner had been a surprisingly nice diversion. As he looked around, he noticed the décor of the room for the first time. The place wasn't quite well lived in, but what it lacked in the way of decent furniture, it made up for with a strangely mismatched style that Draco admitted suited Harry. It was about as haphazard as his hair.

For starters, none of his furniture matched. The bed looked to be a standard Hogwarts issue, although why he looked at that first, he could not answer. The armchairs and couch were all different styles and colours, and none of the chairs around the table matched. A number of half opened boxes were stacked along one wall and a half filled bookcase stood against the wall. Draco noticed the familiar multicoloured spines of numerous Muggle novels.

"Those are DVD's," Harry offered as he watched Draco stare puzzlingly at the collection of discs on the shelf. "They have movies on them so you can watch them instead of going to the cinema." Harry spoke casually. Draco nodded; he hoped Harry wasn't going to give him a patronising lecture on Muggle culture.

"I thought they were called videos. What are you going to play them on, anyway?" he asked as he noticed that Harry's collection seemed to head towards action and adventure, with quite a few of them featuring a blonde haired girl by the name of Buffy.

Harry leapt out of his chair in excitement and pulled his wand, pointing it at the corner. A television was revealed from a compartment in the wall.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I know you need a television, Harry, but what will you use to power it? Hogwarts can't get electricity."

Harry's good humour didn't deflate. "I know, but I've been thinking about that – and about the castle's magic. How did you get your wireless to tune into BBC1?"

"Oh, I was sick of hearing your name on the WWN, so I charmed and hexed and hoped and wished and eventually I must have come up with the right combination of spells. I honestly don't know what I did – I can't change the station back now, even if I wanted to," he was reluctant to admit.

Harry's smile was infectious. "Really? Well I think it's the castle..." He went on to explain a theory he had about the magic of the castle working with a wizard's intent. The headmaster's suggestions had helped him to come up with the idea, and Draco had to admit that it could probably work.

"Well then why can't the students just wish hard enough for something and have it appear? I for one certainly wished for your demise hard enough; that never happened." Draco asked.

"That's a good point. I think the castle is well aware of the difference between staff and students and…"

They were both sitting on the couch now as Harry finished explaining his theory. Draco realised for the first time that it was quite pleasant to be sitting here and listening to Harry and his exuberant ideas. They did have some merit. Admittedly a few months earlier, he would never have dreamed of ever doing such a thing, but after months of having to work with him, and learning that his original impressions of Harry had been misleading, he could see that Harry's only true flaw was his exuberant nature to help people. He could only guess that Harry was doing this tonight because he could see how miserable Draco was.

But rather than resent him for that fact, Draco found himself profoundly grateful for the company. If his friendship with Flash was waning, then a friendship with Harry Potter was going to be just the ticket. _Besides, isn't that all I ever wanted in the first place? To be Harry Potter's friend?_

Being in such close proximity to Harry, Draco could not help but notice several things. Yet again, Harry's hands were distracting him. The way one hand held the wine goblet and how the other one ran over the rough bumps and ridges of the blown glass as his thumb played across the goblet's rim. Harry's eyes were sparking cheerfully and Draco noticed just how much at ease he seemed to be.

Harry was no longer acting as agitated as he seemed that day in the _Leaf and Bean_, but Draco was fully aware of the sense of calm he seemed to be projecting. Harry was talking about something, but Draco realised he had not been listening. The awkward pause told him that Harry was obviously expecting an answer to some question he had not even heard. He covered his slip by taking a long sip of wine. He could not look Harry in the eye, so he looked over Harry's shoulder at his desk.

Harry's desk seemed to be the only thing that was messy about his rooms. His furniture may have been a pile of mismatched items, but everything was orderly arranged and spotlessly clean. His desk was the exact opposite. The parchments and books were as haphazard as Harry's hair, yet he guessed there must be some method to the placement of everything. He noticed that Salazar Slytherin's Parseltongue book was resting open against a pile of other books. Draco recognised them from their spines. They were a number of common Potions reference guides.

"How's the translation going?" Draco asked. Harry turned and noticed what had taken Draco's interest.

Harry sighed, "It's going slower than I thought. I'd hate to make any mistakes, so every time I come across a potions ingredient I've not heard of, I try to make sure it does exist. It's really important to me that I get it completely accurate." Draco noticed Harry looking down at his knee, and knew that look. It was apparent that Harry would take on the guilt for anything if he thought he could.

"It's not your fault, Harry. You didn't make any mistake – not your fault that Pegasus Wingtips are all but extinct." Draco said. "Why don't you just translate what you can, putting in the words you _think_ it says, then I could go over the ingredients with you – I might have a better idea what's right and wrong, and that way you don't waste time researching."

Harry thought about it for a moment and nodded. "That would be great – that's if you've got time."

"Plenty of time, Harry. For that, I've got plenty of time." Draco admitted reluctantly that he didn't want this nice, relaxing and congenial evening to end too soon. The wine was nearly gone, but there was something about Harry's presence that helped him forget the misery awaiting him in his own rooms. If it meant he had to talk about anything and everything to prolong the evening, then he would.

He noticed that during their conversation, they had moved and were sitting awfully close. Harry's thigh was now against his own, and if he concentrated, he could feel the pulse throbbing along it. It was undoubtedly working in time with the pulse that throbbed in Harry's neck. Draco found himself studying Harry's face more closely than ever. At least, more closely than he had at such a distance. Harry must have noticed this at the same time, for his eyes glistened and he swallowed very hard. He looked away momentarily, seemingly confused.

"Draco, I..." Harry seemed hesitant, but Draco knew he was struggling to confess something. He wasn't sure if it was only the wine driving his actions, but he quickly grabbed the goblet out of Harry's hand, their fingers touching for the briefest of moments. A small flush rose up in Harry's cheeks and the overabundance of stimulating senses came to the fore and Draco found himself watching Harry's lips a little too closely. The accidental touches had not been planned, but Draco could sense that something outside of his control was happening. Something his body was certainly more than amenable to; something his brain was fervently agreeing with.

Before he knew it, his lips were pressed against Harry's. He couldn't say who moved forward to kiss first, just that he knew his lips were now brushing against Harry's warm and soft mouth. He was pleased that Harry responded with equal enthusiasm and before long they found their tongues seeking and exploring and biting and nipping. There was no urgency, their tongues both found they wanted to explore at a slow, leisurely pace.

Draco let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Was he dreaming again? Hadn't he wanted this since... he could not quite remember how long it had been since he realised he wanted to do this, but now that he was holding Harry's face in his hands, and his lips were brushing roughly against lips and teeth and stubble, he knew that this was the one thing he had to do to help forget his worries – to forget about Flash.

--oo0oo--

Harry had stopped thinking long before. He had ridden the full gamut of Draco's emotions from the moment he opened the journal. Draco's state was entirely his fault. The food and wine had helped them both to relax and Harry finally saw Draco relaxed to the point of letting down the last of his barriers. This was his soul mate and he knew that he could never tire of Draco's company. It felt like they were getting to know each other for the first time, but this was very quickly going to turn to something he desired deeply, but felt somehow... wrong.

Harry's conscience couldn't lie to Draco any longer. It would be totally unfair to let anything happen without confessing. He had to tell Draco he was Flash. He would hate him forever if he didn't. "Draco, I..."

Harry was not expecting Draco to attempt any move, but after the briefest of touches as he took away his goblet, he found his lips tentatively searching the corners of Draco's mouth. He wasn't sure what was happening, just that he knew this felt right and sweet and he knew that if he didn't stop soon he would never want to stop again. He could feel the desire singing along his skin at each touch and the feel of Draco's tongue as it wanted to touch and taste and tease...

The kiss turned feverish and became something deeper to both men – something more needy as they fought each other for breath. Their constant struggle for dominance seemed to have retreated to some deep recess as they explored with teeth and lips and tongues that felt like drinking every ounce of skin. Draco's hand crept up and pulled Harry's glasses away, throwing them into the corner of the couch. Harry didn't need them to see the hunger in Draco's eyes, and he pulled away for just a moment.

One part of Harry wanted to rip away at that final barrier of shirts and robes that separated them, but the image of the journal kept throwing itself up in his face and he stopped. "Draco, there's something I have to tell you..."

Draco smirked and snorted, but didn't pull away. "I'm sure there's plenty you have to tell me, Harry..." For once, Draco's mouth was not spouting caustic or bitter remarks. Harry felt a little stunned by Draco's sudden assertiveness, but his brain has stopped thinking clearly the moment they locked lips. Both men were taunt with desire, but there was no sense of urgency in Draco's mouth, nor in his hands as they locked behind his head, nor in the way his body aligned perfectly with his.

"Is this what you want, Draco?" Harry managed to gasp as he stopped for breath.

Draco's laugh blew hot air across Harry's ear as he kissed across his face and down his neck. "I have no idea, Harry, but why don't you ask me again, later." All of Harry's guilt fled – if this was what Draco wanted, then he could not argue with it.

Draco's hands were suddenly busy with the buttons on Harry's shirt. Harry found his own hands reaching for the dozens of crazy buttons on Draco's robes. It was an unfair advantage, but Harry was up for the challenge. He managed a few rows of buttons before Draco's tongue bathed a path down his chest and across his nipple. Harry groaned in delight as he threw his head back against the couch, freeing more of his neck for Draco's attention. Harry faltered and failed to open any more of Draco's buttons. He could not even rip at the fabric and his frustration was evident. Draco snickered, but didn't offer any more assistance.

His resolve shattered the moment Draco's tongue began to toy with his nipple. Harry was so incoherent, he groaned in delight. Harry finally managed to pull open the last of Draco's persistent buttons. His lips and tongue wanted to, yet again, taste that spot just below Draco's ear. He really wanted to taste every part of Draco, but that was where he planned to start.

Draco's return moan of delight at Harry's ministrations masked the flaring of the fireplace being Floo activated.

"Harry, have you seen... Bloody Hell! What the fuck..." Harry thought it seemed wrong to hear Ron's voice at that very minute, but Draco's body stiffened and pulled away slightly. Somewhat confused, Harry turned away to see Ron's head bobbing in the fireplace. Without his glasses he could not tell his mood, but after their recent disagreements about Draco, he doubted his friend was grinning in joy.

"R... Ron! When did you get back from France?" Harry scrabbled around the couch to find his glasses and attempted to button his shirt. "W... what are you doing Flooing at this hour? Everything all right?" Draco eventually handed him his glasses as he casually sat back against the cushions. Draco made no move other than to glare at Ron's head. Harry's heart hammered heavily in his chest as he saw the look of barely concealed disbelief in Ron's face. It was a credit to him that he had not exploded as yet.

Ron snorted, "Caught you at a bad time did I, Harry?" The sarcasm was evident in his bitter words.

Draco snorted and finally spoke up, "On the contrary, _Weasley_, Harry was having a rather _good_ time."

"Draco..." Harry warned.

"No, it's okay, Harry. Now, surely you could call Harry back in the morning..."

"Actually, Malfoy," Ron snorted in feigned amusement, "I was calling him because there was no answer on your Floo. I thought he might have been able to locate you. I guess I was... right on that part, eh?"

"Why on earth would you be Flooing me at such an hour, Weasley? Couldn't wait until tomorrow to deliver more bad news?" Draco seemed more than a little frustrated by the intrusion. Harry had to admit it was a little strange for Ron to be calling at such an hour.

"I had to check you were around, Malfoy." Ron seemed quite put out and disappointed about something. "I can only assume, Harry, that he's got an iron clad alibi for tonight?" Harry nodded.

"Why? What were you planning on accusing me of tonight?"

"Someone's broken in to Malfoy Manor. There's been a huge fire."

* * *

TBC in chapter 17...

**Thank You:** Thank you to **SeparatriX** and **C Dumbledore **for doing yet another fantastic beta job. They are both wonderful!

**Review Thank You's:**

So many people are reading this and we really do thank all of you, even if at times we were wearing your patience (but we did warn you of the inordinately long wait). Welcome to our new readers, and it's great to see some of you back for more... We'll endeavour to have another chapter out before JKR ruins everything with more of her own story (lol - she already ruined our plans - turns out Draco's birthday is 5 June and not September as we suspected!) I'm just looking over all your reviews now and I don't think I've seen so many 'OMG's' and 'pleases; in one page! You're all beautiful! Thank you!

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_**, aldebaran1977, Amaya Jade, Amy2k, Angel-Wings6, Anonymous, AsheslovesHarry, ashley678, Awe, Azurelle, BlahnessMucho, blue as lapislazuli, Bottlebrushtail, CelestialDrgn, Chaney, chasingdusk, checkmarks, Child-of-the-Waves, cleasmile, CompleteGeek, Crow21681, Curious Shadow, Cuthrin Khafre, DARK WRYDER, dinderoti, Dr. Colleen, Dragenphly, dreamerdoll, dreamerdoll, duchesscarml, Dyers-Eve, embyr81788, Eternal Sacred Rose, Faith Maguire, fifespice, Froggie, futago akuma-tenshi02, HadrienAsbury, Hahathatsfunny13, Hazardess, HazelWolf11, HpDeVoTeE, hungry&tired, IllI, ILLK, Immortal Tears of, Imp17, Infinite13, Inner Voice, It'sJustMe, jejune768, jess, jetta, Kaaera, kakisensei, karenelaine, katerina, kcgal, KH, Kilikapele, Kioratt, Kradcitta, kt, kt, Lady Lynn, Lady Shirubana, Lark, Lelimo, LineCecilie, lizliterarius, louise4, Ludra, MachiavellianOrange, Magick, marlee, Menecarkawan, Moonlit Eyes, Mosrael, Msedawn, mydogisfudge, mystic fire demon, Nairolie, Nephimar, Nudd, Omnimalevolent, Pegasus, Reptilian Goddess, Rhiwan, Rowenna7, saFire flamE, saheel, shadowcat83, Shena, Shini4, Shinosu, Shwirly, SilverDragon161, silver-sunn101, Slash Addict Self Help Group, sonrisa, Star55, Summerwing, swtjemz, TastuKitty, The Chaotic Ones, TheFlamingPhoenix, Tora88, Trista Louise, twighlightshadow, ura-hd, valagen, Valerie747, Vanice, venure, volleypickle16, Wannaseemymoon, Web-of-Knots, White-Lily-Blossom, WhyteRoze-, Woodland-Dew, Xandria Nirvana, Xlayer, xxbabysparklesxx**_

Phew! You're a prolific bunch, alright! A few comments that do need answering. If we answered you all, we'd exceed this site's size limit!

**_kcgal:_** Hope you aren't frothing at the mouth for too long! Glad this fic meets your standards - we do try hard to do our very best - not just for ourselves, but for everyone. Thank you for your kind and inspiring words!

**_KH (Maroonblinker)_**: Hope your internal PSL clock isn't too far out of whack! Glad you are enjoying this. Top marks for your commitment!

**_Dark Wryder:_** I hope you aren't too incoherent after reading this!

**_Valerie747:_** Glad you think this story is a convincing romance. We try to keep it as 'real' as possible. People don't just jump into bed on the first look (well, not always) and we wanted to read a nice, slow and languid story. Writing one was the only option at the time! Thank you again!

**_Dr Colleen:_** I do hope you are in a fit state now that we have some resolution to the story... but will there be more reasons for you to raise that elegant eyebrow? Hmmm? You'll just have to wait and find out! We think there's only about 5 more chapters to go. At least today there is! Thanks again for your inspiring words!

**_Sonrisa: _**Yes, Harry has angsted. He might angst some more, but that's for us to know and for you to find out! As for those Neo Death Eaters... I'm not at liberty to divulge anything about them. Fortunately, I am immune to the effects of Veritaserum, so you can't catch me out tell you that you'll find out more about them in chapter... oops, nearly let out, didn't I?

**_MachiavellianOrange:_** You win the internet for having the best name! And thanks also for all the encouragement!

**_Lady Lynn: _**Yes, we stopped right there! There was a perfectly good reason at the time, but now I can't remember for the life of me what it was... perhaps we were suddenly possessed by evil fanfic spirits that wanted to mess with people for a couple of months! Or perhaps we just wanted to see if anyone was really reading our humble little story! Thanks for your words, and for reading!

And to the rest of you, thank you for every encouraging word. Opening the email to see another review just makes us both want to open the chapters and keep writing! Honestly! It's so frustrating that we can't respond to each review in this program, but we do keep each and every single review. Honestly! We hope that nobody got into too much trouble for skivving off school work, or house work or college work to read this, but thank you all again. We hope you stick around until the end!

Cheers to you all!  
_Azhure_ & **Wintermoon**


	17. As The World Falls Down

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 17: As The World Falls Down**

_Falling in love  
As the world falls down.  
Makes no sense at all.  
_**David Bowie**

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams or Diary entries from Luc.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

**Thank You:** Thank you to **SeparatriX** and **C Dumbledore **for doing yet another fantastic beta job. They are both wonderful! Thank you to all our patient readers who put up with the long wait between chapters. We would rather give you the best possible story than just dishing out our first draft (trust us, you don't want to know about our first draft)...

* * *

**July 14, Monday – Early Morning**

To the untrained eye, the stony look on Draco's face was one of shock – shock at hearing that there was a fire in his childhood home. But Harry knew that look had nothing to do with shock. It was sheer fury. He needed to move quickly to diffuse the murderous rage that he knew was about to burst from beneath the surface.

"We'll be at the Manor in a few moments, Ron." Harry quickly aimed a smart flick of his wand at the fireplace, cutting off Ron's protests as he closed and blocked the Floo. He didn't need to have Draco and Ron at each other's throats just yet. Still dazed and tingling from the unwarranted interruption, Harry watched as Draco stood, muttering furiously under his breath as he attempted to fasten his trousers.

"Why am I not surprised?" Draco drawled sarcastically. "First sign of trouble and I'm naturally a suspect. What does that son-of-a-Muggle take me for? Does he honestly think I would... How in Merlin's name could there be a fire at the Manor? The place has almost as many protections as Hogwarts." Harry could see Draco's mole quivering in fury as he baulked at Ron's unfounded accusation.

He had to admit Draco was justified in feeling angry at Ron. He was just as pissed off at him for making such misplaced assumptions, but he knew Ron deserved some explanation for what he just witnessed. He doubted it was going to be a pleasant conversation – but it was going to be necessary if he were to maintain ties with his oldest friend. He wasn't thinking too clearly about that right now. His heart was still hammering in his chest from the shocking news, and all he could think to do was to help Draco in every way he knew how.

* * *

It was late and Draco had been foolish to think that the good times would last – they rarely did when he started to give in to his desires. The unbidden lust was washed away with fury at the weasel. Nothing like interrupted intimacy to make you highly strung. Weasley had the most abominable timing, and Draco was too angry at the bastard to pay attention to what Harry was saying. All he really wanted to do was get back to what he had been doing before the interruption. He swore in frustration as he fumbled at his buttons, swaying as he reached for his wand. Still reeling from a little too much wine, he promptly fell back to the couch. A firm hand on his chest stopped him from fumbling any further.

Harry wasn't quite as drunk, and seemingly knew exactly what Draco needed the most. "_Sobrietus,"_ he muttered quietly, casually aiming his wand at Draco.

Draco reeled at the sudden lifting of the woolly warmth surrounding his thoughts. Clarity struck with alarming speed. The Sobrietus charm was always so jarring and Draco hated the accompanying sensation of cold water trickling down his spine. It was the main reason why he always preferred the potion. He thanked Harry with a curt nod before taking a deep breath. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts and pass over that moment of overwhelming lucidity. It was a common side effect of the charm, but he needed to steel himself from the full shock of reality hitting him in the face.

Harry kept him pinned to the couch as he gathered his wits. For one brief moment he thought Harry might go back to what he had been doing only moments before, but he knew in his heart that their evening was now laid to waste. Gathering his second wind in his new found sobriety, he opened his mouth to complain again about the Weasel's rudeness and lack of courtesy. What a shame he didn't drop dead from the shock of what he had seen. He could only live in hope that day would come soon – for he made a mental note to pick up from where they had been so rudely interrupted.

Harry stood quickly, breaking Draco's reverie, offering a hand up. "Ron knows you couldn't have done anything to the Manor, Draco. You were here with me – I'm quite sure he didn't miss _that_. I think he's just suffering a little from the shock of what he saw."

"Are you defending him?" Draco seemed a little put out.

"Not at all. I just know how he reacts to things, and his mouth usually goes into gear before his brain engages. I guess I'll face the inquisition about this later."

"Oh? And what are you going to tell him?" Draco's voice sounded a little too concerned, and Harry stopped, seeing a tiny glimmer of disappointment in Draco's eyes.

Harry smiled and squeezed Draco's hand. "I'm going to tell him that _when_ he catches us doing that again, he's to just close his eyes and look the other way if it upsets him so much." His words placated Draco, who seemed to have calmed a little bit at Harry's spoken intentions. "Now, are we ready? I'm just as curious as to why there is a fire at the Manor. You certainly don't hear of too many fires in the Wizarding world. Why haven't they just put it out with a couple of spells?"

Harry headed over to the coat rack and donned his good outer robe. "You're coming too?" Draco asked. Harry just assumed that he was accompanying Draco, and he stopped in his tracks. _Does he really want me with him? _He wondered.

"Of course – you think I'm going to let you go alone? I'm sure Ron will be there, and I really don't want to see either of you dead right now, even if he's being a prat." Harry muttered under his breath, and he caught the slight snicker coming from Draco.

"Well, come on then," Draco added as he was already sweeping regally out the door. He noted the hopeful relief in Draco's voice and quickly forgot about his concerns. Harry would have liked to stop and tell Remus what had happened and where they were going, but as he paused to knock on Remus' door, he saw the moonlight streaming in through the window. He had forgotten all about the full moon.

Draco noticed Harry's hesitation at Remus' door. "Another pair of eyes and ears might help," Draco agreed quietly as they made their way out of the castle. Both of them ignored the protests of the paintings awakened by their swift progress through the castle. Draco didn't even notice Nearly Headless Nick floating calmly down the hall until he walked straight through the sleeping ghost. Sir Nicholas woke with a start, but neither man acknowledged the ghost as he started to protest profusely for being woken so rudely. Draco brushed away the creepy chill that bore deep into his bones at the intrusion. It was an unpleasant feeling.

Harry noticed Draco's stony and unreadable gaze as they swiftly moved through the courtyard. "Does the Weasel really think I'd stoop to damaging my own property? There's something fishy about all of this, and I need to know what it is."

Harry shrugged. His own sense of foreboding was creeping up slowly. He was worried about this shocking news – worried what it would mean for Draco. "I've had a bad feeling ever since these Neo Death Eaters came on the scene, Draco – and I just know they are behind this," Harry said with conviction.

Harry could see the worry eating away at Draco as he attempted to don his mask of haughty indifference. He could see through those masks now and knew that it was partly Draco's way of dealing with the world, but he put his hand on Draco's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze of support. Draco was grateful for the show of support, a smile momentarily penetrating and softening his mask. Their passionate embrace was still only ten minutes in the past, but it felt like it had happened years earlier. Harry could not help but think that it at least gave him a chance to tell Draco the truth before they delved into anything more serious. He didn't want to imagine how Draco would react if he were to discover the truth, and find that Harry had known all along. It just didn't bear thinking about.

* * *

The protections around Malfoy Manor prevented anyone other than Draco from Apparating directly into the grounds. Draco was like a man possessed as they Apparated in front of the Malfoy Manor gates. His eyes were wild with what looked like anger, but Harry knew to be deep fear and concern. As thick smoke surrounded them, the overwhelming smell of ash momentarily disoriented Harry. He eventually noticed an unfamiliar bystander who was deep in discussion with a very dismayed house elf. As the smoke cleared a little, Harry noticed he wore the uniform of the Magical Law Enforcement constabulary.

Their pop of apparition must have gone unnoticed by all but the house elf, who flung herself into a fit of woe at the sight of Draco, who didn't notice the assault as he was peering desperately through the smoke to see the Manor. This amount of smoke was not a good sign, and Harry felt a horrid feeling welling at the pit of his stomach.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but he had visions of gigantic flames licking their way along the roofline. Very little moonlight penetrated the heavy smoke, but a sudden change in the wind blew the dark pillar away, revealing what Harry had feared most.

Giant flames were licking at the ancient stones of the Manor, accompanied by the sound of falling debris and smashing glass. A blast of heat rolled their way and Harry could barely hear Draco's cry of desperation as he stood screaming at the gates. Another terrifying crash preceded a new pall of smoke that now rose as the roof caved in on one of the wings.

"Why in Merlin's name are you just standing around here? Why aren't you _doing _something?" Draco spoke urgently as he practically flung himself at the gates to release the protective wards. Harry was ready to pull Draco back as the ground shook and small explosions threw more rock and debris their way. Draco was frantic and Harry had to physically hold him back. This was more than just a fire – it was mass destruction.

Draco was trying hard to pull away from Harry, but as he tried to release the protective wards on the gates, another firm hand stopped him, pulling him back from certain danger. Draco barely noticed the MLE constable in his frenzy to reach the core of the blazing mansion.

"You can't stop it, Mr Malfoy. Those are magically induced flames, and they're feeding off any magic they come into contact with. You've lost almost all of your house elves as they tried to put it out," the constable spoke plainly, but he too seemed helpless in the face of such a disaster.

"That's right, Master Draco," the tall elf was now sobbing visibly as she wrung her ears in shame. "We tried all we could, but the fire broke through all your protections and wards... Gaggy is sad that she has lost her family, Master Draco! Gaggy was working in the coach house and didn't see the fire until it was too late!" The elf seemed utterly devastated at the loss of the other elves, but Draco gave her an encouraging pat on the back.

Draco was shaking his head furiously. "Magically induced? But that's... not... possible." He uttered in complete disbelief. "Can't we contain it somehow?"

Harry had too many vivid memories of magically induced fire and shook his head furiously at Draco. "No, it's too dangerous, Draco. It can only be Balefire. A magical fire like that can only stop when it runs out of magic to consume. When there is no more fuel to feed it, it will die out." Harry hoped it was only Balefire. He didn't want to think of the consequences of this being Gulbrathian fire. At least Balefire died down when it ran out of fuel. Gulbrathian fire was everlasting. Looking closely at the flame, he looked for the greenish tinge of the everlasting fire, but couldn't see it. This had to be Balefire.

Draco's voice was hoarse, but he just stared through the gates. "Balefire," was all he whispered, still in disbelief. Harry put a comforting hand on Draco's back as they watched the fire gather momentum, racing furiously through the west wing.

"I can't just stand here... I hate feeling so useless..." Draco was tempted yet again to open the gates, but the constable quickly divested Draco of his wand.

"Are you mad?" He yelled at Draco. "If you break that protection charm on the gates, then that fire will escape. You don't want it to spread to the magic outside the Manor, do you? I don't fancy going up in smoke. It's lucky that most of the protections on this place are independent and not connected to something like earth magic! I could only imagine the carnage. Who would be stupid enough to risk using something this destructive in the first place?" The constable voiced the question Harry had been asking himself.

"Don't you think I know that already?" Draco shouted to hide his embarrassment at not thinking clearly. The house elf, Gaggy, was moaning and wailing loudly as Draco watched on as his ancestral home was torn to the ground. Harry wanted nothing more than to go in there and put out the flames, but if it was indeed Balefire, then he knew of no magic to stop it. He recalled the only time he had seen someone foolish enough to use Balefire in battle. Some enterprising Death Eater thought he would expedite things by quickly decimating the Aurors and Order members. It certainly achieved that goal, but that one small blast also killed at least thirty Death Eaters and destroyed a forest of wand wood in a matter of seconds. That wasn't even counting the cost of the magical creatures that also perished in that forest. Harry only hoped the outer protective wards of the estate grounds could contain this monstrosity.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry did not hear the new pop of Apparition. "Sorry sir," he heard the constable utter. "I'm afraid you can't go in. That fire is too dangerous. It's probably best if you stay away though – there really should only be essential personnel here. We don't know if that fire is going to spread, and we don't want any unwarranted casualties." Harry turned to see Ron standing there in a belligerent stance. He had almost forgotten who notified them of this tragedy, and he closed his eyes and prayed that tempers weren't going to flare on this side of the gate.

"_Essential personnel_?" Ron was obviously in no mood for this man's nonsense. The smoke was starting to abate, thanks to a light breeze, and all that remained was the harsh reflection from the intense flames. Harry thought he recognised the constable, but he couldn't be sure. The name Kenneth Towler came to mind, and Harry was suddenly reminded of a tall student in Gryffindor robes. Kenneth must have been a few years ahead of Harry, but he recognised the insignia of Senior Constable on his robes. Ron didn't seem to pay any attention to that as he continued to stalk directly to the gates. He seemed completely affronted that he was being asked to leave.

"But I'm the one currently in charge of this property – you contacted _me_ about this fire!" Ron spluttered. "I'm with the Fiscal Investigative Unit at Gringotts and we have seized this Manor as part of an ongoing investigation – you can't deny me the right to be here!" Draco's attention had been diverted from the blaze to the confrontation between the constable and Ron. He smirked wildly at the sight. Harry could see Ron was now getting a taste of his own medicine for denying Draco access.

Towler was a stickler for regulations and didn't care one iota that Ron was the person they contacted first. He wasn't letting him in. "By all means, if you want to burn to a crisp, then go ahead. But I'm sure that you can see what you need to from here. There's been a fire – Balefire, apparently – but I'm sure that once Magical Law Enforcement has scoured the scene, we'll be only too happy to allow the insurance assessors in to look at it."

Ron saw Draco standing there and continued his diatribe as he pointed accusingly to the blond. "You want an investigation? Here's your culprit. He's been dying to get into this place and has been asking me for weeks to allow him access. I think he was just so jealous that we were keeping him from it that he's decided to burn it to the ground. I'd really love to know just how this pointy git managed to pull it off. He's the only one who can pass those wards and start a fire like that..." Harry could not believe what he was hearing. For one moment, he could have sworn that Ron was channelling Percy as he stood there arguing with the Constable.

"I'm sorry, sir, but only an Auror can override my authority to let you onto the property. I can assure you that we will be investigating your accusation, you have my word. Unfortunately, your position as a FIG office investigator doesn't automatically give you authorisation to be here, so I will ask that you leave." Constable Towler was not budging from his stance, and Harry admired him for not being bullied, as Ron was doing his best bullying yet. Strange how Harry had never really thought of it as such before, but now he could see that Ron's behaviour was clearly bullying.

"Well what about him," Ron pointed at Harry. "He's not essential personnel either – he's just here with the pointy git," Harry's mouth hung open at Ron's stinging words. Towler blinked several times, eventually recognising Harry.

"Merlin, it really is you, Mr Potter! I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you earlier – seeing you were with Mr Malfoy and all..." the senior constable exclaimed in surprise. Harry really should have expected that sort of reaction, but he didn't let it phase him. "I am really glad you're here – I heard the rumour that you were returning to active Auror duty. Welcome back, sir!"

Harry winced out a smile, but Constable Towler continued. "If Balefire started this, as you suggest, then I'm glad you're here – makes it easier and I don't have to go and try to wake up some disgruntled Auror through the Floo. I'm so glad you're on the case." Harry wasn't quite processing Towler's words, but both Ron and Draco turned to look at him strangely. Ron spoke up before Draco could say anything, "Oh, Harry's not an Auror any more. He's just here because he's supposedly providing Malfoy with an alibi..."

Harry's eyes narrowed but he refused to acknowledge the hurt he felt from Ron's barb. He suddenly realised what Towler had been talking about. Obviously Gordon and Claire at the Ministry had been talking out of turn and had prematurely leaked the news of Harry's return to the Auror corps. Either that, or they were simply saying that Harry had returned to bolster the moral in the Magical Law Enforcement Department. Somehow, he gathered that the latter was probably true.

Strangely enough, it suddenly was going to work to Harry's advantage. This constable assumed Harry was once again working for the Ministry. As Harry glanced at the dying fire, then over at Draco, he saw an opportunity to do something useful. For once he could call Gordon and Claire's bluff, and deal with the consequences later. He could see that Draco was desperate to get inside, and Harry was equally as curious as to what or who had triggered the Balefire.

With a warm and slightly embarrassed smile, Harry turned to the constable, "That's right, you heard correctly - I'm back." Harry sucked up the subterfuge calmly and glanced Draco's way, realising why he was about to do this. Draco gave a barely imperceptible nod of understanding. "Look, I know Wiltshire isn't in my jurisdiction, and I'd hate to upset the chain of command, constable, but I was with Mr Malfoy when we heard about the fire. Tell me what you already know..."

Ron pushed in and interrupted. "Harry, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing? You aren't an Auror any more..."

Harry turned sharply and glared up at Ron. "Don't presume to know everything about me, Ron. You certainly lost the right to that with your recent behaviour. How do you know I haven't decided to rejoin the Aurors until we catch the Neo Death Eaters? Don't you remember how horrible the Balefire battle was during the war – is your memory that short? Do you really think Draco would do something like that to his own home? This whole thing reeks of Neo Death Eaters, and I think you should listen to the constable. Go home to your new wife, Ron. Come back in a couple of days after we've sorted out this mess. Don't worry, I doubt Draco will be absconding with any Malfoy family heirlooms. He'll be lucky to find anything intact in that mess." His words were harsh and cruel, but he somehow knew that this was going to be more devastating on Draco than he first imagined. He didn't think anything could survive such a blaze, and the thought of something precious, like rare potions ingredients, were just too painful to consider.

"That true, sir? You think that Neo Death Eater scum is behind this?" Towler interjected before Ron could answer.

Harry smiled over the constable's shoulder as he looked at Draco. "Well there's only one way to find out." They gazed back at what was left of the Manor, more smouldering ruin now than house. The magical fire was beginning to die down now that it was running out of fuel. Balefire fed on inherent magic, and it had flared intensely. The protections on the Manor must have been strong. Now that there was no more magic to feed on, the previously blazing inferno had petered out to nothing more than a dying blaze.

"But we dare not put it out magically, sir," Towler suggested. "Any magic we feed it might make it flare up again. Harry was inclined to agree with the constable, but he watched as Draco stared quietly at the ruin of his home. He couldn't bear to see that pained look on his soul mate's face any longer. He had to do something. If it was only a normal fire, then Harry assumed that it could be put out with Muggle means. But first they needed water.

"Draco," he murmured quietly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Is there a lake or a creek on the Manor grounds?" At first Harry didn't think he had heard, and was about to repeat his question, when Draco looked directly at him. Harry saw the pain and concern in his face, and he squeezed his shoulder in support. "I have an idea. I know it won't save the Manor, but I think we can stop the flames from spreading further. They've exhausted all the magic in the area, so I think we could probably drown it with some well placed water."

Slowly coming out of a stupor, Draco pointed his wand to the west, "I know there's a dam on the other side of the forest. You can normally see it from here in the daytime. W... what are you thinking?" He asked in concern.

Harry just smirked. "A smothering spell is too risky right now – it might reignite the Balefire. How good are you at translocation spells?" he asked Draco. "I seem to recall you took great pleasure in relocating things once upon a time." Harry didn't want to think about the time from their sixth year in school when things suddenly vanished from one location, only to appear in another. The Slytherins and Gryffindors took great pleasure in using the spells to play serious practical jokes on each other.

The memory brought the barest hint of a smile back to Draco's face, and he nodded.

* * *

It took all four of the wizards (including an extremely reluctant Ron, who only helped at Towler's insistence), to translocate a good deal of water from the dam to the air just above the Manor. The Balefire wasn't at risk of reigniting from that. Once the water suddenly appeared out of nowhere, it just poured down and doused the majority of the flames. All this was achieved from just beyond the Manor gates. As the last of the flames died down, the first hint of dawn broke over the horizon, and Harry and Constable Towler agreed that it would probably be safe enough to enter.

Towler sent a quick message back to his office – the Constable taking off his hat to draw a thin silver wisp of magic from his head to the end of his wand. He then flicked it off in the direction of Salisbury in a spell that Harry recognised from his time in the Order. It was good to see that someone in Magical Law Enforcement thought to use such quick and useful methods of communication in the absence of a Floo or owl. He would have used the spell more often himself, but when the message was critical, there was always a risk that it would be intercepted by Death Eaters.

Ron was still standing around, eagerly making a move to head through the gates after they clicked open at the complicated sweep of Draco's wand, but Constable Towler quickly put him in his place. "I'm sorry Mr Weasley, but as I said earlier, you'll have to remain outside whilst we continue this investigation. Essential folk and all that – wot?"

Ron was livid, and unable to put up a coherent argument. "But you can't let him in and not me!" he pointed at Draco. "I just helped you put out the fire, for Merlin's sake!"

"And your co-operation will be duly noted. Good day, Mr Weasley." Constable Towler turned to join Draco, who was already out of earshot as he swept as briskly as he could up the driveway toward the burned out Manor. Harry was turning to join them when Ron grabbed at the back of his robe, pulling him in to face him. "Harry, what the bloody hell are you playing at?"

"I'm sorry Ron, but the Constable is right – you really shouldn't be here."

"And Malfoy should?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, even though you might run the estate, he is the one who we need. He knows the Manor better than anyone, and we may need him to break down any remaining stray protections or wards. Why don't you just go home to Hermione, Ron. You can come back later and assess the damage. Draco doesn't need you here today."

Ron sneered, "Oh, but Draco needs you?"

"Yes, he does."

"Malfoy's bloody well brainwashed you, hasn't he?" Ron's eyes were wide and wild. "I knew it. He's done all this himself – or at least organised it. I knew that he was up to something." Harry could not believe the wild accusations. Ron was deluded. He really wanted nothing more than to be with Draco that moment, but he knew he had to deal with this first. Ron's next words stopped him in his tracks

"I knew when Hermione told me that you were confiding in that pointy bastard that something like this would happen."

Harry's jaw literally dropped in surprise. "What does Hermione know, Ron?"

Ron snickered knowingly. "Malfoy's the one you've been writing to for months, isn't he?"

Harry could not believe that Hermione worked out the truth behind the journals. _How did she work it out? Did Remus say something to her? _Harry wasn't listening. "How did she realise..." He was a little peeved that she could work it out, but Hermione was always the observant one.

"She worked it all out... The fact that you suddenly stop confiding in us and start talking to a complete stranger in a magical journal apparently got her thinking, and you know she doesn't stop until she gets answers. She hates anything to be a mystery. Suddenly you start to act completely reckless – you quit your highly paid Auror job, you leave Oliver – who you tell me you were completely in love with – and then you start shagging my brother..." Ron was almost unstoppable in his fury, and his words tumbled out. "Malfoy's managed to gain your trust and put some sort of dark hex on you to trust him. It's plainly obvious – and now this. I _know_ he's the one who started this fire."

Harry stopped him with a firm shake of his shoulders and a wand that was pointed dangerously in his face. "Thanks for the support, Ron. Whatever you think, you're wrong. Yes, I have been confiding in Draco for months, but I only just realised it recently. You know how much I hated my office job. I'm only back to capture these Neo Death Eaters. And you know what happened with Oliver had _nothing_ to do with me, and I just wish you could crawl out of your own arse for five minutes and just accept that I'm perfectly capable of making decisions for myself. Merlin, Ron! What's happened to _you_? You're beginning to sound more and more like Percy every day." Harry turned to walk into the estate, but Ron grabbed him by the robes again.

"Don't try to change the subject – and don't you even think of walking away, Harry. I've been watching over this estate now for months, and there's been so much suspicious activity around it, it isn't funny. There have been all sorts of attempts at the wards, and each one of them coincided with one of Malfoy's letters to me asking for access. Malfoy can't be completely innocent of any wrongdoing, Harry. It's not in his nature..."

Harry rounded on Ron again, his fury rising. He had hoped they could have moved past this animosity, but Ron was a Weasley, and they were undoubtedly more stubborn than mules. Especially when it came to Malfoys. "You know _nothing_ about Draco's true nature, and I'd appreciate it if you kept thoughts like that to yourself. I'm not past arresting you for obstructing justice – and don't think I won't do it." Ron was stunned, but it was Harry's turn to be furious.

"This is a criminal investigation, unless evidence shows us otherwise, Ron. How come you were so quick off the mark to come gloating to Draco? You don't happen to know who caused this, do you? Draco seems to think _you_ might have something to do with it. Care to enlighten me?" Harry didn't want to be the one making unfounded accusations, but there was a disconcerting worry that niggled in the back of his mind that Ron knew more than he was sharing.

Ron was completely affronted. It hurt Harry to say such things, but he was sick and tired of dancing around everyone and everything. "Whatever would give you such an incredibly ridiculous idea, Harry?"

"I could ask you the same question, Ron." Harry could feel a headache forming behind his eyes, and he was suddenly feeling very tired. He couldn't afford to be tired, not now.

"Constable Towler contacted me first because I'm currently the estate's registered contact – it's what they're supposed to do. I thought Malfoy might be trying to gain access for some nefarious reason – but now you've just let him walk into that place..." Ron seemed somewhat defeated and still upset at Harry's accusations. Harry felt a pang of sympathy, but he was still hurting from Ron's own harsh words. He could see that this whole thing was a major blow to Ron's pride.

"Draco has been with me since sundown, Ron. Before that I'm sure that Remus could vouch for his whereabouts, considering he probably had to spend most of the day brewing the last batch of Wolfsbane – look, if you weren't being such a prig, you'd realise that the constable will have already thought to do a Prior Incantato spell on Draco's wand. Do you really want me to check yours?" Harry raised an eyebrow as he spoke.

Ron was just staring at Harry, as if seeing him for the first time. He shook his head. "I won't let you interfere with the Fiscal Investigative Goblins and their investigation, Harry."

Harry smirked as he crossed his arms. Neither of them were going to back down. "All right, then I won't let you interfere with what is an MLE investigation, and as the only Auror here, I'm not letting you on the grounds, and that's final. Actually, Towler was right - it's standard procedure." The Ministry frowned upon the Goblins and bank employees sticking their noses into Magical Law Enforcement investigations. Ron's presence would not be necessary until it was time to call for an insurance assessment. Mind you, having Draco there was strictly not proper protocol, but Harry had a good excuse. Harry wasn't even thinking about how he was going to explain all of this to Gordon and Claire, but he would deal with them when the time came.

"Since when have you started following the rules, Harry?" Ron offered, clearly hurt by Harry's snub.

"Since when do I owe you ANYTHING? I promised I would be there for your wedding because of Hermione, but don't presume to think you know anything about me. You've made it abundantly clear you don't approve of my lifestyle, Ron. Just remember who it was who started this in the first place!" Ron was just going to have to wear the consequences. Harry didn't think he had done anything to start this disagreement in the first place. Indeed, he was beginning to see that perhaps he had been so blinded by their close friendship that he never realised just how others saw him. For the first time he could just see a little of what Draco found so bristling about Ron. No wonder Draco was so offended when Harry chose to befriend him all those years ago. It was a startling revelation, to say the least.

Harry was torn in frustration. "Look, I haven't got time to stand here and listen to your nonsense, Ron. As a _Gringotts Representative_, you'll have my report on your desk later." Harry turned and just walked away. He'd had just about enough of Ron, and he did hear some muttered profanity before the pop of Ron's Disapparition.

As he turned and sprinted up the driveway, he wondered at what he had just done. One minute he was accompanying Draco, the next, he was agreeing to act as an Auror again. Having Claire and Gordon ask him in their smarmy and smug way was not what Harry wanted, but seeing how Draco needed him, and witnessing first hand what was obviously a Neo Death Eater attack, he could see that he was still needed to help. But only to capture them. Beyond that, the Aurors were on their own.

He certainly wasn't dismissing the Neo Death Eaters, not by a long shot. Their recent raids were horrifyingly devastating, although unoriginal. Harry sensed they were targeting Draco for the Malfoy monies, but he couldn't dismiss that they might have a more sinister agenda. He strode purposefully towards the Manor. Ron questioned his motives for helping Draco, but for once, Harry knew he was doing the right thing, and absolutely nobody was manipulating or cajoling him.

* * *

The damage was worse than it looked, if that were at all possible. A few walls still stood, but the intense heat was still too much for them to sift through the rubble. Draco stood and stared in disbelief as his worst nightmares were realised. The dozens of layers of spells and protections that generations of Malfoys had laid over the place had given him a false sense of security. Of all the things in his life that were gone, he never expected the complete destruction of his childhood home to be one of them. Despite the fact he really never wanted to return to the place, now that it was nothing more than ash and rubble, he realised that he was never going to be able to walk though the halls again, nor look out of the top floor window over the plains. The pang of loss was palpable.

Gone were the antiques, and the tapestries, and the paintings – the list seemed endless. Draco's despair at the loss of the library was felt deeply, but in all of this, only one thought drove relentlessly through his mind – the potions lab. Had the dungeons escaped the carnage? With Balefire, it was impossible to tell, but he would have to wait just a little longer to find out.

As the sun slowly rose, Draco waited for the fog to clear, only to realise that it wasn't fog but smoke that surrounded him. He looked over to watch Harry, who had surprised him by taking complete charge of the situation. He was unaware that Harry had been asked to rejoin the Auror corps, but had a mild suspicion that he had only decided just now to do so. Too many years of watching Harry made him aware of the fact that his emotions played quite visibly on his face. The question about returning to the Aurors had taken Harry by surprise at first.

But Draco had not expected the warm look Harry directed at him before he dealt with the Weasel. Judging from the way Harry took charge and radiated power and presence, it was easy to see how he led a war. He exuded complete trust, which is exactly what Draco needed right now. That revelation startled Draco – that he was placing his trust in Harry, and after the shock of that wore off, his heart lightened more than anything. Harry was doing this to help him. The Manor could have been completely gutted and he realised that didn't quite seem so important any more. Knowing Harry was there would be the one thing that would help him cope with the devastating aftermath.

Draco had not been in the Manor when he opened it up to the Aurors after the war. He left the place open for them to defile every room and corridor, checking for dark artefacts that Lucius might have left behind, but now Harry was making sure that Constable Towler touched nothing without asking Draco's approval first. Harry's charismatic nature managed to temporarily placate Gaggy the distraught house elf. It was the little things like that which were helping Draco to cope in this situation. It was still too hot to walk through the ashes, but a damp mud was forming around his boots. He sat on a piece of fallen wall, surveying the extent of the damage. His boots dragged slowly through the heavy ash as he bent to pick up a large hunk of ... something. It was too hot and he tossed it into the pile of ash and rubble.

"Hey, are you all right?" Harry seemed worried for Draco.

"I thought I would have been a little more upset to see this destruction, Harry, but honestly, I'm not." Draco admitted candidly. He was in shock, but in truth, he wasn't that upset. He didn't doubt there were possessions he would miss, but the house itself...

Harry nodded. "I can only imagine it was grand." Harry didn't offer any false platitudes and passed no judgements, and for that, Draco was grateful. "Gaggy is beside herself with grief. Is there any point in keeping her here? What do you plan to do for her?"

Draco shrugged, "I have no idea. I doubt the Weasel will let me take her to Hogwarts," he offered with much sarcasm. Draco handed over a still warm lump of metal that he picked up – a crest and a handle still recognisable on what must have once been a goblet. He gestured to the whole house. "This house had generations of wards protecting it from simple things like common fire. All our heirlooms have been charmed to ward against such things as this. Why would they use Balefire? I thought they were after my money – this somehow defeats the purpose, don't you think?"

"You're right about that, but what I'm worried about is _who_ they managed to convince to actually cast the Balefire spell." Harry replied as he shook his head. "I certainly never expected to see it again. Don't most Wizards realise that unless you are highly powerful, the backdraft from Balefire will kill you? I doubt anyone but Dumbledore would be able to conjure it, and survive."

"Or you," Draco replied calmly.

"What?"

"You're powerful enough to conjure it. I'm not saying you did this – I know you didn't, but you shouldn't keep underestimating yourself, Harry. You would be capable of conjuring it and surviving." Harry's eyes were wide at Draco's words, but he nodded and said little else. He stood and pointed at a section of wall that was still standing. "But it most definitely was Balefire. Look at these black marks across the wall here – and here." Harry pointed. "The pattern is obvious. But I guess we will find our guilty party somewhere under the rubble."

"But the real question," Draco put his fingers into the nearest scorch marks, sniffing the residual burn marks, "is how they got in here in the first place. If they didn't come here to steal anything, then there is only one thing they could have been after. Me."

Harry seemed a little confused, "Why would they be after you?"

Draco just rolled his eyes, "Probably just a little retaliation for my role in the war." Harry nodded once he realised Draco was right.

Constable Towler finished his survey of the wreckage. Harry put forward the suggestion that the body of the culprit was most likely somewhere under all the rubble, but they agreed they should wait a couple of days before returning. The heat was still fairly intense, and they didn't want anything else to disturb any possible evidence. Harry and Draco agreed. Towler asked the obvious question that Draco had been waiting for. "D'you have any idea, Mr Malfoy, how someone could have entered the property. I understand this place was nearly as hard to get into as Azkaban is to get out of. Even that git from Gringotts said he was having trouble passing the wards."

The constable had moved up in Draco's estimation from the simple fact he called the Weasel a git. "Every generation did add its own protections – father, of course – decided to add his own special blend of wards that were less forgiving than most. You might think you've got through them, but you would find some unpleasant surprises along the way."

"Like poison darts, or severed digits, perhaps?" Harry offered in mock sarcasm.

"Ah, but you knew father as well as I did, I see." Draco's bitter smile held no joy.

"Is it possible that the wards just wore out?" Towler asked as he frowned in thought.

Draco thought about that for a moment, but shook his head. "I don't think that's possible – some of these wards have stood for hundreds of years. Balefire is unforgiving. But to answer your original question, no, I have no idea who entered the property and got through the wards. I certainly never told anyone how to get in. I haven't even been here in the past two years!" Draco was quite defensive.

"Would your father have told anyone?" Harry was just as mystified, but he offered a plausible suggestion.

Draco shrugged. "He certainly didn't want to tell me anything much in the time after I left school. I'm still not sure if he knew I wasn't totally committed to the Death Eaters, but then again I think it might have been the fact he had other prejudices." He didn't need to elaborate on that. Harry remembered enough from his conversations with Luc about Lucius' distaste for homosexuality.

"But you're suggesting that it's not impossible. Did any of his other close companions have access through the wards?" Harry quickly diverted the conversation, and Draco was glad that Harry could keep the focus of this investigation onto what was important – finding out who started the fire, rather than placing blame on someone who was the actual victim.

"Lucius confided in very few people, but nothing's impossible when it comes to that man, as I'm slowly discovering. But I thought I had set the protections to only allow access to blood relations. I can't really remember now. Perhaps I was only thinking about it." Draco seemed worried at that prospect.

"Did the house elf see anything?" Harry asked.

Towler shook his head. "No, the first any of them realised something was wrong, they smelled the smoke and came to investigate. Most of them apparently perished as they tried to put it out. Only Gaggy realised that she would also perish if she tried."

"What's the point in destroying this place? Were they covering up for a robbery or something?" Towler was thinking aloud, but Harry shook his head. Draco snorted as his attention was once again directed to the molten remains of what must have once been something Draco recognised.

Harry explained Draco's theory about being targeted because of his role as a spy during the war. Towner nodded his head in agreement. "I must admit, Malfoy, that I was surprised to hear you were back. That's actually the most logical explanation for all of this, you know." Draco was glad to see that the constable wasn't judging him, a small mercy at a time like this.

"It was only a matter of time. I really don't know why I didn't expect this sooner." Draco actually felt a great relief that they were finally showing their hand. Now all he had to do was stop them, then life could go on.

"But wouldn't that mean they should be going after Snape too," Harry looking a little concerned as he made the connection.

Draco nodded. "Don't worry, I've already thought of that. I doubt he's as lucrative a target as I am. After all, the Malfoy fortune is much larger and a lot more prominent than Severus'. When they finally realise they won't get another sickle from me, they'll turn their eye to him – if they dare."

Harry could see the strain was wearing at Draco. Things were not as bad as he first imagined, but knowing that someone was specifically targeting him was not pleasant – Harry could certainly vouch for that.

"Do you need to ask Draco any more questions?" Harry tried to wind up the investigation quickly. He was as tired as Draco, but he doubted he would get to sleep soon. The sun was completely up, but it was still struggling through the hazy smoke.

Constable Towler looked a little uncomfortable. He pulled out his notebook and Quick Quotes Quill. "I'm sorry to do this Malfoy, but we have to ask these questions." Draco wasn't happy, but knew that the inevitable questions would have to be asked. "I just need to ask you about your whereabouts last night, Malfoy. It's a standard question, unfortunately. You understand, don't you?"

Draco nodded wearily. "Yes, of course. I was at Hogwarts all day yesterday. I didn't leave the castle grounds."

"Was there anyone who could vouch for your whereabouts?"

"Er, I was brewing Wolfsbane most of the day – Remus Lupin can vouch for that. And I was dining with Harry all evening."

Constable Towler seemed surprised by that. He was obviously remembering the infamous animosity Harry once shared with Draco at school. "Is this correct, sir? You were with Malfoy _all_ evening?"

"That's correct. I was in his presence the entire time from approximately half seven until we were notified of the fire by Mr Weasley."

"Bloody long dinner, then." Harry only barely heard Towler's reply, but chose to ignore it. Draco did hear it, but his face was unreadable.

"Is there anything else you need, Constable?" It was an obvious dismissal, and Harry and Draco just stood, watching the ruin as the constable headed back to the gate to Disapparate.

* * *

Draco could not get out of there fast enough. He was in enough emotional turmoil that he barely knew up from down. The Neo Death Eaters were definitely targeting him, of that he was certain. What made him ill at ease was the sudden suspicion that his father was not yet finished with his legacy of nasty surprises. Why was it not surprising that Lucius might have betrayed family secrets to allow something like this to happen? It went against all that Draco had been led to believe, but it was the only explanation. How else could someone get into the Manor? Lucius must have kept an unknown back door that was unknown to Draco.

He was still too numb to fully absorb the shock of what he was seeing. Harry sensed that he needed a little time alone, and allowed Draco to wander aimlessly away from the smoking ruin. His feet trod the familiar paths of the Manor gardens. These were mercifully untouched – a small thing in light of the overall destruction.

Thoughts of Lucius consumed him. He should know by now that everything he knew about the man needed constant reassessment. Until Lucius went to Azkaban, Draco had rarely questioned his father's judgement. After a summer without the bastard, he began to question a great many things.

During the war, Draco had worried that his role as spy had been compromised when he was suddenly moved from Lucius' inner circle of influence. His father claimed he was satisfied with Draco's stellar performance in the ranks, and left him to work under the guardianship of Phillip Parkinson – a young Death Eater who had shown great promise and made his way up the ranks very quickly. It had irked Draco at the time that his own father made him report to Pansy's older brother, for it left him out of the loop on much of the important information. Of course, the assignment had a few ... benefits. Phillip had been a rather convenient lover who managed to sometimes say a little too much in his sleep.

Hindsight was a wonderful thing – something Draco wished he could have had much sooner. Should he have been more suspicious? Phillip didn't seem to act as if Draco were a spy, but he rarely saw his father in that last year of the war. It was entirely feasible that his dual role may have been discovered. Now he would never know the truth, with both Lucius and Phillip dead – the latter at the end of his own wand, right after he was struck by the Aboleo Adesum; a parting gift from an early lover. Draco sneered.

Floundering in bad memories wasn't helping, but being at the Manor, he could hardly stop himself. It was entirely possible that Lucius had confided his secrets in someone else. It would explain how someone could have entered the estate to murder his mother.

Thoughts of Narcissa subconsciously led him to the rose garden – his mother's favourite place. The smell of the blooming buds temporarily masked the overwhelming tinge of smoke. It had seemed too long since he had thought about her, and he felt guilty for having almost forgotten her.

As he sat on the bench at the edge of the garden, his mind was caught up in a myriad of memories. Wherever he looked, he could see Narcissa kneeling and tending to her favourite garden beds, a smile ever-present on her face as she lovingly coaxed the buds to bloom and the thorns to abate. Draco never knew if it was by magic or just her own tender loving care, but looking at the roses now, he noticed that they didn't quite bloom as robustly as they once did. Either they knew their beloved mistress was gone, or Narcissa had truly made them bloom with her own magic. Perhaps it was the deep layer of sooty ash that prevented them from fully blossoming.

As a child, the Manor held no end of surprises for an enterprising young wizard with a penchant for getting into everything. Trying to get around every ward and protective spell had been half the fun of growing up. Even when he discovered such treasures as those Lucius kept in the secret rooms below his study, it had been fun. Leaving home for Hogwarts had been hard, but as he grew, he realised that the one thing he missed the most about home was not the house, nor the thousands of possessions within it that supposedly kept him occupied. Instead, it was his mother's presence. The scent of her perfume usually lingered in a room long after she had left it, and now, only here in the gardens could he feel some sense that she once existed.

Only now did he truly admit to himself that he could no longer stand to be in the Manor. A small part of him was slightly relieved the entire building had burned to the ground. Did that make him as cold hearted as his father? It was a small relief to know that he would never have to avoid stepping into his mother's bedchamber – the scene of her murder.

He unconsciously gripped the rosebud hard enough for the thorns to puncture his skin and allow the blood to drip freely. He could hear someone heading down the gravel path, and knew without looking that it was Harry. He was keeping a respectful distance, and for that, Draco was ever so grateful.

* * *

Harry stood at the head of a beautiful rose garden, the gravel under his feet unable to silence his approach. He saw the sad, yet somewhat serene reflection on Draco's face and halted. He truly was an incredibly handsome man, and Harry felt guilty for pausing at such a breathtaking sight. He really didn't want to intrude and spoil the moment. The gardens of Malfoy Manor were beyond magnificent and had escaped the wrath of the Balefire. Harry could only imagine growing up in such a wonderland. Although the Manor itself was close to the gate, the Malfoy lands fell away and covered many of the surrounding acres, reaching down to the edges of the forest far below.

The early morning birds twittered away in the nearby trees, as Draco turned to acknowledge Harry. He moved over and offered a seat beside him on the bench. Harry sat quietly, not wanting to break the peace. "You know, I saw these gardens in a magazine once and thought they were absolutely stunning. I can see why you always bragged about coming home for the school holidays." He pointed over at the giant hedges of the maze. "I bet you had fun flying through that."

A small smile crossed Draco's face. "Yes, it was rather fun. No matter how often I would fly over and through it on my broom, it was originally charmed to constantly change. The hedges always jump out and change location."

"Still, at least it isn't infested with sphinxes - or acromantulas." Harry didn't particularly have a fondness for mazes, shuddering at unforgettable memories.

"Don't be so sure, Harry." Draco ran his fingers over the petals of a new rose he had plucked from the bush. Harry noticed the fresh blood stains on his cuffs and saw that he wasn't really paying any attention to the thorns as they tore into the palm of his hand. He was undoubtedly in shock and was quite happy to chat about insignificant things to avoid thinking about the ruined Manor. "Lucius once or twice thought it was rather sporting to leave me alone in there with all manner of things wild and untamed."

"He never!" Harry thought his own neglect at the hands of the Dursleys was abominable. He thanked Merlin that he never had to put up with Lucius Malfoy's sadistic form of discipline. Household chores seemed like light relief in comparison. There was so much more to learn about Draco, and Harry realised he knew so very little about him.

Draco just nodded, but said nothing more as he continued to fondle the flower. Harry could resist no longer, and grabbed Draco's hand, carefully running his fingers over the encrusted blood. Draco didn't flinch, but seemed surprised to see the thorn embedded there. With careful precision, Harry removed it before touching the tip of his wand to the cut. Draco smiled, but didn't want to release Harry's hand as their fingers briefly entwined. Harry smiled at the reassuring gesture.

"Nobody thinks you had anything to do with this," Harry tried to help Draco forget his concerns.

Draco didn't want to think about it any more, but nodded. He changed the subject. "I didn't know you were planning on heading back to the Aurors, Harry," Draco replied conversationally. He didn't want to think that Harry might be leaving Hogwarts, but the thought crossed his mind.

"Actually, neither did I, to be honest," Harry admitted. "But they've been trying to get me back for a couple of weeks. I told them to sod off. I'm happy at Hogwarts and my _future_ is there." He pointedly looked at Draco as he spoke, unsure if the true meaning of his words would be understood.

"So what changed your mind?" Draco was curious.

Harry didn't have to think to answer. "I don't really know. Perhaps I might just be able to put the hype that surrounds me to some good use, like helping a friend. Maybe it's about time I put 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' to work for my own nefarious reasons. Besides, I want to see these Neo Death Eaters neutralised as soon as possible. Somehow I don't think they're going to be able to get them without some help from me. "

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Nefarious? You?" he snorted mirthfully, but he didn't miss the reference to the fact that Harry considered him a friend. The happy moment was quickly lost as a loud crash of falling debris broke the stillness. They both turned around to see a large part of the roof had fallen in on the eastern wing. Draco reacted by turning back at the roses and losing himself in memories. "You know, this was probably the only place in this whole mausoleum that mother actually loved. She loathed the dank and dark places that she grew up in."

"I can only begin to imagine. If they were anything like Grimmauld Place, then I certainly would have had no joy growing up there."

Draco snorted, "You know, she thought that Lucius was going to take her away from all that. She wasn't stupid, but he tricked her into thinking that things were all going to be wine and roses as the mistress of Malfoy Manor. I think it was this rose garden of Grand-mere's that actually made her decide to marry him. When she couldn't curse him for being such a bastard, she would come down here and pour all her curses into the thorns of these bushes. Healthiest crop of flowers in the entire country." Draco could see Harry looking at him strangely.

"Sorry, you didn't need to know all that about my mother. I guess just being here is making me feel rather maudlin. I guess it surprises you that my parents weren't in the happiest of marriages."

Harry was indeed looking at Draco strangely. He was seeing Luc in a completely natural state. He remembered Luc's heartfelt words about his mother, and Harry had truly felt for her after reading of her horrid life. To know that this woman was Narcissa Malfoy only hit home at that moment. Suddenly the woman with her nose in the air as she accompanied her family to the Quidditch World Cup had more than just a face. Now things were becoming even clearer, for Harry knew that to be the source of Draco's penchant for hiding his true self behind a façade. After all, his mother had done that for most of her married life. It was a poignant moment, and Harry nearly blurted out the truth that he already knew – that he was Flash.

He stopped himself just as he realised it probably was the worst time he could say something like that. It would have to wait – but not for too much longer. A wave of guilt quickly passed through him, and he clasped his other hand around Draco's to show his understanding. "There's nothing here for me in this place, Harry. I loathe it." Draco swallowed visibly. "She never got the chance to escape, and by the time she had finally made the decision to leave, someone gave her a one way ticket out." Harry noted the moistness gathering at the corner of Draco's eyes and he completely understood his pain, even if he couldn't say that right now.

What did these Neo Death Eaters want with him? Wasn't it enough they had taken away so much already? What were they playing at by releasing something like Balefire to destroy Malfoy Manor? It was startling to think that between them, Voldemort and his henchmen had taken away so much of their lives. Harry vowed to ensure that they would both live their lives to the fullest to make up for such painful memories.

Draco must have been reading Harry's mind. "What do they _want_? Haven't they taken enough? Is this my payment for following my conscience?" He looked at Harry in earnest. "Do you think it was foolish of me to think that I would be safe after the war?"

Harry thought for a moment before answering. "I certainly don't think it would be terribly healthy to spend the rest of your life worrying if there were rogue Death Eaters around every corner, but no, I don't think it is foolish to _hope _that we will never need to fight evil again. Even when we get rid of the rest of these Neo Death Eaters, I'm not going to be foolish enough to think that someone else won't want to one day style himself as a Dark Lord. What I do hope is that everyone will remember just what Voldemort did, so that we can be grateful for what we fought so hard to have now."

Harry could sense the self-doubt that was welling inside Draco. He had seen Luc talk about it on several occasions, and this seemed to be another one of them. The combination of shock, along with the open expression of feelings from the night before was astounding. Draco had no reason to feel that way, and Harry needed to snap him out of that apathy.

"You know, they haven't taken away your pride, nor your courage. You just said you hate this place, and apart from these gardens, I think I would have to agree with you. You can't let them beat you." Harry was looking directly into Draco's steely gaze. He had not been so honest and forthright in quite a while, but he meant every word he said. "You don't deserve to be targeted by this scum. You worked harder than almost anybody during the war. If it weren't for you and Snape, who knows how many of us would be dead. I don't think I ever properly thanked you, Draco." Draco closed his eyes as Harry's words struck his heart. Ever so lightly, Harry raised Draco's chin to force him to look up again, but instead of a stern gaze, he kissed Draco ever so softly.

It was a kiss of encouragement - a kiss full of the promise of things to come. All Draco knew was that in that moment, he would believe anything Harry told him. Draco responded and returned the kiss, but unlike their fervent passion from the night before, they kept it fairly chaste. Draco was somewhat reassured that despite everything, there was still the possibility of a different future with Harry, and it felt so right. He reluctantly broke away from the kiss to find that Harry was smiling gently, yet without pity.

"You never did say where your grandfather's lab was situated. Was it in the dungeons?"

Draco knew he had to face the one thing he had been eagerly waiting on for so long. Turning to look back at the charred shell of the Manor, he nodded slowly, but snorted at the irony. "Oh it was definitely well protected in the dungeons. They had more protections than the rest of the Manor put together. Undoubtedly the Balefire would have destroyed everything within seconds."

Harry squeezed Draco's hand in understanding. It was still too hot to go searching around to find out if the dungeons survived the fire, but if they were as magically protected as Draco said, then there would be little hope that they would have remained undamaged. Again the sheer force of such dark and dangerous magic astounded Harry.

"I think you'll have to wait a while before you could look. I wouldn't want to risk any magic on clearing the ash or cooling it down."

Draco nodded. "Yes, it's probably wise." Draco stifled a small yawn, realising for the first time that he had not slept.

"I don't think there's much more that anyone can do here, at least not for a while, Draco." Harry glanced back over his shoulder and looked at the hulking ruin of the Manor. His own yawn quickly followed Draco's, but he doubted he would get the luxury of sleep.

Harry knew he was going to have to front up to Gordon and Claire and explain his actions, but that could wait until later in the day. He could not explain his sudden change of heart, other than knowing it was the only way to help Draco. They would only have themselves to blame. Hermione's voice echoed around in his head, and he reluctantly admitted that he definitely must have a saving people thing if he was now making such rash decisions about his life – all to help his soul mate.

Thoughts of Hermione suddenly turned to thoughts of Ron, but he wouldn't darken his mood by entertaining them yet. He was genuinely concerned about him, and he knew that he was going to have to get to the bottom of their differences, but not right now. There was definitely something not quite right there, but he could not place a finger on it. All he could see was that Ron had suddenly transformed into a bigoted and obnoxious twat that bore more of a resemblance to his brother Percy than to the person he had, until recently, considered as his closest friend.

Draco took a few steps back toward the house, and it was only then that Harry realised Draco was without his cane. Come to think of it, he didn't have it with him when he came to dinner. In their rush to leave the castle, Draco had obviously forgotten it, and Harry spotted a slight grimace of uncomfortable pain as he started to walk. Harry realised now the extent to which Draco relied on his cane, yet he would try not to let it show, no matter how much it hurt. Harry only hoped now that there never were any Pegasus Wingtips at the Manor, for it would only have made things all the more bittersweet.

* * *

After returning to the castle, Draco paused before entering his room. "Harry... I..." He was momentarily at a loss for words. He never once asked for Harry's help, yet it was offered unconditionally. He seemed to have taken charge of the evening's mess, and for that, Draco was truly grateful. Harry paused and turned, his face showing his own weariness, but he seemed completely open. "I... Thank you. You didn't have to come and help, but I am glad you did." Draco gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek and a tired smile before turning in. He left Harry standing there, and he was torn between letting him do his own thing, and asking him to come in and share his bed – to sleep. The thought of curling up next to Harry was just too tempting, but knew it wasn't appropriate right then.

Draco lay on his bed, his body thoroughly exhausted but his mind racing at a gallop. So much had happened in such a short time, he barely had time to process it all. He was tired beyond belief and his emotions were ragged. The Manor was gone, and there was not a damn thing he could do to bring it all back. There was no point in sulking about it.

But did he really want it all back? Or was he just being selfish? He loathed the Manor with a fierce passion and would have spent the rest of his life avoiding it as much as he could, yet now that that it was gone, he had trouble remembering exactly what he would miss. The only loss he truly regretted was that of his Grand-père's lab. His mind had been so focussed on getting into it, that now it was the only thing he could think of missing.

As he tried to forget it all, he began to run through everything that was now lost. It didn't matter if he would regret the loss or not, the mental inventory seemed never-ending as it churned through his head. Just when he thought he reached the end of the list, he remembered something else that was now gone forever. Antiques, Art, paintings, furniture and ancient Black family heirlooms were naught but ash and molten metal. The loss of the library was a pang that hurt deeply, but Draco became so wrought up in his thoughts, he eventually resorted to drinking a mild sleeping potion.

His thoughts turned to happier things as the potion worked through his system, and he didn't know how he could truly thank Harry for all that he had done that day. Draco was beginning to see how the former Gryffindor's helpful nature had nothing to do with self-promotion or trying to further his own cause. It had been totally selfless on Harry's part, and it showed that Draco was right in correcting his misconceptions about the man.

At the thought of preconceived ideas, his thoughts turned to Flash. The potion was making him feel rather charitable as he slowly drifted off to sleep, and he thought he should probably tell Flash just how good things seemed to be progressing with Harry. He fell asleep with a peaceful smile on his face – the thought that it was very likely that something more was about to happen with Harry providing a good omen that helped him drift off.

* * *

Harry didn't have the luxury of sleeping the morning away. He was tempted not to let Draco out of his sight for the day, and hesitated after Draco thanked him and gave him a chaste kiss. Harry smiled, and nearly asked if he wanted to rest in Harry's rooms. It was a long shot, and he didn't want to push things too far. Draco seemed only too keen to get some rest, and he promised he would do so. Remus had been looking for the both of them that morning and he took a late breakfast with the Werewolf, and the Headmaster, telling them all about the evening's tragic events.

Dumbledore was quite concerned about the sudden re-emergence of Balefire. He shook his head in disbelief at the notion.

"Such dark power is an abomination, and I cannot believe that any wizard would think that it is to be condoned. Either the person who did this was unaware of the horrifying consequences of using it during the war, or they did so by complete accident."

"I had hoped that nobody would be stupid enough to conjure it," Remus added, nodding in agreement.

"I wonder exactly what their point is – what are they trying to prove by doing this now? Why choose Draco as a target?" Harry was thinking aloud, but the Headmaster didn't fail to notice Harry's concern for the Potions apprentice. He smiled discreetly behind his beard. Remus shared the thought with a look and a slight nod. "If they are after him for being a spy, then why aren't they after Snape?"

The headmaster put down his teacup carefully and seemed suddenly concerned. "Has anyone heard from Severus?"

Remus shook his head and Harry shrugged, remembering that Luc had mentioned his concern for Severus in one of their journal conversations. He gave Remus a knowing glance before speaking, "Draco mentioned that he may have run into a couple of Neo Death Eaters over his holidays. His biggest concern is that Snape hasn't told him where he is, or what he is actually doing that might make him run into such people. I don't think he knows any more. You could ask him if you like, but I left him to get some rest. It was a long night. I suggested we go back to the Manor and sort through the rubble when it has cooled down, and there is no risk of the Balefire consuming any more magic. I'm certain we'll find the body of our culprit when we do."

Dumbledore agreed. "A wise idea, Harry. I'm certainly mystified as to why Severus chose now to go on an extended holiday." He looked a little frustrated at his Potion master's secrecy about his whereabouts. "Even if these Neo Death Eaters are targeting them for their work as spies, I think Draco's profile is a lot more public. The destruction of Malfoy Manor will not go unreported."

Harry was trying hard not to yawn, but he had plenty more to do before he could even consider having a sleep. "Yes, and I have a few Floo calls to make to some people. I have some explaining to do." Harry wasn't looking forward to that.

The headmaster just stared at him over the top of his glasses, seemingly in approval. "You know, I think it is wise that you have chosen to selectively return to your former position within the Ministry, Harry." Harry was surprised by that statement. He thought Dumbledore might not approve of his rash decision. "I am sure you can handle your old bosses. Don't concern yourself about your duties here at the school. I would only hope that we don't have to let this threat linger for too long, for if we let these Neo Death Eaters gain momentum, they will be much harder to dispel."

* * *

Harry had guessed correctly. The Floo had been burning high from the moment he returned to his rooms, until late in the afternoon. He barely remembered eating, but he recalled that Dobby shoved a few sandwiches under his nose. Buoyed by Dumbledore's confidence, he told Claire the whole story, and stated his own terms for returning to the job. Complete independence, answering only to Minister Bones and Dumbledore, and the authority to reorganise the Order of the Phoenix, if so required.

Claire seemed reluctant at first, but for once Harry refused to give in, stating specifically what he wanted, rather than making humble requests. He was sick and tired of bureaucracy ruining things and creating a protracted mess. Harry was going to find these annoying insurgents, and use everything and everyone he could put his hands on to stop them before they could do any further damage. If it meant treading on toes at the Ministry, then Harry was beyond caring.

Claire seemed quite intimidated by Harry's assertiveness, and Gordon was equally cowed an hour later as Harry repeated the call. By the middle of the afternoon, he discovered that issuing demands whilst clearly showing he was in charge was a much easier way to get them to agree than his bout of temper a few weeks earlier.

Alas, he could run things the way he wanted, but he could not avoid the inevitable paperwork. The lengthy and dull reports were his least favourite thing, and he tried hard to get it out of the way. He was hoping Draco would wake up and they could share an evening meal. He could only begin to imagine how Draco was feeling, but he would be there if he was needed.

Harry was fuelled to put all his effort into this. He couldn't bear to think of the losses that his soul mate now faced after being victimised by the Neo Death Eaters for so long. Harry wasn't sure if Draco was upset or angry, or just in shock, but he knew for a fact that the possible loss of the potions lab would be eating away at him. Goodness knows he suffered enough with the curse that limited his mobility. To lose out on the hope that he might have been able to lay his hands on the last necessary ingredient was almost too painful to think about, and Harry could only place the blame on Ron.

Ron. Harry honestly didn't know what to think. His anger was still raw at the thought of him. What right did he have to accuse Draco? Was he just being his usual stubborn self? Was it brought about by what he saw when he interrupted Harry and Draco? Was it something else? Harry really didn't care at that point, but he knew that it wasn't healthy to let things fester between them for too long. He toyed with the idea of mentioning his involvement as he did up his Auror report, but the only logical explanation for Ron's behaviour was spite, forced from years of hatred and rivalry. Ron found himself to have the upper hand in this situation, and he wasn't going to let it go too easily.

No sooner had he finished his last call, when Hermione's head popped into the fireplace. Her face was blank and unreadable – a sure sign that she was upset. "I thought you might want to talk about it, Harry." She offered calmly. He knew it was just the calm before another of her lectures.

A lecture from Hermione was the last thing he needed, or wanted right now. He had done nothing wrong in helping Draco, and his friends needed to realise that. If Ron was upset or feeling displaced about this new relationship, then he was the one who was going to have to deal with it. Harry wasn't stupid enough to think that Ron and Draco would become bosom buddies overnight, but he didn't want to find himself in a position of having to choose between them. If it came to that, he already knew the answer, and he wasn't ready to lose Hermione or Ron's company forever. If he weren't so angry at Ron right now, he might have told Hermione all his feelings, but he was too numb. In a bout of petulant selfishness, he told Hermione he was too busy to talk to her.

Hermione seemed a little put out, but she nodded, not really understanding, but willing to let Harry calm down. They all knew the extent of his temper when it flared. "All right, Harry. But please don't leave things for too long. He's upset too. I've never seen him quite this angry before, Harry, and I know that you can sort this out. You've done it before, and I know you'll do it again.

Their awkward conversation ended quickly, but Harry didn't feel any guilt for being so brusque. He was focussed on one thing only, and that was helping Draco. He loathed writing reports, and it was a tedious task filling out the necessary forms. So tedious, in fact, that he drifted off to sleep. It seemed much later when he awoke, as the shadows falling across the room were much darker. Checking his watch, he saw that he had managed a couple of hours of sleep.

Far from feeling refreshed, his sleep was dreamless, yet he felt unsettled. His scar twinged and he frowned as he realised the source of his uneasy feeling. In his haste, he had missed his exercises and his early morning T'ai Chi. Combined with so little sleep, he realised he was picking up some dark magic activity. The Neo Death Eaters were busy.

Harry's immediate concern was for Draco, and he leapt out of the chair to go and check on him. He would have preferred a full sleep, but his concerns for Draco were more important. The idea of lying down and sleeping next to Draco was more tempting than ever, but more than that, Harry simply needed to know if Draco was okay.

A quick shower gave Harry a second wind. He stood at Draco's door, but halted just as his hand was poised to knock. _Let him sleep, he'll come to you if he needs you – don't push it._ In the end he sent Dobby in to check, and learned that Draco was sleeping peacefully, but the house elf did confirm that he had probably taken a sleeping potion, for he seemed to be sleeping soundly.

Harry was glad when Dobby reassured him it wasn't anything more potent than a mild sleeping potion. Harry was at a bit of a loose end now that he was on his own. He really wasn't up for any company, not Charlie or Remus, at least, and it was too late to head down to Hogsmeade.

He attempted a good number of exercises to centre himself, but realised the futility of them all. He wanted to be with Draco, and not having any answers to help his soul mate was frustrating beyond belief. Harry would have researched Balefire, if he didn't already know all there was to know about the darkest of elemental magics. What he really needed to do was return to the Manor and sift through the rubble in the hope of finding any clues as to who might have set it off. If he were lucky, he would find the remains of the wizard who cast it lying dead amongst the rubble. He only hoped they hadn't been vaporised in the process.

Petite Amie leapt in through the window with an almighty yowl of displeasure. She was quite verbose in her trip around Harry's kitchen in search of some dinner. Realising Draco was in no position to feed her, he gave her some leftover chicken from their meal the night before, and the cat relished it for the fine food that it was.

"Surely you would have preferred a nice, juicy rat to that?" Harry muttered to the cat. She gave him a glare that was so reminiscent of her owner's own affronted stare that he knew she was too spoiled to ever want for a gourmet meal. Satisfied with her reward for disrupting his evening, Petite Amie leapt into his lap as he tried to finish the remaining sections of his report for Claire. Her constant purring was not helping him to focus on his task, and very soon he sat back and was ready to sleep.

As he opened the drawer to put away his quills, his eyes fell on the journal. He doubted Draco would have read his last frantic apology – not after the last hectic day – but he pulled it out and felt the positive and loving magic surrounding it. Now that he knew the true purpose of this journal, he could sense the magic as it drew him in.

The quill was in his hand, and he was adding to his earlier words of apology.

_**July 14**_ _**Dearest Luc,**_ _**I don't know if you've read my last entry, but a few things have happened and I need to sort them out. I'm not asking you to help, but I know that writing them down will help me to make sense of them. I guess it's the Muggle upbringing. One wizard I work with suggested that I put things into a Pensieve, but I really don't like those things – too many bad memories, no pun intended.**_ _**I meant what I said to you earlier, Luc. I am sorry for being a bit of a self indulgent prat and ignoring you. Things have been happening at a frightening pace here – not that I'm complaining, but I've done my best to help one friend today. I don't know if you'll ever see this, but I guess I'm trying to make amends here. **_ _**Do you ever find that when one door opens, another one is closing behind you? That's how I'm feeling today. I might be losing a very long and important friendship, and I'm torn about it, even if he's being a complete arse about the situation at hand. I found out recently that my oldest friend hasn't really been totally honest with me. After all these years I discover that he really is uncomfortable about the fact that I'm gay, and that hurts, because he's told me many times that it never bothered him. Why would he do that? I'm beginning to think that he's either hiding something, or there's someone else influencing him. **_ _**Have you ever had a problem like that?**_ _**Why am I sitting here eagerly awaiting you to answer? I really do miss you, Luc. You would know exactly what needs to be done to get him to see sense, but then again, I don't want to lose what is developing with my colleague.**_

Harry sat back and surveyed his words. He could not believe that the journal pulled out all his concerns about Ron. He had no idea of what Draco would do when he found out, but the guilt of not telling Draco sooner was starting to eat away at him. He remembered Emmaline's and Remus' warnings about telling Draco the truth before he was ready to hear it, but he knew it would not be pleasant when he did find out. That knowledge was eating away at him, and he knew exactly how Draco felt when he had trouble apologising to him.

It was a pleasant surprise to see a drop of green ink hit the page and Draco's words started to flow onto the page.

* * *

Draco woke to the soft purring of Petite Amie as she chose his chest as her preferred pillow. It was relaxing, and Draco would have rolled over and gone back to sleep had a sliver of his conscious mind not reminded him that he needed to eat. As he became more aware of his hunger, he remembered a number of other less happy thoughts.

The sleep-easy potion always left Draco feeling a little hazy, yet comfortable. He yawned deeply and Petite Amie yowled her displeasure at the fact her pillow was getting out of bed, digging her claws in to keep from falling. Draco picked her up and placed her back on his own pillow, but she didn't think that was good enough. She glared at him with one eye open. The moment Draco stood, his knee protested, and he remembered the evening in vivid clarity. He lazily flicked his wand in the direction of the kitchen, a pot of coffee starting to brew. He downed the first painkilling potion he could lay his hands on from his supply cupboard, and immediately began to feel some relief.

He was doing his best not to think, as he prepared his coffee. He noticed the tray, covered by a warming charm. The soup was filling and the bread quite fresh as he concentrated on the mundane things for a while. He didn't want to think on anything else as he forced himself to chew and swallow.

Petite Amie, wide awake now, decided she needed dinner also, so Draco lifted the preservation charms on some juicy lamb he had put aside for her. She was most grateful for the meal. She had no intention of telling Draco she had already eaten with Harry. She was not about to pass up a second free meal. Melchett's doleful hooting interrupted him, and he noticed the owl was sitting regally on top of his desk with his mail. Draco brought his coffee over to read the letters, hoping nothing else would bring him bad news. There was only one letter, and Draco frowned as he picked it up. It was his own letter to Severus – returned unopened. "Did you have trouble finding him, Melchett?" Draco asked the owl. He seemingly understood and hooted a distressed reply. He didn't like being unsuccessful in delivering his mail. It worried Draco more than it should. Particularly after the events of the morning.

He handed Melchett some treats before asking him to try delivering the letter again. He was only too happy to try and make his delivery. Draco was still concerned, but Severus did say that he was going to be rather difficult to get in touch with. He would worry about it if the letter came back again.

As he watched Melchett head off in the distance, he noted a familiar ruffle of pages, and turned to find the journal opening up at his elbow. Flash was there. His earlier anger at being snubbed was practically forgotten, and Draco eagerly began to read. He felt awful for having sounded so rude the night before, but Flash gave a plausible apology. It seemed he was a little harsh to judge Flash so quickly.

His quill was in his hand before he knew it, and the words were flowing on to the page. He had so much to tell Flash.

_I am the one who should be apologising, Flash. The journal flew open just now, and I've only just read your words from last night. I am sorry I was so harsh, but as you know, I manage to turn everything into a worst-case scenario. For a couple of weeks I imagined that you were ignoring me because of my past, but I can now see that I was overreacting, and for that I apologise. It is so good to talk to you though. I've had a hellish couple of days, and now I just want to forget about almost all of it._ _**I am relieved you haven't left forever, Luc. I promise I will be a little more forthcoming and tell you exactly what is going on when I can't write. I haven't judged you on past deeds; indeed, you should be praised for the work you have done.**_

Harry was about to agree with Draco's statement that his day had been hellish, but he realised that would lead to questions that would reveal too much. He couldn't bring himself to admit his identity. Remus' voice was ringing in his head. Draco had enough turmoil in his day – he didn't need this to ruin it further.

_**Sorry to hear that your days have been hellish. I hope things are improving now. I can't say that things have been hellish here, but I've had some recent eye opening experiences, but I don't regret anything I've said or done in these past days. I was really just writing to try and sort out my confusion. Have you ever had any homophobic friends? What would you say to them if you did?**_ _I'm guessing your friend is a pure-blood wizard?_ _**What makes you say that?**_ _I guess most of my friends have been quite liberal in their thinking. I know the pure-bloods in my family would not have been that impressed – I guess it is why I thought of myself as bisexual for the longest time. It doesn't sound 'so bad' when you couch it like that. The family will then at least know you might marry and raise many more pure-blooded children that way. Many pure-bloods have a real aversion to homosexuality. I'm not saying that they are all exclusively heterosexual – I'm proof enough of that, but most prejudices lie with the old blood. I'm trying not to sound elitist when I say that, but it is a fact. I'm not saying that it doesn't exist either – people can't help being the way they are, so many pure-blood wizards have hidden it, or made hasty marriage decisions to appease their families._ _**I never thought of it like that. I realise that to many pure-bloods of the old order, the continuation of the pure-blood lines was most important, so I can see why it would be quite a shock. My friend has a couple of gay brothers, and his eldest brother is quite vocal in his opposition to same sex relationships. You would think he would be more concerned about his little sister sleeping with nearly every wizard in Europe. **_ _I think I would be more concerned about that too. Pure-bloods can be quite stubborn when it comes to their beliefs, Flash. It was quite a shock when I realised that I didn't want to be a Death Eater like my father. It was always assumed that I would follow in my father's footsteps. It took 16 years to train me up to believe they were all doing the right thing, but for me to think that through and do what I did, went against everything I was led to believe in. _ _**Well whatever you did, know that if you followed your conscience, then it was the right thing to do. I've just learned recently that following my heart might take me to the most curious places, but now that I look back, I am glad for the journey. I've made plenty of mistakes along the way, and recent decisions have started to show promise.**_ _Sounds like you are progressing well, then. Congratulations._ _I'm a little too frightened to say anything about Mr Grungy Jeans._ _**Why is that?**_ _Oh, I guess I'm just feeling a little down. Things seem to be going so well. Too well, in fact. I know that whenever something this good happens to me, something horrid always happens, and I end up in more pain. We haven't exactly talked about it yet – or taken it terribly far – we were interrupted on the couch just as things were warming up._ _**And you'll be only satisfied if they 'warm up'? Aren't you looking for them to start sizzling?**_ _I am too emotionally drained right now to hope for anything more. My family home was attacked by Neo Death Eaters last night, and I am still trying to come to terms with it. _

Harry paused, unsure if he would give himself away, but he needed to show suitable shock. This journal really was a curse now, and he wanted to tell Draco everything so he could get over this self-consciousness of every word he wrote.

_**Merlin! Are you all right? Is anyone hurt? What happened?**_ _To be honest, I'm really not sure what happened, but I have no doubt that I've been targeted by the Neo Death Eaters because of my former job during the war. I thought they might have forgotten about me, but it seems they have long memories, and now they are seeking to hurt me indirectly. I've been up all night, and I only just woke up from a potion-induced sleep. I'm not sure exactly how I feel at the moment. I'm not upset about the house, which might sound horribly callous of me, but I just can't stop thinking about him. There is one thing I do know for sure._ _**What's that?**_ _I know that the man I'm falling in love with is entirely selfless. I used to think he was trying to be a show off, but he managed to take charge of this situation and I don't know how to thank him. I don't know what I would have done if he wasn't there. _ _**Friends usually band together in a crisis, Luc. I'm sure he was only doing what he thought was right.**_ _I guess I'm just not used to people helping me, Flash. In spite of all the things that I've lost, I keep returning back to the thought that he did all of this to help me. People haven't exactly gone out of their way to do that in the past. I'm not sure how to react to that sort of help now. _ _**If he's truly doing this to help you, he'll get satisfaction from knowing that he's done everything he can. I'm sure he's not expecting you to give him anything in return. **_ _It feels strange knowing that people care about you in that way. I know I am probably still in shock, but I'm trying to avoid thinking too hard about what I've lost. You mentioned earlier that the past was in the past. I'm beginning to think that my family home burning down is a sign that the past is now over. Perhaps it's just the potion talking instead – I don't know. These potions certainly mess with one's head at times. I know I really shouldn't have, but I took a painkiller on top of the sleeping potion, and I'm still a bit... giddy, so you'll excuse me for dismissing the serious issues for now. _ _**And what about your mentor? He seems to have done a lot to help you – that's showing friendship.**_ _Actually my mentor is on holidays, but I'm a little concerned. I sent him a letter, and my owl just returned with it unopened. I've sent the owl off again – but I'll worry if it comes back again. He did want to be alone (there's a funny story as to why he's 'run away', but I'll tell you about that later)._ _**Are you sure you should be taking any painkillers? You know what happened to you a few months ago. Is it safe to take it with a sleeping draught?**_ _Don't worry, they were both mild. I really should sleep more, but I needed to stop thinking for a while. But do you know, I've just realised that I'm not as upset as I should be. Am I a bad person?_ _**You should take up some form of meditation. It works wonders for clearing the mind before you rest. No, you're not a bad person. After what you told me about your father, then it might be something of a relief for your childhood home to be gone. I know you'll have lost some precious things that are probably irreplaceable, but that just gives you a chance to start collecting things that you like.**_ _I should. You're right. Your suggestions are usually right. Everything that I experience in life teaches me something more about myself, and the things that I have learned just from talking to you are so incredibly profound. I don't think a year ago that I was really the same man I am now. So, when are we meeting?_

Harry was jolted for a moment by Draco's question. By his own admission he was feeling a little high from some mild potions, but was it the potions or Draco talking? He still wanted to go ahead with their meeting?

_You did say in your last entry that you didn't want to cancel our meeting, Flash. I think it is a perfect opportunity to thank you for everything. I like to know who my friends are, and as you are one of them, then we should definitely meet. I apologise again for my petulant entry from last night, and I need to make it up to you. I had a crazy thought, and tell me if you agree._ _**Tell me what you're thinking.**_ _You know, Lammas is coming up on August 1, and it is a time when we should reflect on how our lives cycle and entwine with our choices and our experiences. _ _I was always taught to appreciate my actions and deeds, all that I've experienced and gained and lost at that time of year. You've helped me through a couple of very difficult choices, and that's making me into the man that I had always hoped to be. I can see that now._ _**So what are you saying, Luc? I agree that I could say exactly the same about you. I wouldn't be the man I am without you to help me through some tough decisions. I never really thought of Lammas in that way, but as you know, I'm new to most of this, and I've only really been celebrating the greater Sabbats.**_ _I know we were going to try and meet up sooner, but I think somehow that it would be fitting to meet on a Sabbat – even if it isn't one of the greater Sabbats. That gives us a couple of weeks._

Harry was tired of skirting around the truth. Confessing things to Draco would be much easier the sooner he did it. But would Draco be ready to hear the truth then? That was the burning question. The idea of revealing his identity on such a poignant Sabbat was not lost on Harry, and he knew that the timing would be just right.

_**You know, that's a really good idea.**_ _Excellent! I really want to thank you, Flash, for being my friend. If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't realise just how wonderful this man is, and I'm beginning to think that I don't want to let him go. But a part of me thinks that he is a little too good to be true, and I don't deserve him._ _**That's just the potions talking now, Luc. You deserve all the happiness you can get. You wouldn't dare let these Neo Death Eaters get the better of you – why would you doubt your right to happiness?**_ _You're right, as usual. I was planning on spending the Sabbat at the Callanish Standing Stones on the Isle of Lewis in the Western Isles. I know it's fairly remote, but it's the most wonderfully magical place. My mother used to take me there for summer solstice and for a few of the harvests as a child._ _**I was probably only going to go to the local gathering, but if the Isle of Lewis is important to you, then I would be honoured to meet you there, Luc. **_ _Excellent. But how will I recognise you? You'll have no trouble recognising me, I'll be the handsome one._

Harry laughed aloud. _I don't think you'll have any trouble recognising me, Draco. And yes, you certainly are the handsome one._

_**How about I bring my journal... but then again, how will you recognise it?**_

He suddenly realised that while he knew that Draco's journal looked almost like his, Draco was unaware of that.

_**Mine has this beautiful tapestry cover in all shades, and it has black leather corners.**_ _My journal is exactly as you describe, only the tapestry is on the corners, and the rest is black leather. It sounds just like they have complementary covers, right?_ _**Yes! So you'll bring yours too?**_ _Absolutely. You know, I was really angry at you the other night, but now that I've had yet another shift in perspective about my life and my future, I realise that I should not bottle things up inside. Talking about things is good. Unfortunately, I have a load of things going on that I wish you could help me with, but you can't. I really don't want to head back and deal with reality._ _**Perhaps you should get a good night's sleep. I know it doesn't sound like much, but a good sleep and some meditation can help to put things into perspective. **_ _I can't argue with that philosophy. Hopefully when I wake up tomorrow, my knight in shining armour (or grungy jeans) will still be willing to help me. I could not have made it through today without him. He is... everything I think I've ever wanted._ _**You say you aren't used to friends helping you, but I'm sure that if he is as wonderful as you say, he'll do everything he can to help. Why don't you go and talk to him in the morning? Thank him yourself. **_ _Yes, I think I will. But will we be getting a chance to chat before Lammas?_ _**Of course, I would not miss it for the world. It would take something catastrophic for me to miss talking to you again. I swear. Meeting you has been something I've looked forward to for a very long time.**_ _Me too. Please take care this week, Flash._ _**I will. You too. I'll see you later! (Now I really mean it!)**_ _Thanks again. The thought of finally meeting you has lifted my spirits somewhat. Thanks again, and I promise I will go and talk to my man first thing in the morning._ _**Will he be upset that you're planning on meeting me? Won't he want to join you for Lammas?**_ _I don't know. We aren't quite at that stage... yet. But he's got plenty of friends. I'm sure he can't begrudge me having my own - It's not like you and I are going to hook up – oh, sorry. Now I feel awful. _ _**Please, don't. I'm not going to apologise again for telling you that I love you. I'll always have enough love in my heart for more than one person. Remember that.**_ _I will. _ _Take care,_ _Luc_ _**See you next week,**_ _**Flash**_

The conversation left Draco feeling better. At least he had been mistaken about Flash and his reasons for not being able to reply in the journal. Draco knew he had difficulty with things when they didn't go his way, but he was learning. He was glad that he was meeting Flash. After his initial reluctance, it seemed so right. Flash's words about the past being left behind were playing on his mind, and that helped him to keep from getting too stressed about his loss. He was upset, but knew that he wasn't going to give the Neo Death Eaters the satisfaction of knowing the depth of his pain. He was not going to give them the satisfaction of doing anything else to torment him – what else did he have, anyway?

Thoughts of Harry plagued him then, but he was still too tired to think clearly. He would tackle it all in the morning. For now, he would sleep, and go about getting on with his future. After all, tomorrow was a new day.

* * *

**July 16, Wednesday**

It was Wednesday by the time Harry and Draco made it back to the Manor. The intensity of the Balefire made the ruins smoulder for much longer than a non-magical fire. It was testament to the amount of magic that was in the Manor. If Balefire flattened Malfoy Manor in such a fashion, they could only imagine what it would have done had Voldemort used it against Hogwarts. It didn't even bear thinking about, for the consequences in such a magical place would have been beyond comprehension.

Draco had followed Flash's advice and gone to thank Harry on Tuesday morning. He thought he would have trouble saying thank you, but saw that Harry seemed just that little bit more buoyed by the fact that he now had a definite purpose in overcoming the obstacles before them to get rid of the Neo Death Eaters.

"Have you heard from Snape today, Draco?" Harry asked.

Draco hadn't voiced his concerns, but that morning, Melchett had returned a second time with Severus' letter still unopened. He thought the owl might have forgotten the tracking spell – he wasn't such a young owl any more. "My owl keeps returning his letters unopened."

"So Snape is out of contact." Harry sounded equally as concerned.

"Yes." Draco didn't like that they were both thinking the same thoughts. "But naturally he didn't tell anyone where he was going."

"I know. I thought he might have told Dumbledore, but even the headmaster is unaware of his location."

"He was making himself unplottable for many reasons. I had hoped that his run-in with Nott and Flint went unnoticed." Draco was becoming more concerned, but had no idea how to get in touch with Snape. He would just have to keep sending letters.

"He ran into Nott and Flint?" Harry asked in surprise, but remembered the conversation in the journal. They must have been the Neo Death Eaters Luc had spoken about.

"Did I not mention that? Sorry," Draco felt guilty, but Harry nodded in a way that made Draco feel uneasy. Harry said nothing more as he put aside his thoughts and feelings for Severus as he steeled himself to return to what was left of Malfoy Manor. It wasn't much. Draco was surprised to see that Harry was disallowing any other investigators to be at the scene without him. He was pleased to learn that nobody else could gain access to the property until the Aurors had finished their investigation, so he would have a reprieve from Weasley and his smug assertions.

Unfortunately, the damage didn't look any better in the light of a new day. With all traces of smoke and heat gone, the light breeze was picking up the ash and starting to spread it further. It was now safe to perform magic around the damage, and Harry cast a spell to keep the ash from scattering. They would need as much in place as possible for their investigation. Draco hesitated as he stepped over what was once the threshold. His robes were already repelling the fine ash, but he knew the smell would not leave his nose in a great hurry.

Harry called Constable Towler back to the scene, for he wanted to ensure that this investigation was conducted by the book. Draco was surprised to learn that Harry only answered now to Rufus Scrimegour, not his former Auror bosses, but it showed that at least someone was serious about catching these Neo Death Eaters. He heard Harry muttering that one good constable was worth more than two bumbling Aurors if he had asked any more to come along.

Draco would have preferred to have been as far from the ruins as possible, but he had to know if anything in the dungeons survived. Once he had a definitive answer, then he could get on with his future.

They sifted through piles and piles of ash, with the odd lump of metal to break the monotony. As he stood in the middle of what was once the dining hall, he frowned. Harry noticed the puzzled look. "What's wrong?"

"The library was above this room. Shouldn't there be more ash than this? Most of those books had more spells protecting them than in public libraries. I would have thought they would have produced more debris than this."

Harry frowned now too, but there was little he could do to recreate the events of Sunday evening. Gaggy, the lone house elf who survived, had been interviewed. Draco had not forgotten her. She had been hiding out in the coach house (which was still standing), but she wrung her hands and her ears in despair. She was at a complete loss about what to do. It took quite a bit of coaxing on Draco's behalf to convince Gaggy that she should work at Hogwarts.

"But Master, Gaggy doesn't want to work with Dobby, he's a bad elf!" Gaggy exclaimed. Even now, Dobby's independence was shameful to many elves. Draco nodded his head in understanding. Gaggy was Dobby's sister, and Draco knew that Dobby shamed not only the Malfoy family, but his own elf family.

"But I live at Hogwarts now, Gaggy. I need my elf there. There is nothing for you here now." Gaggy seemed to want to protest further, her ears drooping at the thought. Her eyes suddenly widened at a thought.

"Gaggy would be pleased to serve you at the French Malfoy residence until you rebuild the Manor," Gaggy seemed excited at the prospect. "I can still help Master Draco if I work there!" Draco was surprised at the thought of rebuilding Malfoy Manor. It was something he really had not yet considered.

"But I don't need you there – besides, the place is rented out most of the year – I guess I'll just have to give you clothes if you don't want to come to Hogwarts," he sighed dramatically.

"Ooh, no! Gaggy will come to Hogwarts then! Gaggy doesn't want clothes! Gaggy isn't bad like her brother Dobby, sir." Gaggy seemed resigned to the prospect of working at the school, but nodded stoically.

Harry stepped up to talk to the old elf. "Has anyone been here, or disturbed anything here since the fire, Gaggy?" he asked. The elf was again wide eyed at being addressed by Harry. She kept glancing at his scar, and seemed a little subdued.

"It's all right, Gaggy. Harry is helping us investigate. He only wants to know what happened. I promise he won't be giving any more clothes to Malfoy elves." Draco knew full well that it was Harry who had tricked his father into freeing Dobby. Until his return to Hogwarts, he was used to getting by without the elves. Dobby was a funny creature, and he warmed to the quirky elf. It helped that he could now brew coffee. Draco had known all the other elves since he was a child. It hurt somewhat to know that so many of them perished to try and save the Manor. Gaggy was quite a good elf, if a little prone to the dramatic like her brother.

"No, sir," Gaggy was answering Harry's question. "I knows the fire was eating all magic, so we haven't come any closer to it." As she spoke she glared sideways at the ruins.

Harry continued. "So you don't know if the dungeons are accessible?" He was getting right to the point. Draco was keen to find out about the potions lab.

Gaggy shook her head. "No, Harry Potter, sir, I don't know."

"Well there's only one way for us to find out," Harry smiled warmly at Draco, a look of hope passing between them. Draco was more than grateful. The fact that Harry seemed to have the same thought only buoyed his spirit.

* * *

Harry had only one reason for returning to Malfoy Manor. Well, two, actually. He needed for Draco to know if his Grandfather's lab was safe, but then it would be a double edged sword if it were, and then they found out that there were no Pegasus Wingtips there. Perhaps it was better that it were obliterated and Draco would be none the wiser. Still, that sort of thinking didn't help cure Draco's curse.

It had been a long couple of days, and Harry had worried the whole time about Draco. He recognised that his own control exercises were blocking out the Neo Death Eater activities, but he also saw the need to keep some sort of connection open to them. Instead of working his hardest to reach full control whilst doing his exercises, Harry chose to forego some of them. He realised he would be foolish to stop them altogether, but he tried to maintain a connection to the twinge that was aching occasionally through his scar.

What he had not expected was the sheer dark energy that was surrounding the ruins of Malfoy Manor. The place reeked of dark magic, but it was obviously just the residue of the Balefire. The sooner they could leave this place, the happier Harry would be. The look on Draco's face mirrored his thoughts. As he watched Draco, his concern deepened. Draco didn't seem to be as shocked as he would have suspected. If Harry had to describe his mood, he would have suggested that he was numb.

They had shared a meal at the castle since the fire, but both men were completely sober and rekindling their lust seemed a little awkward at that point. Each of them had too many other things to be concerned about. Harry was worried how Draco would react when he learned the truth. It wasn't fair that he couldn't say anything, but Emmaline and Remus had been firm. He wouldn't allow himself to get carried away with Draco again – not before he knew the full truth. Of course, there was always the risk that Draco would not be happy about Flash's identity, but he would deal with that when the time came.

Harry's second reason for returning to the Manor was simply to find any clues that might lead him to one or more of the culprits. Knowing Snape was not getting his mail was a big concern, and he knew Draco was trying hard not to let his concern for the Potions master show. Seeing Snape through Luc's eyes made Harry more congenial toward his old professor. He knew he would never like the man – too many years of his bullying saw to that, but he could see now that he did have some sense of nobility. After all, he was the one to help Draco when he was down. He would never have imagined that Snape would help by giving Draco an apprenticeship. He was losing more misconceptions every day. Whatever Snape's personality, Harry knew that he didn't deserve to be targeted by Neo Death Eaters either.

"Where was the entry to the dungeon?" Harry asked.

Draco seemed hesitant, but knew he could not avoid this any longer. He pointed his cane and started walking toward the back of the ruins. He trod carefully – the last thing he needed to do was trip over the rubble. With a slight flick of his wand, Draco moved the rubble away from what remained of the back wall of the Manor. A stone archway was still standing – blackened, but intact. Draco pointed at the molten metal and spoke, "The door that was here was four inch thick oak." There was nothing now but more piles of grey ash.

The steps down to the dungeon were intact, and after clearing some fallen stones, they could both see that the spiral staircase leading down was still there. Draco seemed a little more animated as he realised the stairwell seemed to be in one piece. They descended carefully, trying hard not to touch the sooty walls, but failing miserably. Draco had a smudge of soot across his cheek, and Harry wanted to wipe it away. He was so filthy from the ash, he would probably only make it worse.

A chill feeling crept through Harry and he shivered, holding his lit wand a little higher to see.

"What are you thinking?" Draco asked as he noted the tension in Harry's shoulders and the look of concern on his face.

"Constant Vigilance." Draco smirked and nodded at the sentiment.

"Best lesson of them all," Draco stopped and was staring at a blank section of bricks. His fingers traced patterns against the wall, getting dirtier by the minute. "You are wise to think of it here. I never had time to neutralise all of father's little surprises down here. I'm just checking to see..." Draco quickly raised a Protego shield and held Harry back from stepping any further. A poisoned dart came flying out from a crack in the mortar.

Harry had put up his own protection shield just in time, and the dart fell harmlessly to the floor. Draco kicked it away with his foot. "See, it's the little things like that."

"But it would have harmed you," Harry seemed confused.

"I can only guess that the magical wards that recognise my Malfoy blood have failed." Draco smirked in irony, "...or Lucius had some special tricks installed into the house in the event that _Potter_ ever came here."

Harry shook his head, "I had only been joking about the poison darts when I mentioned them the other night." Harry was just grateful that the two of them had avoided the dart. Draco was nodding in relief. Harry could see the pained look of concern on Draco's face as they continued down the stairs – protection shields still held in place.

Draco let out a gasp and stopped at the next landing. A massive hole had blown in the wall, spilling debris all over the steps and a charred door lay fallen across to the side.

Harry had to ask the question, but could already guess the answer from the look on Draco's face. "What was behind there?"

"The lab," he replied, with no emotion in his voice.

Harry nodded silently, putting an arm around Draco's shoulders as they both stared into the charred blackness beyond. Draco tensed at the touch at first, but Harry quickly felt a wash of weariness go through Draco and he slumped, quite dejectedly. Harry said nothing, just held Draco harder.

* * *

The lab was gone. Draco had hoped that it might have been spared – that the entire dungeon had been spared, but there was no such luck. Apart from the entrance, the other walls were intact, yet completely charred to the point of having burned off the top layers of stone. This gave large sections of the walls a glassy appearance.

Draco felt Harry's arm come around his shoulder in a comforting gesture. He didn't realise just how tense he had been until he felt that support, and he melted into it. This had been his last hope, and unless Pegasus Wingtips were completely fire retardant and indestructible, then he would have little hope of finding them. Best to think that there weren't any there in the first place.

"It must have been a magnificent laboratory," Harry commented, but Draco didn't reply. He broke away from Harry and wandered over to the back wall. A large fireplace was still intact. Draco knelt to touch the cauldron that was inside.

Harry didn't like the ominous silence, and didn't think they should hang around there for too long, but he could understand Draco's pain. He remembered a pilgrimage he once made to the ruins at Godric's Hollow, and the associated pain, so he waited quietly. Draco didn't speak as he make his way around the room, carefully turning over blown out cauldrons and sifting through the ashes to try and identify something that might have survived the blast.

Harry wandered around carefully, intrigued by the glassy surface on the walls. The Balefire certainly didn't leave the same glassy surface on the walls in the upper Manor. Harry frowned, trying to remember something from the last time it was used by the Death Eaters. Looking back at the door to the lab, he noticed something odd about the way the rubble had fallen. He ran his hand along the walls from the entrance back to an alcove near the fireplace. This was where the glassy surface of the walls was almost crystalline. His foot bumped something hard under the ash, and he increased the light from his wand as he bent down to investigate.

"I think the Balefire was initially started in this room, Draco."

"What gives you that impression?" Draco asked curiously as he came over to where Harry was kneeling.

"Well, the rubble around the entrance has blown out – like some sort of powerful blast was generated inside this room. And the walls – the outer layer has been turned to glass – the heat in the initial blast of Balefire is tremendous. Besides, there's a dead body down here, and I'm willing to bet he was the one who started it."

The lump that Harry had kicked earlier was not a fallen stone, but what remained of a skeleton. Draco could see that now. Whoever it was must have not been able to escape the blast, and had perished almost immediately. Not one identifying ounce of flesh or fabric remained on the body. Draco seemed anxious, "Is there any way we can tell who it is? Is it a witch, or wizard?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sure that someone back at the Ministry would be able to eventually tell us. There's really only bone left, and I was never one for those sorts of spells. But that's not the real question, is it?"

Draco nodded in agreement. "How in Merlin's name did he get in here? I changed most of the protective wards on the Manor a couple of years ago – before I left for Paris. The more I think about it, the more I _know_ I used the strongest protections I knew. I didn't particularly want any uninvited former colleagues from doing exactly this. I don't understand..." He seemed extremely puzzled and affronted by the thought that his protections were lacking in any way. His eyes suddenly lit up in understanding, "But… But surely it isn't possible..."

Now it was Harry's turn to frown, "What?"

Draco was almost laughing hysterically. "I was extremely particular with the protections I wove. The only way anyone should have been able to get in here was if they had Malfoy blood. That was the only way I could be sure... Guess I was mistaken."

Harry looked astounded, "You don't think Lucius..."

Draco shook his head and sneered, "Unless someone has brought him back from the dead, then no, it absolutely cannot be Lucius." He seemed relieved by that fact. "Come to think of it, I don't think my wards failed. Lucius just keeps leaving more and more surprises."

"What's that?" Harry wasn't sure what Draco meant, but he had not failed to notice that he rarely, if ever, called him 'father'. It always seemed to be 'Lucius'.

"I know you called _me_ a bastard on numerous occasions, Harry, but I think we might have uncovered a real one."

Harry's eyes widened in complete surprise at the thought that the remains of this wizard was some half-brother or sister to Draco. Draco was still shaking his head. "Oh, don't be so surprised, Harry. Lucius rarely kept to his own bed once I was born. I found that one out a long time ago." The look of frustration on his face was evident. "I'm just angry that I never thought of something like this. He obviously got the loyal Death Eater child he wanted."

Harry was still too stunned. "I wonder who it could have been," he suggested. "I'm guessing he was a pure-blood."

"You could be sure of that, Harry. Lucius might have not have been monogamous, but he would not have lowered himself to sleeping with anything less than a pure-blooded witch." Draco seemed more curious now about the identity of the body. He did have a vested interest, after all. "Are you sure there is no way we can identify who it is?"

Harry shook his head and sighed, "Not right away, but I think we should get this out of here and get Towler to take it back to the Ministry in London. I'm even more curious now as to whom it could be. Still, there might not be enough magic left in the body to identify it. They might have to resort to the Muggle methods of identification. Why would they have tried to get into this room of the Manor first? That's what's puzzling me. If they were going to start a fire, why not do it in the entry hall?"

"I have absolutely no idea… If they were of Malfoy blood, they could have Apparated anywhere within the Manor. Why did I not foresee something like this?" Draco started to berate himself.

"You weren't to know. This Manor has more protections on it than most houses, Draco. Were you really expecting any of your father's friends to drop by?" Harry hated to see Draco take the blame for something out of his hands.

"I guess I've managed to once again underestimate my father. Touché, Lucius," he whispered calmly, but Harry noted the disappointment in Draco's words.

"Draco," Harry looked directly at him, not willing to see him get depressed about this. "You might not have known everything he was up to, but he never won. He's not the one who is still alive and standing here. You are nothing like him – not in the least. Just remember that. I might have thought that once, Draco, but I was only a kid then, and not very knowledgeable about people. You might have lost the Manor, and perhaps you've lost the hope that there was something here in this lab, but at least now you are not in any doubt."

Draco looked over at Harry and saw the comforting words were genuine. The hint of his smile was infectious and Draco nodded. He could not express enough his gratitude for what Harry was doing, but he suddenly found himself leaning in closer to Harry. Harry's eyes sparkled as their lips met in a warm, yet tender kiss.

Harry responded eagerly, and Draco brought his hand up to cup his face. Harry did the same, his hand coming around to cup the back of Draco's neck as their kiss deepened into what became a longing embrace. This really wasn't the right place or time for this, and they both realised it, even though the kiss felt just right. He pulled back reluctantly, quietly whispering "thank you." Harry smiled, then laughed loudly as he pointed to Draco's face. Draco saw the source of Harry's amusement as the bright wandlight showed a sooty handprint on Harry's face. He realised he must look just as frightfully dirty, and joined in the moment of infectious laughter.

"It's a good look, Draco," Harry said. "I'm glad to see you smile. I know you don't think you have much to smile about. I can only imagine how gutted you must be to have found this place destroyed. I visited Godric's Hollow a few years ago. There was just grass, not even a bloody brick remained. But you don't care about that, it is ancient history." Harry admitted.

Draco could see that Harry did really have some sense of understanding of the situation. "If anything, seeing this has made me more determined to get these bastards." he pointed to the floor, "Although fortunately for us, it appears there's one less of them now."

Draco sighed heavily, stepping away reluctantly. "I'm just concerned that they always seem to be one step ahead of me. First, they embezzle me out of quite a bit of money. Then they use those galleons to fund their comeback tour and leave me being investigated by a bunch of jumped-up goblins."

"But at least you and I know you haven't done anything wrong, Draco. They can't implicate you in anything. I don't know how many times I have to say it, but you don't deserve to have this happen to you. I only wish we could find Snape."

Their conversation was interrupted as they heard Constable Towler heading down the stairs. "We're in here," Harry called. He glanced at his watch and realised how late it was. They had been there all afternoon. "It's starting to get late. I don't think there's going to be much more we can do here this evening, Draco."

Constable Towler was naturally surprised to find the starting point of the Balefire, and the body, and was only too eager to take it back to the Ministry for identification. This left Harry and Draco alone again, but Draco didn't want to remain there any longer. This shell of a room looked nothing like the lab he remembered. There was no hope that anything could have survived the Balefire – there were too many magical protections on the room. Draco took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His last hope was now gone – if there were any Pegasus Wingtips left in the world, then they would be in the most remote and obscure place known to wizard kind. It was fruitless to think that he would ever find them, and he finally resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to be able to brew his cure. All hope faded.

But even as he realised that, he watched Harry making his way around the room, and he saw that not all hope for his future was lost. Somehow, the thought of Harry in his life was growing every day, and he saw that it was something he could look forward to instead. Even though he expressed some doubts when he spoke to Flash, his gut feeling was that Harry was just the person he had been looking for. Harry knew him almost as well as he did himself, and didn't seem bothered by the fact that he was infirm. Something was happening between them, but neither had actually said anything definite. That conversation would have to come – and soon. Draco wasn't even completely sure that Harry was even unattached. There was still enough mystery around his privacy, and that was something that worried Draco. Harry was hiding something. He would find out eventually.

Harry bent down and pulled something else out of the rubble. "Look, this appears to be undamaged," he bent down again to pick up something else, nearly dropping his wand in the process. "It looks like an old mortar… and look, here's the pestle."

Draco looked at it for a moment. The old stone mortar and pestle appeared to be completely undamaged. It was likely that it missed destruction in the Balefire, due to the fact that you never cast any spells around it. It was well known that magic usually spoiled anything that was in the process of being crushed, so the mortar and pestle was the one thing that required actual work to crush and grind any ingredient. If the object had no magic woven into it, then it was likely that it would not be destroyed. The fact that it was also made of stone might have helped save it from the flames.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure... Something..." Harry was still holding the mortar and pestle, but Draco brought his wand up to increase the light. Draco frowned as he noticed it didn't seem to have the same glassy surface as the stone walls of the lab. As he grabbed the pestle, it felt strangely warm. Something definitely wasn't right, and he tried to drop the pestle. He was unable to, and his hand unconsciously gripped the pestle even more firmly. Harry was having the same trouble trying to let go of the mortar – which was glowing the same ominous red as the pestle. A strange magic washed over him, and he gripped his wand intensely as he realised what was happening. Too late to stop the active Portkey, he felt a long forgotten tug behind his navel.

In the ensuing moments, he tumbled through nothingness, but he could still feel a hand firmly gripping his wrist. In that split second he was glad that Harry was joining him, wherever he might be going.

* * *

Harry was now eager to leave the Manor. They had seemingly found the source of the Balefire, along with a few interesting things about Lucius Malfoy. The more Harry thought about it, the more it made sense. Lucius wasn't that stupid, and the idea of having 'a spare' child was the sort of thing he would expect from a pure-blood of Lucius' generation. Harry had read enough about pure-bloods and pure-blooded families to know that there were as many children conceived out of wedlock as there were within. As long as they remained pure-blooded, most families kept it quiet, but would acknowledge the children where necessary.

He didn't think Draco would want to hang around for much longer – the ruins were depressing enough. As he was about to suggest they leave, he noticed something else in the rubble. Bending to pick it up, he noticed the familiar shape of a mortar. "Look, Draco, this appears to be undamaged." He looked around and quickly located the pestle nearby, picking it up as well.

Draco studied it for a moment, but frowned. "What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I'm... not sure. Something..." Draco brought his lit wand up to get a closer look at it, and as Harry handed the pestle to Draco, he instantly felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise sharply. He saw the fleeting look of panic on Draco's face, but noticed he was trying to drop the pestle. Harry found he could not drop the mortar, and the stone bowl began to glow. Harry groaned as a shudder of dark magic poured through him. Grabbing Draco's wrist with his free hand, he felt a sense of foreboding as an all too familiar tug pulled behind his navel, and he was suddenly tumbling into nothingness.

In the ensuing moments, he heard nothing but a rush of blood to the head and Draco's racing pulse as he refused to let go of this firm lifeline. Then just as suddenly, it stopped.

A sharp stench assaulted his nose and the wind whipped the glasses from his face as he felt the ground rush quickly toward him. The sharp thud as he hit earth was accompanied by a sudden crack and his head exploded in a sharp pain as all conscious thought was lost. He didn't even feel the dead weight that landed directly on top of him, pulled there by his own insistence to keep hold of Draco's hand.

* * *

Draco was surprised by the softness of his landing. He opened his eyes, but the darkness remained. He was trying to make sense of what happened but the acrid smell of bird droppings along with the echo of the surf gave him some idea of where he might be. The bitter cold and the sound of constantly dripping water hinted at his presence somewhere underground – possibly a cave. A remembered feeling in his midsection reminded him he had just been flung there by a rather violent Portkey journey.

Someone had turned the pestle into a Portkey. _What the fuck is going on? Where am I? _Draco found his hand was cramped from holding the now dormant pestle, which he gratefully dropped. _How could a Portkey like that get into the dungeon? Who the fuck did this? Was it the dead person that put it there? Harry was holding it. Was it timed, or... _His brain was too muddled from the suddenness of the trip, and the dark and gloomy cavern surroundings. His head fell back on the softness beneath him and he heard a groan. Only then did he realise that Harry was there and had broken his fall.

"Harry," Draco quickly crawled off Harry, reviving him in the process. His glasses were gone and he felt a trickle of blood as he brought Harry's head into his lap. "Damn, come on, Harry, wake up. Don't fall asleep on me now." All of Draco's senses were tingling and his heart pounded heavily. Before he could think, he had his wand out and desperately began casting some basic healing spells - aiming at the cut on the back of Harry's head. He heard another groan and in the dim wand light saw Harry's eyelids flutter open. He let go a great sigh of relief.

"Harry... Harry, are you okay?"

Harry tried to sit up, but fell back into Draco's lap. He was obviously groggy and concussed from the sudden and very violent Portkey journey. "Wha... what happened?" Harry's hand automatically went searching for his glasses.

"_Lumos Maxima_," Draco cast the spell to see exactly where they were. The sudden brightness made him wince, and his first suspicions were confirmed. They were indeed inside a cave.

"_Accio glasses_," Draco murmured and the cracked frames flew quickly into his hand. Sitting up further, he winced at a pain in his knee. Beyond that, he didn't feel any injuries. He uttered a quick _Reparo_ spell before giving them back to Harry. He noticed Harry's pupils were a little dilated – a sure sign he was suffering a concussion.

"Someone turned the mortar and pestle into a Portkey," Draco hoped that Harry was warm enough as he felt a shiver run through him. "But I think it was a Portkey that was just meant for me. Either that, or it was timed, but you seemed to have held it without any problem. It only activated after I touched it.

Harry groaned as he tried to sit up again. Draco forced him to lie back down. "No, m'fine, or I will be. 'choo know where we are?" Draco could see Harry was trying desperately to shake his concussion, but he needed a little more time. They were both still suffering after effects from the Portkey journey.

"I have no idea where we are – a cave of some sort with an unforgettable stench."

"Oh, I thought that was Ron's socks," Harry mumbled.

Draco snickered, "I'm not surprised the Weasel's socks smell that bad, but I'm guessing it's that rather large nest over there." Draco could now clearly see a cluster of large bird nests along the wall. "We must be somewhere near the coast – I can smell the ocean. I'm guessing these nests probably belong to sea eagles."

Harry seemed to brighten somewhat as he kept his eyes open and started looking around. He sat up extremely carefully, but Draco still offered his shoulder as support. The ground in the cave was damp and rocky. Harry sat up on his own, and Draco took the opportunity to stand up – carefully. Somewhere in the journey, he had lost his cane. He hobbled over behind a series of rocks. A dim light indicated the mouth of the cave.

"I'll be just a minute," Draco told Harry.

"Be careful," Harry said worriedly. Draco carefully followed the light for a few metres and eventually saw the mouth of the cave. Walking toward it, he stopped abruptly as the path vanished. Looking out, he could see they were on the edge of a substantial cliff, and the sun was setting on the western horizon. From the nearby terrain, they must be somewhere in the far north. There was no land to the west – he could only guess they were somewhere in the Western Isles.

He was willing to bet that after all the trouble to bring him here by Portkey, he wouldn't be able to Apparate away. It would undoubtedly take a broom to get away from there.

"Draco!" Harry cried urgently. Draco rushed back, urged on by the concern in his cry. He tried not to stumble, holding his wand at the ready, but nearly dropped it in complete shock. What Draco had earlier mistaken for a rock was a wizard. He was barely alive, but Harry was now tending to him. "Quick, it's Snape," Harry urged his steps even further. Draco did not like what he saw.

"Severus? Severus, can you hear me?" He grabbed at Severus, trying desperately to feel for a pulse. A feeble groan was all he received, but there was a faint, erratic pulse. "Severus, don't you bloody well do this to me," he could barely hold his wand properly, he was shaking so badly. This was not good, and he could easily recognise the signs of too much exposure to Cruciatus.

"_Ennervate,_" Harry muttered as he carefully aimed his wand at Snape. Draco glared at him, but said nothing. Severus was in much worse shape than Harry. As he tried to move the man into a more comfortable position, he noticed the sealed iron shackles that bound his wrists. The involuntary twitching was another sign of too much Cruciatus. Draco noticed the unconscious winces of pain as he patted down his robes, searching for his wand – or his stash of potions. Another feeble groan greeted him, and Severus' lips tried to move.

"Harry, he's dehydrated. Is there anything we can get for him?" Draco was desperately searching for any other wounds. So far it was mostly bruises and shattered nerves from the Unforgivable, but he had no way to check for any internal injuries.

"He's in bad shape, Harry. I think we got here just in time. Another dose of the Cruciatus – well, I don't think it would be pretty." Draco didn't want to contemplate that eventuality, and continued to mend the bruises as he went.

"He's going to be fine, Draco." Harry put a comforting hand on Draco's arm. "I'll collect some water."

"Are you sure you're up to that?" Draco quickly remembered Harry's concussion.

"Much better than him," he gestured at Severus. "Besides, I've had worse concussions. Just keep me quiet for a while and I'll be fine," He smiled before moving further back in the cave to look for water.

Severus' eyes fluttered momentarily and he opened his eyes, trying to focus on Draco. He was grateful for Severus' moment of consciousness. Severus tried to speak again, but his throat was parched. "Shhh, it's me, Draco. Just take it easy. Harry's getting you some water. We'll get you back to Hogwarts soon and you can start bossing Madame Pomfrey around."

He thought Severus was coughing in pain, but realised that he was attempting to laugh. The blood coughed up was not a good sign, and Draco would have given anything for a myriad of potions that could help him right now.

"Imbecile," Severus muttered. "Potter – here?"

"Yes, he is an imbecile, Severus, but someone left me a lovely present, and Harry just happened to be carrying it when I activated it."

"'Choo and Potter? Wondered when that was going to happen," talking was an effort, but Draco wondered why Severus was wasting his breath. A small part of his brain was surprised that Severus had noticed his fascination with Harry. He was only just realising it himself. He changed the subject, trying his hardest to comfort Severus. He could not break the spell binding the chains on his wrist, but he had already healed all he could of his bruises.

"What happened? You've looked better. I didn't think you'd go to such extremes to avoid Charlie. Surely he couldn't be _that _bad. He's fit enough..."

"Cheeky mon...key..." Severus winced and started another bout of coughing. This was so severe; Draco eventually sat him up, not looking at the blood as he helped wipe it away.

"Do you have any idea how long you've been here? Who did this to you? Is it our old friends? Why have they brought us here?" Draco fired off the questions.

"Don't... know how long. A few days. Nott... Flint... Michaels... They were planning... Malfoy Manor..." Severus was urgently trying to get out each word. Where was Harry with that water? Draco hoped his concussion hadn't got the better of him.

"Malfoy Manor is gone, Severus. They burned it to the ground with Balefire." Severus' eyes momentarily grew wide. "Barely a stone has been left standing," he snarled with spite.

"Michaels... he was... there's something you need to know about him. Their plan..."

The sudden mention of Damien Michaels rang alarm bells in Draco's mind. Things were starting to clarify and he nodded profusely. "Let me guess – he's one of Lucius' bastard sons?" Draco had never been able to put his finger on what it was about Damien Michaels. Now it was as clear as day. Despite all his dark hair, he had the shape of Lucius' face and nose, and would purse his lips in distaste exactly the same way his father did. Severus seemed surprised Draco already knew. "He's dead now." Damien Michaels had to be the dead body in the potions lab. "I just hope Lucius doesn't have any more surprises left for me." He couldn't possibly imagine any other surprises from beyond the grave, but he'd only just realised that nothing was beneath his father. There would definitely be more.

"Sorry, Draco. But... Pegasus wing... tips," Severus was desperately trying to apologise, but Draco stopped him from talking.

"It's okay, Severus, I doubt there were any in Grand-père's lab. It was completely gutted – just like the rest of the Manor. How the bloody hell Michaels managed to be powerful enough to cast Balefire, I'll never know..."

"No..." Severus tried to lift an arm to his tattered robe. "wingtips... left pocket... Look."

Draco didn't need to be prompted twice, if he understood what Severus was trying to say. He fumbled furiously to get into Severus top pocket. He eventually wrapped his fingers around a small glass vial, not believing what he saw when he brought it to the light. The glossy black feathery triangles were the most beautiful thing that Draco had ever seen. He had no idea where Severus found them. "How?"

"Had a lead... spent last few weeks trying to find them. Thought I could outsmart the Neo Death Eaters, and get them for you at the same time." Severus coughed again, and this time Draco laid him back in his lap.

"Are you crazy, Severus? You went after Neo Death Eaters _alone_ just to get these?" Severus hadn't been taking a holiday. He had taken it upon himself to chase Neo Death Eaters in a crazy stunt to help him. It wasn't right. But he held the vial all the more tightly. He had to get Severus out of here. It was the only fitting payment for what he had done.

Severus snorted, coughing up more blood. "And had I told you, you would have been the one to go after them like a bloody Gryffindor."

"Pot calling the cauldron black, Severus." Draco was in a turmoil. Severus had done this to help him, at great personal risk, but he was right. Had Draco heard of the wingtips first, he probably would have rushed out without an ounce of planning and tried to get them. Severus had obviously put a lot of thought and planning into getting them, but somehow they were now both here, and Severus was in a critical condition.

"Did you find out who is running this show?" Draco asked, but Severus was turning pale and his breathing more ragged. "Come on, Severus, don't you bloody well do this to me now!" Draco aimed his wand and cast the strongest Enervating spell he knew. _Where is Harry? _Severus rallied for a moment, but the spell was broken as Draco's wand flew out of his hand.

"_Expelliarmus_," The disarming spell was accompanied by a mirthful snort of laughter – a laugh Draco had not heard for a long time. So caught up with Severus, Draco failed to pay attention to his surroundings. He didn't hear the others creep up behind him until his wand was taken. He never got the chance to look at his attacker as he quickly found himself thrown back against the cave wall in a full body bind. Severus was also flung about in an equally rough manner, but he was in no condition to be treated as such. As he found himself unable to move, Draco hoped Harry would have the presence of mind not to barge in and also be captured. Now was not the time for his Gryffindor recklessness.

With arms folded, their attacker walked straight up to Draco, smiling evilly at his helplessness. "Hello, Draco."

"I thought you were dead!" Draco offered in reply.

"What, no '_nice to see you again, Pansy darling_'?" Pansy Parkinson pouted. "As you can see, reports of my death were slightly over-exaggerated. Did you miss me?" She dragged a perfectly manicured nail across the point of his jaw. "Sorry about the mess to bring you here, but you refused our most reasonable requests, so we had to resort to more desperate measures."

Draco snorted. "You and Flint and Nott are the Neo Death Eaters? I wouldn't have thought that the three of you could have organised a duel in a room full of wizards, let alone such elaborate plans as this." Draco was still trying to rationalise the fact that Pansy was standing before him, and claiming to be in the Neo Death Eaters. He would never have believed it. Pansy could not have hidden herself away if she tried. She was incapable of keeping a low profile. No doubt she was sent by the head of the Neo Death Eaters as someone familiar to Draco. Still, it rattled him to think they had managed to capture him.

Pansy laughed shrilly. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Subtlety was never your strong suit was it, Pansy?" He sneered back at her. "You can tell whoever is in charge, that I have no intention of changing my allegiances. I made a conscious decision all those years ago, and I stick by my friends, and my beliefs."

"Notably admirable sentiments, Draco. But I think you can tell him yourself. "Boys!" Pansy called, her voice echoing loudly in the cave. She found it difficult to wipe the smirk off her face as a dozen armed wizards suddenly Apparated into the cave. Faces of ghosts from the past confronted him, and for the first time he began to worry. Dolohov, McNair, Troughton and Hardwicke were just a few of the familiar faces alongside Flint and Nott. All of them had gone missing after Voldemort's defeat, but somehow he knew he would face them again.

He would have been shocked to see them following Pansy's authority without question if the last wizard had not stepped out from the shadows behind her, his silver buttons gleaming as he doffed his gloves. He looked up to gaze directly at Draco.

"Hello, Son."

Draco was utterly speechless. Lucius Malfoy, alive and breathing, stood before him."Oh no. This isn't possible," he eventually blurted out. "I don't... I _saw_ your body. I _made sure_ you were dead!" Draco wanted to break away from the body bind, but even if he did, there were a half dozen wizards with their wands aimed in his direction. He could feel the fear hammering away in his chest at the sight of Lucius Malfoy standing there with a wry smile on his face.

"Lucius darling, Draco tells me he has no intention of changing his allegiances," Pansy repeated Draco's words, but did not once take her eyes off Draco. She seemed to be enjoying his reaction at the sight of his father. "I think, Lucius, we just have to provide the right... persuasion." She stood nose to nose with him, crushing the tip of her wand into his throat. Draco didn't even blink at her blatant threat, and she raised an eyebrow. Running the tip of the wand down his throat, she stopped just short of his crotch and repeated her threatening gesture. "You know, I could make it worth your while... if you change your mind." She tried to sound seductive, but Draco was disgusted. Unable to defend himself in any other way, he spat, hitting her directly in the eye.

She stepped back, angered by his audacity. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?" she offered in her high pitched whine. "I could have helped you, you know. Lucius indulged me by allowing me to offer you one more chance. Looks like you blew it. What a shame. I was so looking forward to other things. _Crucio!_"

She casually flicked her wand, and Draco gritted his teeth as he prepared for the curse. _Oh Harry, I hope you don't have to see this._

* * *

Harry was still a little groggy from his concussion, but he listened carefully as he wandered far into the back of the cave. He eventually found some water dripping down from the roof of the cave. He tested it first, and it tasted fine. Transfiguring a rock into a small cup, he waited as the water slowly dripped down. Snape wasn't his favourite person in the world, but he was extremely important to Draco, and someone had been using him for target practice. Harry had no doubt they had stumbled into some sort of trap set up by the Neo Death Eaters. How else would a Portkey become suddenly active in the middle of a burned out ruin?

As his mind cleared, he realised the urgency in getting back to Snape with the water, and he became frustrated at the slowly filling cup. A throbbing headache ripped from the back of his head through to his scar, and he distinctly heard a shrill feminine laugh.

His senses suddenly came on to full alert, and he quietly made his way back to the main cavern. The closer he got, the louder the voices, and he gripped his wand more firmly. Harry took a series of deep breaths to find his centre, pushing aside the pain. It would not pay to let his anger get the better of him now. As he hid behind the large crop of standing stones in the main cavern, he could see that a half dozen of them had Draco and Snape pinned to the wall in body binds. For a moment, he could have sworn the female was Bellatrix Lestrange, but he had killed Bellatrix with his own bare hands. Upon closer inspection, he recognised Pansy Parkinson. _I thought she was dead._ But he got the shock of his life when he saw the tall wizard beside her reveal himself as Lucius Malfoy.

Harry's reaction mirrored Draco's, and he nearly stumbled. It wasn't possible. Lucius was quite dead. Harry had made certain of that. Edging his way around the back of the cave, he tried hard not to disturb any of the loose rocks on the floor.

It was frustrating to just stand there and watch. He had to do something. Draco and Snape were entirely outnumbered – and unarmed. Merlin, even with him, they were outnumbered. But he still had the advantage of surprise as he stepped back into the shadows.

He had to physically stop himself from cursing Pansy as she cast the Cruciatus on Draco. His instincts were quite protective. It took every ounce of his willpower to stay there, but she stopped just as soon as she started. The look of pain on Draco's face tore at Harry. His eyes continually returned to the sight of Lucius Malfoy. Something just wasn't quite right, but Harry couldn't put his finger on what it was.

Unfortunately, Draco worked it out – the hard way.

* * *

Draco's heart muscles and nerve endings were crying out in long remembered pain. It had been many years since he had been under Cruciatus, but it didn't get any easier. Pansy folded her arms and watched Draco's agony in morbid fascination. The constriction of the body bind was not helping his muscles, as they wanted to twitch and spasm. She released the bind in a moment of sympathy, and he found himself suddenly sprawled on the floor. Gathering his wits, he dared to glance over at Severus, who was still strung up - unconscious. It was doubtful that he would survive another bout of such a curse. He scanned the room for any sign of Harry, but saw nothing. He hoped the former war hero had the presence of mind not to just jump out and start AK'ing everyone on the spot. That's if he wasn't lying unconscious at the back of the cave.

Slightly weakened from the Unforgivable curse, his knee was crying out more painfully than it had in years. Glancing up, he dared to look straight at his father, who was looking down at him in bitter disappointment. "Actually, I think you'll find he needs a little more persuading that that, my dear." Lucius cocked his head to the side, studying his son. "All that time he was pretending to be loyal to our cause. Quite the convincing act you had, Son, but not nearly as good as Severus. The problem, my dear, is that you really don't want to see him get hurt." He mocked Draco as he spoke. "Stand back, Pansy dear - this could get quite messy."

Within an instant, Lucius had drawn his wand and showed no remorse as he hit Draco with another Cruciatus curse. He held it for much longer than the last; Draco's frayed nerves singing and writhing with indescribable pain. His teeth were clenched so tightly he could not have forced out a scream had he tried. He wasn't going to give his father the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

Harry had to hold himself back as he watched Draco suffer yet again under the curse. As Lucius eventually stopped, Draco fought for breath. Harry stopped himself from hexing Lucius as he quickly realised that the ragged breathing was actually laughter. "Nice try, Pansy. I'll give you credit – he had me fooled for a bit. But there's no way that you are Lucius." Lucius seemed affronted by Draco's words, and the other Neo Death Eaters in the ring raised their wands again to point at Draco.

"You see, you might look like him, but I have felt my father's wrath under the Cruciatus curse many times, and that wasn't even _close_ to the mildest dose I received as a child. You'll have to try harder than that. Besides, if you're going to use Polyjuice Potion, then I suggest that you don't try it in front of a couple of Potions masters who have a nose for such things." Draco tapped the side of his nose knowingly as he saw Pansy's jaw drop in surprise. "And he reeks of it. Who have you got under there, Pansy? Of course, I know you're really Pansy – I doubt anyone could get just the right level of whine in their voice."

Pansy was livid and the impostor of Lucius was trying hard to keep his calm. "You might think you were cleverer than all of us, but I'm not the one who was too caught up his own arse to realise that he was being embezzled. Quite clever of us, really. Did you honestly expect us to just run away with our tails between our legs and hide forever? Your father taught me a great many things before he was killed. You don't know how long I've waited to see you again, Draco."

"You barely knew my father, Pansy," Draco replied, but judging from the broad grins from a few of the wizards in the circle, he had obviously missed out on the latest news.

"For such a successful spy, you can be quite dense at times, Draco, particularly when you are so blind to what is right in front of your face! It seems that you didn't manage to learn everything once your father chose to keep you out of the loop." From where he stood Harry could see the madness in her eyes. He waited carefully, eyeing his surroundings, but never losing sight of Draco's safety.

"I tried to tell him that you were the spy, but he didn't want to believe me, at first. He was sure that Snape was the spy, but he could never prove it. That frustrated him no end. Then suddenly, news of our raids started to leak to the Order, and I suggested he look to you as a possible source of leaked information. You don't know how furious he was to learn that his son was a traitor. It was nearly as bad as learning that you were queer."

Draco snorted in his own laughter. He was still curious as to the identity of the wizard pretending to be Lucius, and it seemed Pansy wasn't going to volunteer. It was most disconcerting, as he knew it really wasn't his father, and that was all that mattered. He was beginning to see a frightening pattern here, and he needed more information. If he could distract Pansy long enough. "But that shouldn't have bothered him – after all – he did have at least one other son he knew about."

"Ooh, bravo, you finally worked something out on your own," the fake Lucius drawled. It was more than disconcerting to hear that drawl after such an absence, but Draco doubted a day would go by that he could ever forget his father's voice.

"Indulge me if you will. Who was Damien Michael's mother?"

"Something you still haven't guessed? I'm not surprised," Pansy sneered in disgust. "Just in case you need me to spell it out, he was my half-brother. Isn't it ironic that you fucked _both_ of my brothers, yet you spurned _me_?" she spat bitterly.

Draco just blinked. Phillip Parkinson had been his lover during the war, but he knew from the outset it was never anything more than a mere convenience. Draco got information, and a good hard fuck every now and then, and Phillip got his chance to rise through the ranks of the Death Eaters – thanks to his connection to Malfoy.

But it made him sick to his stomach to remember those long forgotten post Quidditch match celebrations. Many things had happened between the team members, but he knew he never fucked Damien. The boy might have been a natural tease, and Draco may have encouraged him to hone his talents in other areas, but he always drew the line at fucking. Damien had obviously exaggerated the truth. He certainly had made it clear to Draco when he came back to Hogwarts that he was keen to take up such a relationship. Draco shuddered at the thought. Perhaps madness was a trait inherent in all the Parkinsons.

Pansy was quite insane, and he hoped that Harry was lurking somewhere in the shadows, for he really wanted to lunge out and strangle her. Seeing the murderous intent in his face, she conveniently reminded him that she was in possession of his wand. In the absence of a wand, he used words as his weapons. "Phillip was nothing more than a convenient fuck, Pansy. It was good while it lasted. He meant less to me than you ever did. I'm not sorry I killed him, you know. "

Pansy's face darkened in more fury, and she struck him with another bout of the Cruciatus curse. The thing about Cruciatus pain was that it was consistent, and intense, but once it struck, it never actually got any worse. It would reach a threshold, but not intensify any further. He had learned many years before to increase his pain tolerance, but his cursed knee was not coming to the party. Pansy smiled icily as he cried out for the first time under the curse.

"Rumour had it that you fancied yourself in love with Phillip," she retorted. "How un-Slytherin of you – thinking with your heart and not your head. Still, it helped Lucius to further his own plans. Phillip was only too happy to help uncover the spy, so he played along willingly. I don't doubt he had a little fun along the way. But you were just a bit too sneaky, and we could never pin anything on you." She turned to look at the fake Lucius; madness showing clearly on her face.

"Lucius desperately wanted you to share in the destiny he originally built for you. He had grand plans, Draco. Don't you want to share in that? We've got so many things – things you could never imagine. Your father had kept a library of spells that was unparalleled, and he was wise to keep it away from Voldemort."

Draco reverted to his oldest mask, his cold and nonchalant arrogance coming to the fore. He could not let her see that she was getting to him. "You know, this whole thing does seem to stink like a plot Lucius would think up. I congratulate you for your elaborate method of getting me here, but why don't you tell me what you are so generously offering?" he retorted casually, stalling for time. Harry had to be around somewhere. Severus groaned and started coughing, and Draco turned in concern. "Of course," he continued, "You'll have to start from the beginning – you see, I'm not so good at seeing details that are right before my eyes. At least if you tell me everything, I'll be able to make a thoroughly informed decision." That should buy him enough time.

Pansy relaxed somewhat, smiling in an obscene way. Draco knew he had placated her in some small way. "Why don't you start by telling me just where you vanished to during the war? You seem to know so much about Lucius' plans, yet everyone, even your brother, Phillip, thought you were dead."

"Ah, yes, my dear departed brother Phillip. Such a loss," her words sounded anything but upset at her older brother's demise. Before he could move into a more comfortable position, Pansy quickly cast another body bind on him. "Oh how I do love a captive audience. I know you don't have anywhere to run to, Draco, but I think it best to be cautious. Now where were we? Oh, Phillip. Yes, he was actually put in place to keep you from getting suspicious about your father's plans, then of course, you fancied yourself in love with him, which Lucius used to his own advantage."

Draco was keeping a close eye on his wand as Pansy seemed to be fondling it lovingly. He realised where he had seen that look in Pansy's eye. It was the same glint of insanity that had affected his aunt Bellatrix. Very few women became Death Eaters and could still manage to escape the touch of madness that entered their minds as they took the Dark Mark. He would never have guessed that Pansy would remain strong enough to survive this long.

When the Dark Mark vanished upon Voldemort's death, many of the remaining Death Eaters went mad. The magic that withdrew the mark from their arms drained them of sanity. It was one of the reasons why the Aurors didn't go out and try to find the missing Death Eaters immediately. Severus had been furious. He knew that those with a strong presence of mind would be able to survive. These Neo Death Eaters were proof of that. Pansy was somehow slipping slowly into her own insanity.

Pansy's smug look showed great pleasure. "Haven't you worked it out yet, Draco? I know you heard the rumours. Phillip made sure of that. We were busy, and I helped him from behind the scenes to help those plans come to fruition. Lucius knew the war was going badly, so he was making sure that no matter who won, he would come out unscathed and with more power than the ultimate winner. Still, all our plans were ruined. I know it was you who sold Lucius out, even if you didn't cast the killing curse on him."

"Lucius kept you hidden... You... _you_ were the mysterious mistress? _You_?" Pansy nodded smugly at Draco's disbelief.

Back behind the stones, Harry's jaw fell directly to the floor as well. _Pansy Parkinson was Lucius Malfoy's mistress? Incredible!_

"Mistress... lover... wife... call me what you will," Draco was not believing what he heard. Surely this was just some manifestation of her own imagination? But this whole thing has Lucius' name stamped all over it. "For what it was worth, I loved him, Draco. Do you see now why I want you to come and help run your father's legacy?" Her voice had dropped and became quite seductive. Unfortunately, Draco wanted nothing to do with her – he never had. "Perhaps, we could be more than just... partners."

Her lips were mere centimetres away from his, and he looked away in complete disgust. She roughly pulled his face back to hers, kissing him firmly. His reaction was cold and dead. She stopped, her fury rising as she slapped him hard across the face. He was beginning to wonder if he might have underestimated her.

"I never understood what you saw in that bint, Queenie. She couldn't offer you half of what I could." Her pug-like face was screwed up bitterly.

"You're not still harping on about Daphne, are you? Why are you still hung up about her?" Draco could not believe she was still bitter about Daphne Greengrass. He was still trying to contemplate that idea that Pansy was one of his father's mistresses. It seemed ludicrous.

Pansy moved in closer – too close for Draco's liking – and smirked, before pulling Draco up violently by the hair to bring him in for a deep kiss. In his disgust, he bit her savagely on the lip, forcing her to break away. "What part of 'I never wanted to go out with you' didn't you understand?" He spat. "Sorry, I haven't changed my mind in the meantime. You're... not quite my type."

"You understand I just had to try just once more, for old time's sake," she taunted smoothly, her mouth barely twitching into a hard line. Pansy's eyes narrowed, and Draco could see he had hit a raw note.

"There never was anything, Pansy. I don't know what delusion you've been living under, but we've never been together." Pansy opened her mouth to argue, but Draco continued, "One date to a Yule Ball when we were fourteen does not indicate any sort of former relationship. Besides, if memory serves, you only asked me to go because you were afraid that Daphne was going to ask me first."

She folded her arms and nodded, laughing shrilly. "Poor old Daphne." Draco could hear the mocking tone in her voice. He knew how much the pair had despised each other, but he had never seen the vehemence with which Pansy had spoken her name.

"I don't understand why you despised her so much, Pansy. The only reason she disliked you was because you constantly tried to throw yourself at me, and you never listened to her. Even so, I never once heard her speak unkindly of you in front of me. Her manners were impeccable." Draco snorted, "I guess she was more of a woman than you'll ever be. Not hard to see why I chose her, is it, really?" He couldn't believe the vehemence of his words. It had been a long time since he had been forced to think about Daphne, but seeing Pansy and talking about her brought long hidden emotions to the fore. "I... I loved Daphne." It had been hard to say it, and it hurt like hell. A long hidden part of his heart was being wrenched open.

Harry's heart wrenched open in sympathy as he listened. Draco had truly been in love, and perhaps he could have led a fairly ordinary aristocratic existence if there had been no war. It truly showed that Draco had the capacity to love fully and deeply. Knowing some of this from his journal conversations made it all the more poignant. He stepped back into the shadow just as one of the Neo Death Eaters turned to look in his direction. In the darkness, Harry lost sight of Draco. He fervently wished at that moment for his Invisibility Cloak, but an even better idea presented itself. The adrenalin coursing through him had pushed his concussion well away, and he felt he could handle some magic.

He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, the cold trickle running down his neck feeling like water dripping from the roof of the cave. Putting his hand against the wall, he noticed the faint ripple of his camouflage against the sparkly reflection coming from the cave walls. The flecks of bright stone reflecting what little light there was seemed familiar, but Harry couldn't put his finger on what they were. Harry wandered out from the protection of the stones, confident his invisibility would help, but he stuck close to the walls of the cave.

"But you were MINE!" Pansy turned and shouted at Draco. He was stunned. He had rejected Pansy's advances outright all those years ago, but she seemed to have read much more into them. She really was delusional. He had never given Pansy any reason to think that he liked or wanted her. A hollow feeling began to well in his stomach at the memory of Daphne, and the grizzly sight of her dead body (the first of many that he had to witness). It had seemed an entire lifetime ago, but only now could he appreciate that she was lucky to have not had to suffer through the horror of the war.

All of a sudden Pansy became calm, turning and asking in a rational voice. "What was it that you saw in Daphne? I could never understand it. It's not like she was anything special." Pansy seemed to have forgotten about everyone else in the cave, but the question struck a chord and Draco defended his first love.

Draco snorted in laughter. It would be a very long list of things that had drawn him to Daphne. Where did he start? "Perhaps I was sick and tired of most girls and their hidden agendas. Mother had warned me about girls who would only be interested in me for my name, or my money, or my connections. It was refreshing to have someone who was just interested in _me_ alone. I don't think Daphne would have cared if I was as poor as Weasley, she would have still loved me." It had been so long since he consciously thought of Daphne, and a sudden flood of memories attempted to overwhelm him. He was finding it hard to recall her face, and that hurt more than anything. Having to talk about that her in front of Harry wasn't making him feel very comfortable. He only hoped that Harry might understand.

"She was weak, Draco - too weak to be aligned with you. Her blood would have not helped the Malfoy clan."

"That wasn't weakness; that was innocence. I didn't want her involved in that stupid war. I was willing to give her the world, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't even stop her from being killed. She didn't deserve to die. Daphne was harmless. She had no enemies." But only now could he see that he had been sadly mistaken.

"Oh, but she did, and she was no innocent, Draco dearest. She made two fatal mistakes. Her first was how easily she wheedled her way into your affections—"

Draco snorted, "If you had paid any attention to more than your own preening, you might have noticed that I asked her out, not the other way round."

Pansy was not finished. "And her second mistake was thinking she could take what was mine. She flatly refused to become a Death Eater you know. I couldn't believe her audacity. She didn't even bother to think about the wondrous opportunities. She just said no."

Draco never knew that Daphne had been confronted to join the Death Eaters, but knowing she refused outright just confirmed how strong she truly was – very few people were strong enough to do that. "You're deluded if you think I ever wanted you, Pansy." Somehow the message seemed to finally be sinking in as Pansy quivered in furious denial.

"She took you away from me, and I needed to teach her a lesson," Pansy's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper, but the words still seemed loud as they echoed through the cave. "So I killed her." The admission came so suddenly, Draco was completely stunned. He looked away. Somehow it made perfect sense. Pansy was unhinged enough to do it. Of course, hearing the truth now didn't help.

Overhearing the admission of guilt, Harry nodded his head silently. He had always suspected Pansy as having a fairly strong motive to commit the crime, but the headmaster had dismissed his suggestion at the time. Harry's anti Slytherin bias was well known, and there was just no evidence to convict anyone. It had eventually been blamed on a Death Eater attack, which really was the truth. Now they knew which Death Eater had pointed her wand and cast the killing curse.

Draco just stood in shock from Pansy's confession. Why hadn't he suspected Pansy before now? Because she had a perfect alibi, that was why. It was all starting to come back and make horrible sense. Pansy continued in Draco's silence. "Your father and my mother had arranged for us to marry, Draco. It was my birthright, and she was going to take that away!" She decided to cut Draco down even further. "Although, she did beg for her life in the end. I doubt she would have made a good Death Eater. She grovelled and pleaded like a Muggle, but I still killed her. I thought you would have turned to _me_ – I could have comforted you in your time of despair." Pansy pleaded.

Draco closed his eyes to avoid the unbidden tears that were forming. He didn't want to hear any more. His grand plans to keep Daphne away from the Death Eaters had failed because of Pansy's jealousy. All the repressed and long forgotten memories came back to the fore, and he found it hard to keep his composure.

"It's quite obvious to see now why Lucius often invited the lonely widow Parkinson over for dinner," he smirked. "But mother wasn't stupid – she would not have allowed any marriage arranged for me. Don't presume to think she didn't know about Lucius' affairs. Mother was thrilled that I was in love with Daphne..." If he said any more, he would probably lose his composure, but he knew he needed to keep his wits about him. How in the name of Merlin were they going to get out of this mess? He took a few deep breaths and prayed that Harry was not lying unconscious somewhere in the back of the cave.

"And they were both weak willed women," Pansy crowed triumphantly, seemingly aware of Draco's flagging spirits. "Lucius only married Narcissa to appease his family. He really wanted to marry my mother, but your Grandfather forbade it. Lucius understood the need to bring the Black and Malfoy houses together - their blood had not mingled for over five generations, so he gave in and married your mother. Marriage is for improving pure-blood ties, as well as political ones, and our children would have been magnificent and powerful wizards! Couldn't you see that the Greengrass family had no breeding? Did you ever bother to research how many squibs they've produced in the last century? Did you realise they made their money on Muggle investments?"

Draco had heard endless lectures on blood purity as a child, but it had been a long time since he heard someone so vehement about keeping the pure-blood wizards utterly pure. Her words were almost a direct echo of his father's.

"So when did you become so chummy with Lucius, anyway?" Draco needed to regain his focus. He needed to bring the conversation back to Pansy, as she was always keen to talk about herself. He had not forgotten the other Neo Death Eaters in the cave. There were two specifically guarding Severus, but everyone listened on in awe as Pansy spoke. He noticed the look of unswerving loyalty on their faces as they watched her, and it struck him at that moment that Pansy really was in charge of them.

Pansy seemed pleased that Draco was suddenly taking an interest in her again. "Oh, I went to talk to him when we were still in school. I wanted to express my concerns about Daphne, and how she was influencing you. Lucius was so impressed by my single-minded determination. It was his suggestion to get rid of Daphne, for she was the only obstacle to my becoming the next Mrs Malfoy." Her face suddenly grew dark again. "Of course, you certainly ruined everything when I'd heard from Damien that you had started shagging boys. I couldn't believe it. I went to Lucius and told him –"

"So that's how he found out?" Draco always wondered just when his father learned of his bisexuality. As he turned to check on Severus, he noticed his worsening colour. Time was running out – he had to get Severus to a medi-wizard. _If only I could distract Pansy long enough to get my wand..._

"... So when that happened, I turned to Lucius and it occurred to me that I was perhaps seeking out the wrong Malfoy." Her smile was dreamy. Draco knew Pansy had been ambitious, but chasing after Lucius Malfoy was something he would never have guessed she would be capable of. "After all, he always had a rather absurd fascination for my mother – Damien was always such a good little boy – I will miss him." The fact her thoughts were skipping from one thing to another was just another sign of her madness.

The thought was interrupted as the Polyjuiced Lucius cried out in pain, his fingers digging in to the skin of his face. Draco had been expecting this for a while – another reason he was stalling for time. A moment later, a tall, dark haired wizard stood in place, not looking at all uncomfortable in Lucius' robes. The sneer plastered on his face was identical to the one he wore as Lucius, but Draco was still shocked as he realised that Phillip Parkinson was not as dead as first suspected. He remembered casting the Avada Kedavra that struck Phillip. It was a vividly clear memory. He was so busy casting the killing curse as he tried to escape, he didn't see the curse that struck him directly in the knee. Aboleo Adesum.

"Phillip..." This man couldn't be an impostor. Nobody under the influence of Polyjuice could imitate someone else, and glamour charms were useless until the last remnants of Polyjuice were out of his system. "I'd say it was a pleasure to see you again, but you know it isn't." Draco was trying to keep the shock out of his voice. This changed the stakes and made him feel uneasy. Phillip was much more powerful than Pansy, but he didn't have the same madness in his eyes – just calm, icy fury.

Harry was as equally stunned. He also realised the escalated danger, for it was well known that Phillip Parkinson had been one of the more dangerous younger Death Eaters. Harry had actually wanted to congratulate Draco after the war when he heard that he had killed him, but it was obvious now that Polyjuice was something Phillip enjoyed using. Still, there was something about this cave that made Harry uneasy, and he was becoming more concerned by the minute. Suddenly, he realised what it was, and he moved swiftly away from the circle to head to the cave entrance. It pained him having to leave Draco alone, but with all eyes and ears hopefully paying attention elsewhere, he could get a message out. It was their only chance. Even Harry knew they were outnumbered.

"Draco," Phillip's voice was still a little raspy, and Draco noticed a rather prominent scar running from his jaw, down to his throat. "I apologise for my little sister's sense of theatrics. She thought it would be fun if I could scare you. I just wanted to kill you, but it was her idea to get her hands on your fortune. It really should have been hers, by rights. Pansy was going to marry your father after your mother's untimely death. But of course, his death was even more untimely." Draco bristled at the reference to his mother, and he had an awful feeling he was soon going to hear an admission to her murder.

"I should have realised it was you under the Polyjuice. All those conversations – you told me you were fascinated by Potions, but you were just using me to get information, weren't you? Why do I regret not waiting around to see that the person I killed really wasn't you?"

Phillip grinned evilly. "Congratulations, you've finally figured it all out. You and Severus wondered how you escaped so easily when Voldemort fell? We let you go. Those you thought you were killing when you were trying to escape were just a bunch of our prisoners who we Polyjuiced and Imperioed. If you had truly worn the Dark Mark, you would have realised that the Dark Lord's power was waning. But you went on, oblivious to it all. The other members of the enclave decided it would be prudent to cut our losses and run. Polyjuicing the prisoners was just a little parting gift."

Draco was shocked. He had killed prisoners who had been Polyjuiced to look like Death eaters. Of all the atrocities he witnessed during the war, this had to be the worst. "They were Order members!" Draco couldn't believe it. He didn't want to think any further about the ramifications, but he knew it was entirely possible.

"It was such fun to watch you run," Phillip laughed as he saw the play of emotions across Draco's face.

Draco hated being left in the dark. It seemed he was the victim of something much grander than he originally anticipated. He was so sure of himself, and now, he realised that they knew all along that he was a spy.

Of course, it was making sense. Phillip's sudden interest in him; his insistence that Draco stay close to him and within his circle of influence. He charmed Draco with sex and the odd stream of meaningful information that would make him feel important to the Order. He should have listened to Severus when he was warned not to get too close to Phillip. Draco didn't like being played for a fool.

"If it's any consolation, pet, you did a very good job." Phillip smirked. "For quite a while I wasn't sure if you really were the spy. Pity that you talk in your sleep, though." He came up and pulled Draco up by the hair, staring deep into his eyes. Once, Draco might have felt something for this man, but now he couldn't find enough to even warrant spitting on him. For now he finally realised just who it was who cast the Aboleo Adesum curse on him.

Draco scoffed, "So when I was running for my life, you were enjoying yourself. You wanted one final play before the end of the war. Did you enjoy watching all those prisoners die whilst under Imperio? Did you get off on casting the Aboleo Adesum at me?" Draco looked down at his knee. "What a pity you missed. I bet it must eat away at you to know that you didn't quite hit me in the intended spot. Don't worry, I know all there is to know about Aboleo Adesum. Had plenty of time to look it up. You really should have aimed it at my spinal column – that would have made for a much more painful and certain death."

Phillip pursed his lips. Draco could see he had angered his former lover by the way his knuckles had turned white around the grip of his wand. "Pansy, just do it. I'm sick of listening to him. He's not going to change his mind and join us. He's a bog filthy traitor, just like Snape."

Pansy was smiling evilly after listening to the exchange between her brother and Draco. She totally ignored her brother as she began to circle Draco, who was standing, but still held in the body bind. His knee was protesting bitterly under the strain, but he had more important things on his mind other than the pain. It seemed that Pansy still had more to say to Draco.

"Lucius was a grand lover, Draco. What a pity you won't allow me the opportunity to make a comparison." She sighed. "Such a shame. Still, I gave Lucius everything. We loved and laughed and cried together. Your father was such a passionate man – so giving. I gave him everything Narcissa couldn't, you realise. I showed him a strong woman, one who was true to our Lord's cause. Your mother was frigid and useless." Draco missed the twinkle of madness in her eye as she turned to look at Phillip. "Lucius was only too pleased when I went to him with a plan to dispose of your mother."

Draco glared at her furiously. "You didn't..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Draco darling. I'm afraid it's true. Not only did I kill your precious girlfriend, but I had to get rid of Narcissa. After all, she was the one thing that was still in the way of my becoming Mrs Malfoy. Lucius was all for it. We were going to have children - a strong true heir who would carry the Malfoy name to greatness! Narcissa was in the way, so I planned to get rid of her. It seemed all too easy. But then when that Potter killed Lucius..." Pansy was mad with her admissions. "Well, I had to follow through with the plans, even though my dear Lucius had been cruelly taken from me."

Draco was raging on the inside. How could Pansy just stand there and casually admit to two murders? She was as mad as his aunt Bellatrix, and possibly just as dangerous. He wanted to strangle Pansy with her own hair then hex her with every Unforgivable in his repertoire. He certainly had built up enough hate to cast them properly.

Without a wand, he struck her with words instead. He had nothing to lose now. He had lost hope that Harry was going to help. He must have collapsed, or been caught by others he had not seen. "Is this why you did it all? Because you felt you were scorned? First Daphne, then Mother, now you're telling me that you have set up this little motley crew of second rate wizards just purely to spite me because my father is dead and you couldn't get your hands on his money?"

Pansy aimed her wand at Draco, and was ready to cast a curse, when Phillip forced her to lower he wand. "You know we can't do that here – the _cave_." He looked around at the walls, worried about something. A soft hissing sound came from the opposite side of the cave, and the worried look on Phillip's face grew. "What was that?" he asked in panic.

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck rose as a cool breath of air tickled his senses. He heard an almost inaudible "_Finite Incantatum_", and a warm hand lay on the small of his back as he felt the body bind melt away. He tried to look neutral as he felt complete relief at Harry's presence. He forgot himself for just a moment. "Harry?"

Phillip turned sharply to look at Draco. "Oh, so you think your precious Potter is going to come and rescue you?" He laughed aloud, but was still concerned by the sound. "Have you turned so far away from your heritage that now you're waiting to be rescued by a reckless Gryffindor? There once was a time when you would have cursed Potter rather than accept his help. You've changed, Draco Malfoy."

"No, actually, I haven't changed. I've just grown up into the man I was meant to be." Draco felt a little buoyed and confident by the fact that he knew Harry was there – most likely under the cover of a disillusionment. He very faintly heard a whisper from Harry, "Keep them talking..."

Both Pansy and Phillip laughed, causing the others to smile. "Yes, a man who is predictable, gullible and petulant when he doesn't get his own way. It must really hurt to know that you've lost so much money, and your Manor." Phillip taunted Draco.

"You know, none of that really matters. So what if I'm petulant, Pansy, you're the one who has spent years trying to get back at me because I chose the much better girl to be my fiancée." He suddenly realised that it didn't matter at all about Malfoy Manor, or the money. He just wanted to get Severus and Harry and get out of there. He wondered what Harry was up to, and dared to glance in Severus' direction again. They heard that noise again, and Phillip sent Flint and Nott to go and investigate.

Seeing Draco's concerned look in Severus' direction, Pansy tilted her head, and two burly Neo Death Eaters walked over and grabbed the unconscious man. He closed his eyes; he didn't want to see what they were planning to do. They took the full body bind off Severus and threw him at Phillip's feet. Draco's breath stopped momentarily and he winced at the resounding crack as Severus' head hit the stone floor. He was glad that he was unconscious. Death would be less painful that way.

He pretended to struggle in his body bind, which made Pansy smirk. "Ooh, I do like to see you squirm. I wonder," she asked curiously, "will you beg as prettily as your old girlfriend?" Her long red painted talons curled menacingly around the grip of her wand as she aimed squarely at Draco. He stood defiant, not giving her any satisfaction. "What? No begging?"

"Malfoys don't beg," he retorted smugly. A sudden cry broke out from the direction of where Nott and Flint just went. A few of the wizards in the circle broke off to investigate. "Wait!" Phillip cried, but in the resulting confusion, they found themselves wandless. "_Expelliarmus Maxima!_" Harry cried, sending all the Neo Death Eater's wands clattering against the wall before falling to the darkened ground. Without the extra light from their wands, the cave was suddenly plunged into darkness.

Pansy cried out in frustration and Draco took a defensive stance. He flinched at the feeling of a hand on his arm, but he realised who it was when the familiar weight and warmth of his own wand rested in his hand. The diversion only bought them a couple of minutes, as almost instantly, everyone was calling for their wands. "_Accio!_"

Draco grabbed Severus and dragged him back against some stones. In the ensuing moment of panic, Harry managed to down one Neo Death Eater with a stunner, and two more from the circle were dazed as they found themselves cracking skulls. Phillip was one of the first to regain his wand, and reset some light.

Harry must have still been under the disillusionment, for Draco could not see him, but he watched as two of the Neo Death Eaters banged heads violently. Draco made the mistake of keeping his eye on Pansy, desperately casting spells to keep her from picking up her wand. Unfortunately, Phillip was not so distracted, and quickly shot a stunner in the direction of where he guessed Harry to be.

"Oof," Draco heard Harry exclaim as he was knocked back against the wall. Phillip cast and Anti-disillusionment field, shattering Harry's disguise. Pansy was laughing shrilly.

"Ohh, look! Potter really _has_ come to rescue them!" Draco didn't give her time to get started, casting a stunner in her direction. She quickly moved, but the spell rebounded off the wall, striking her across the arm. She fell. He quickly found himself the target of crossfire, and attempted to raise a personal shield. Things started to go downhill very quickly when he realised his 'Protego' spell did not work. He didn't have time to wonder why, but attempted to raise it again, but Harry quickly saw his confusion. He was quickly covering Draco's back.

"It's the rock – there's something in the granite. One of those rocks that's full of old earthly magic – you know, the sort that doesn't agree with wizarding magic! We're just going to have to do this without any shields!" He was bloody and bruised from hitting the wall, but held a grin as he looked at Draco. "Still, it means that they don't have any shields either. It should make things interesting."

"Be careful," Draco wanted to say much more, but Harry nodded in understanding. They were dreadfully outnumbered, and everyone was beginning to return to their feet. In such close quarters, spells were dangerously rebounding off walls, making everyone extra careful of what they were casting. In the absence of shields, nobody wanted to be struck by a rebounding Avada Kedavra.

Draco noticed someone eyeing off Severus' still form. He had not stirred in the longest time, and Draco cast a well aimed Stunner to draw any spells away from that direction. He still ached all over from the earlier Cruciatus, but he didn't have the luxury of rest. The adrenalin was pumping from the sheer physicality of ducking and weaving to avoid the spells aimed in his direction. Without shields, it was their only defence.

He would not dismiss these Neo Death Eaters – they were well trained, and extremely well versed in a variety of attacking spells. Their cautiousness just showed that they were not reckless. From what he was experiencing, he could see that his money had been spent wisely with a great emphasis put on their training. Harry seemed to be relishing the multiple duels, and Phillip turned his interest in Harry's direction. Harry seemed to invite the attention – shooting numerous Stunners in their direction.

Almost taken by surprise as he was struck in the shoulder by a stunner, Draco retaliated by shooting an Avada Kedavra at Hardwicke. He had a perfect aim, and knew he wouldn't miss. He didn't expect Troughton to leap out of the way of another curse, struck dead in the crossfire. Draco realised then that he had to be more careful.

As he turned to face Harry, he met his gaze, and he smiled warmly at Draco. With that one gesture, Draco felt safe and secure – knowing everything was going to be all right. Somehow, he just had a gut feeling it would be fine.

The duels suddenly stopped as a group of wizards suddenly appeared in the middle of the cave. Their silent arrival indicated a Portkey. Before Draco could cast a wand on any of them, he recognised the Auror robes, and saw the even bigger smile on Harry's face. Harry yelled out to them, quickly explaining the situation about having no protections.

As the numbers evened out, a momentary lapse of concentration saw Pansy strike Draco, slicing open his arm. He cried out in anger, and he threw a vicious hex in her direction. Phillip was duelling Harry as Draco continued to retaliate against Pansy. Her arsenal of spells had improved immensely since the last time he fought against her.

Suddenly from the side, he felt a sting and burst of pain in his knee. He crumpled to the floor. Looking up, he noticed that Pansy was now teaming up with Phillip to take on Harry. Harry didn't see the new attacker approaching.

"Harry, Watch out!" he screamed, not paying any attention to his own safety.

Harry turned and saw a dark purple shot of magic aimed for his head. He ducked out of the way, the spell hitting the cave wall. Rather than disappearing, the spell rebounded, taking Harry by surprise. With no more time to deflect the spell, Harry unconsciously raised his arm in protection. Without any protection spells, he took the full brunt of the spell, screaming in pain. He fell back against the stones clutching his now useless arm.

Everything suddenly moved in slow motion for Draco. Neo Death Eaters and Aurors alike were locked in a series of carefully choreographed duels. Nobody wanted to cast a spell unless they were sure it would strike their target. Too many bodies lay dead or injured on the ground. He wanted to rush to Harry's side, but Pansy returned her attentions to him, aiming the same dark curse at him. Draco deflected it with a counter spell that directed it at one of the sea eagle nests. The nest quickly caught fire, increasing the light dramatically within the cave.

Draco was desperate to know if Severus was still alive, but he was torn when he saw Harry slowly getting up. Harry appeared more battered and beaten than before, the hex having struck him hard. His wand arm appeared bloodied and broken, but he refused to stay down. Pansy seemed to be standing back, revelling in the carnage, clapping in joy as Harry attempted to stand up.

Draco's fury rose to the surface. He knew he had to end this - now. Stalking toward her, he completely losing track of Phillip. "Draco, duck!" He almost didn't hear Harry's last minute plea, but he turned around to see a curse coming around directly from Phillip's wand. The ominous blue bolt of magic was aimed directly at him, so he tried to duck to the left. A large rock outcrop blocked his way, and the curse was still coming at him. He knew of no counter curse for this spell, he knew there wasn't one. It was going to hit him.

His reflexes reacted and he automatically threw a Killing curse in Phillip's direction, but that didn't stop the curse that was heading his way. He saw Phillip fall to the floor, exactly mirroring the way he remembered seeing him – his Polyjuiced double – fall dead.

As long as he lived, Draco would never forget the next few minutes, indelibly etched in his memory. Harry cried out as he saw the curse aimed in Draco's direction. With every ounce of his Gryffindor recklessness, he threw himself boldly into the path of the curse. His wand arm dangling uselessly at his side. Harry locked eyes with Draco, his gaze full of understanding and apology, but all Draco saw was their brilliant green reflection turn to pure agony as the curse struck. Draco could not bear to watch, but he could not bear to end that gaze. Harry crumpled to the floor, screaming in agony after the curse struck him square in the back. The screams echoed throughout the cave, and it seemed that everyone who was left standing stopped fighting for just a moment – drawn as they were to the cry of raw agony.

Phillip had aimed _Aboleo Adesum_ at him, but Harry threw himself in front of it. Harry risked his own life – for Draco.

Harry was convulsing in unhealthy spasms as his screams continued. The sight of Harry like that fuelled Draco to reserves of energy and power that he never realised. His anger was palpable, and he turned on Pansy. He saw the gleam of victory in her eye as she smiled maniacally.

"Aw, is poor wee Potty hurt? You poor thing, Draco. It seems that everyone you love is either killed – or worse. You know, Daphne and your mother both begged for their lives before I killed them. I wonder if Potter will do the same." She stood snickering at Harry's convulsing form. She didn't seem to care that her brother was dead. It just proved she was the cold-hearted bitch Draco knew her to be.

"Shut up! Just SHUT UP!" As he yelled, he could feel his anger mounting. The earth shook beneath his feet as a small tremor caused a few loose pebbles to fall from the ceiling. He looked at the broken stance of Harry's body on the floor, and he realised he couldn't let it happen, not again. His magic was as uncontrolled as his anger as the rumbling grew louder. A rumble from deep in the earth distracted Pansy, and she had a worried look on her face.

The split second that she turned away was enough for Draco to gather every ounce of anger he ever experience and throw the most vehement killing curse in her direction. It was said that you could only cast an Unforgivable if you had true intent. In that moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to see Pansy crushed and ground into nothingness. She had taken away everyone he had loved, and that fuelled his hatred beyond definition.

The sickly green of the curse ripped right through Pansy's chest and her heart had stopped beating long before her empty shell crumpled to the ground.

* * *

Draco had moved to Harry's side before Pansy had even struck the ground. He was shaking so profusely, he could barely hold his wand.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ The aftermath of his powerful magic was still tingling in his veins, but the mantra in his head seemed to help. Looking around the cave, he saw that he was the only one left standing. Had he killed the others, or had they brought it upon themselves? He needed to be there for Harry, but he was desperate to learn of Severus' condition. Harry wasn't screaming now, for he had fallen unconscious. His body was still shaking in uncontrollable spasms.

Draco thought everyone else must be dead, so he was startled by a cough and a movement at the corner of his eye. Drawing his wand, he found it pointed directly at Charlie Weasley.

"Draco?" Charlie coughed again, trying to peer from the dust that was still falling from the ceiling. Apart from a giant red welt across his face and a bleeding shoulder, he was alive, and sitting up.

"How... How did you know to come?" Draco asked automatically, but continued. "Oh Merlin, Charlie. I need your help. Harry's down – and I don't know about Severus – he was in a very bad way, but that was a while ago." Draco indicated roughly where he left Severus.

Charlie shot up and headed over to where Severus was lying. The look of panic on Charlie's face must have mirrored Draco's own. He let out a heavy sigh. "There's still a pulse, but his lips are blue," he cried. He didn't want to leave Harry's side, but Draco forced himself to head to where Severus lay. "That Constable who was with you at the Manor raised an alarm to say you both had vanished, but Harry must have sent an urgent message to Dumbledore."

Draco was about to ask when he would have managed the time to do that, but realised that he had been gone for an awfully long time. He must have sent it from the mouth of the cave as he had been talking to Pansy. He dared a glance in her direction. She was still dead, slumped as she was next to the body of her brother. Charlie continued his chatter. "But I was the only Order member in the castle – apart from the Headmaster. We grabbed as many Aurors as we could get on short notice, and followed Harry's message to its source."

"How'd you get here, Charlie? I tried to Disapparate, but the wards are still up."

"I don't know if it's wards, or something about the cave. Harry shouted something earlier about the rocks in the granite – something magical. It could be some sort of natural Disapparition barrier.

"Then how do we get out of here?" Draco was starting to feel the panic. He needed to get Harry and Severus to a medi-wizard. His first thought was to go to anywhere other than St Mungo's.

Charlie pulled out a rune from the concealed pocket of his robes. "Return Portkey – takes us directly back to Hogwarts. Everyone had one." Charlie looked sad as he looked around the room as the number of dead. Draco tried hard not to look, for now he was on the search for another Portkey. He rifled through the pocket of an Auror he didn't recognise.

"Got one," he cried in triumph. "You take Severus back, and I'll take Harry. Where are these Portkeys going to take us, exactly?"

"The Infirmary, of course," Charlie grinned at the irony. "Harry always suggested we make them take us directly there. It would save us a lot of time."

Draco barely heard him, for he was quickly by Harry's side. Harry's body was twitching uncontrollably, and Draco knew this was the curse starting to knit itself to the bone, destroying the nerves and muscles in the process. Draco drew Harry into him to protect him on the journey. Just before they left, he noticed Harry's wand lying uselessly beside him. He picked it up, carefully putting it into his robe pocket. Clasping the stone rune between their hands he tapped it with his wand. This time, he only felt extreme relief at the tug behind his navel.

* * *

Three days.

Three long days and there was still no change.

Draco had not slept, nor would he, until he knew that it had at least made _some_ difference.

Between Harry and Severus, Madame Pomfrey was stretched to her limits. Within seconds of their arrival, Draco had suggested she call in some help. She suggested St Mungo's, but he gave her a deathly glare. Dumbledore raced into the infirmary with the speed of a man one tenth of his age. He was solemn as he saw two of his favourite students lying there in such a grave condition. He suddenly looked every bit of his age.

Even he agreed with Draco's assessment about St Mungo's. Madame Pomfrey admitted she could not work alone, and would need the assistance of another medi-wizard. With that, Draco called the only other Medi-wizard he knew. Jean-Paul. He had no idea where Jean-Paul had gone to, or if he was even still in England, but his head was in the Floo to Emmaline faster than he could blink.

Jean-Paul was up at the school within minutes and provided all the assistance Madame Pomfrey needed. "What happened," he was quickly at Harry's bedside, his wand running over Harry's body as it still twitched and convulsed from the throes of the curse. His face showed no emotion.

"Neo Death Eaters, that's who happened." Draco might have sounded calm, but inside he was panicking.

Pomfrey saw that this strange medi-wizard was helping Harry, and she moved quickly to tend to Severus. Charlie was wringing his hands in despair by Severus' bedside, but Pomfrey soon had him acting in the capacity of a nurse.

"I'm going to have to sedate him, Draco. He needs his mind to be at complete rest so that he can begin to heal." Draco nodded at Jean-Paul's assessment, and pulled the strongest sedative from the potions cabinet. He noticed Jean-Paul watching him as he made his way back to Harry's bedside. In his dash to help the two most important men in his life, he barely remembered his own injuries. He was oblivious for his own need for medical attention, and flinched when Jean-Paul flicked some healing spells his way.

At the headmaster's prompting, he began to retell the extremely abridged version of what had happened since the Portkey from the Manor. When Draco told them what curses had befallen Harry, their faces were grave.

"I've never even heard of this _Aboleo Adesum,_" Pomfrey frowned and she looked desperately at Harry.

"It's the darkest of degenerative curses, Poppy," Draco added.

"It's what caused Draco's knee injury, Madame Pomfrey," Jean-Paul added helpfully.

She shook her head. "But... but if that's the case... Oh dear - it's in his spine," she waved her wand over Harry, diagnosing his symptoms and pain. "You are right. We have to keep him sedated. I don't want to move him. If it's as degenerative as you say, then the slightest movement must be excruciating. His aura is fading in and out, and I haven't ever seen it that colour before." Draco was worried even more at the thought of that. Once a wizard's magical aura was injured, it would take a long time to recuperate – if at all. "We'll have to keep him from moving at all." She momentarily moved her attention to Harry's blackened arm. "Oh my," she said, shaking her head in despair. "Didn't he use any protection shields? This looks like it struck at full force."

Draco gave a quick summary of the cave, and the presence of magical rock within the granite.

"I know a lot of the granite in the Outer Hebrides is laced with porphyryte. Awfully nasty stuff. It reacts unpredictably with all sorts of charms and spells. It's the main reason why there are so few wizards on those remote islands. Nobody likes their magic to be acting unpredictably. We will have to investigate this cave further, but for now, you need to concern yourselves with Harry and Severus. I'll head back to my office and ensure that Scrimegour is aware of what has eventuated." Dumbledore left the Infirmary with barely a backward glance.

Draco was too busy looking at the fine web of spiderish starburst scars along the length of Harry's right arm. It was turning black – a sure sign that the magic was ebbing. He was not in good shape. "Well, I can work on this, but he'll have some trouble casting spells for a while," Jean-Paul suggested, "But that injury alone will take a while to heal."

"Maybe longer – wait until you see his medical history. That's a Skele-grown arm," Madame Pomfrey offered. She then pointed out a scar hiding under the blood on his face. "That scar on his cheek won't heal easily, either. I think the piece of glass went clean through his cheek. It was probably from his glasses. I can stitch it up, but the scar will remain."

Jean-Paul winced in disgust, shaking his head. "Weeks, then. I'm not sure what we can do for his other injuries, although," Jean-Paul whispered quietly under his breath before looking up at Draco. "What worked best for you when you were recovering from this curse."

Draco nodded, "The strongest painkiller you have won't help. It's good that he's unconscious – he'd probably want to kill himself from the pain if he were awake. I was in St Mungo's for eight weeks – and it was only my knee. If we could get the cure into him..." At the thought, Draco touched his pocket, and without a moment's hesitation, turned and fled toward his lab, ignoring everyone's queries and the pain in his knee.

He knew what had to be done. He didn't think twice about making the potion. The Pegasus Wingtips given to him by Severus had been forgotten in the battle with Pansy and Phillip, but Draco knew who needed them. It wasn't a matter for any conscious thought. The cauldrons and other ingredients were there – eagerly awaiting those elusive wingtips.

As he began the potion, he barely heard someone entering the lab. At least they had the presence of mind to wait quietly. Measuring out the last of the powdered Puffskeins, he slowly added it to the cauldron, stirring carefully. He had memorised exactly what to do. Harry's translations had been very clear. Apart from the ingredients, it truly was a simple potion to brew. Any competent first year would be capable of making this cure. _Even Harry,_ Draco thought wryly.

"How is he, Remus," he asked. He had learned to recognise the werewolf's presence easily, and knew he was probably the only one who knew exactly how to behave whilst a master was brewing.

"Your doctor friend told me you were likely to be here. He's quite worried about the way you ran off. He would have come after you, but he is needed in the Infirmary with Poppy." Remus shrugged. "There's no change. Breathing, but not conscious. I only got back from London just a while ago, after Dumbledore Flooed me." Remus indicated the vial containing the matching pair of Pegasus Wingtips. "So you finally found what you were looking for?" he asked.

"Actually it was Severus, but Harry is the one who needs it. Not me." Draco didn't hesitate once.

Remus raised an eyebrow in surprise. "But isn't this what you've been after since Harry discovered that there was a cure for your cursed knee?"

"Yes, but Harry needs it more than me. If I can get this potion to him soon, it should reverse the effects of the curse."

"Should? Are you saying that there's no guarantee?" Remus sounded worried.

Draco shrugged, but didn't take his eyes from his cauldron. "No, there's no guarantee this cure will work – the book that Harry translated it from is centuries old, as you know. But still, it _has_ to work – we've only got the one shot."

"And you're giving it to Harry?" Remus wanted Draco to be completely sure of his motives for what he was doing.

Draco finally looked up from his work to look Remus in the eye. "Harry took that curse for me. He didn't have to... Reckless bloody Gryffindor. I can't _not_ give him this, Remus."

"Even if you can't be sure it _will_ work – even after all that anticipation?"

Draco gave him an even glare. "At least I will know I've done everything in my power."

* * *

In the end, it was a waiting game. The potion was brewed and Draco personally administered it to Harry. Harry was still unconscious, but it was a potion induced sleep – the cure combined with the strongest Painkillers Draco could make. Only after that first day did his concern turn to Severus. He need not have worried, for Charlie was holding a vigil by Severus' side. Severus regained consciousness, albeit only briefly, but it was the only good news they had. He was now past the most critical stage, and would only need time to allow his body, and magic, to heal.

Draco barely even noticed that Jean-Paul briefly left the infirmary, but the smell of fresh coffee roused him temporarily. Jean-Paul was standing there, a ceramic coffee mug in one hand, and a paper bag smelling like heaven in the other. He handed it to Draco and showed deep concern. "Emmaline was dreadfully worried – for Harry, and for you, but she can't leave the store." Draco nodded, and he barely tasted the coffee.

"Pomfrey says he's stable now – we just have to wait." Draco didn't take his eyes off Harry for one second. His breathing was normal, but he looked strange without his glasses – he didn't quite seem the same.

"She's worried about you, Draco," he added quietly. Draco just nodded, but didn't look up from Harry. Jean-Paul could see his complete focus was on the man in the bed before him. "When will you know if the potion worked?" He asked. He seemed genuinely worried for Harry.

Draco shrugged, "When he wakes up... if he wakes up." Draco didn't mean for his negative thoughts to come rushing out, but three days without any response was putting Draco on edge. Not even a hurried interview with the Head of the Auror division could make him angry. All his emotion had gone into trying to keep Harry alive; and now, it was keeping him from being crippled and without his magic.

"If his recovery depended on sheer determination, then he is going to be fine," Jean-Paul acknowledged Draco's tireless work.

"But it doesn't, does it?" Draco seemed all at a loss now that his negativity burst through. "Harry's recovery depends on _me_, and whether or not a rare potion is going to do what it said. Of course, he wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for me..."

Jean-Paul grabbed Draco around the arms to stop his tale of woe from spinning further out of control. "I can't explain away Harry's motives to you, Draco, but I think you'll have to ask yourself _why_ he wanted to throw himself in the path of a curse aimed at you."

"Because he's Harry Potter, and he'll save anyone he can..." Draco answered automatically, but Jean-Paul was shaking his head.

"No, I don't think it is that simple. You just think about it for a while, and let Harry confirm it _when_ he wakes up." Jean-Paul's smile was weary, but Draco stared up at his former lover and nodded. Feeling despondent wasn't going to make Harry recover any faster.

"Did I ever thank you for coming and helping, Jean-Paul? You didn't have to, you know."

Jean-Paul just smiled wearily, "Even if I weren't a medi-wizard, I would have done anything you asked me to. Friends do this sort of thing for each other." He put his hand over Draco's, and Draco remembered the very first time he wished for those hands to touch his body. He no longer had the same reaction, but felt glad for the touch. "No matter what's happened in our past, Draco, I still think of you as my friend." His smile was warm and genuine.

Draco gave Jean-Paul a warm, friendly hug, but quickly looked into his face. "How did _you_ know I wanted to be with Harry – the other evening..."

Jean-Paul didn't let him finish. "I knew when you left Marrakesh that we would never be more than friends. I could see your fascination with him when I saw you looking out for him everywhere. You may not realise it, but I saw you and he in the coffee shop one day, and I sensed that his aura and your aura just fit together perfectly."

His own knee was throbbing furiously again – had been ever since the Cruciatus from Pansy, but he barely felt it. Draco needed his cane more than ever, and was about to stand up and check on Harry again, when he felt Jean-Paul's heavy hand pushing him back to the bed. "You're going to have to rest up for a while, Draco."

"Oh, no. I'm fine – not sick at all. Besides, you need me if anyone needs a potion brewed..." He could see from the determined look on Jean-Paul's and Madame Pomfrey's faces that neither of them were interested in his protests.

"...And if you don't get some rest now, you won't be any good at all. I hope to goodness that you aren't going to be as stubborn as Severus when it comes to being tended," Pomfrey started muttering as she tried to force a sleeping potion down his throat. Draco glared at her in complete distaste, but swallowed the potion like a petulant child.

"You don't have to leave the infirmary, Draco. You can have this bed right next to Harry," Jean-Paul reassured him. "Don't worry, we'll look after them – you have our word."

* * *

**July 20, Sunday**

Draco didn't remember the sleep, but the waiting game was something he hated at the best of times. The longer Harry took to regain consciousness, the less chance he was going to heal completely. Madame Pomfrey gave Harry the last dose of sedative potion. After this wore off, he would need to return to consciousness on his own. Only when he woke up on his own would they know if the cure had worked.

It was a good sign that Harry's sudden muscular spasms had stopped some time around the middle of the day – which day, Draco had no idea. Time held little meaning until he knew exactly how Harry would recover. But he reluctantly admitted that Jean-Paul and Madame Pomfrey had been right – he had needed rest.

News of the outside world filtered slowly into the infirmary, but Remus brought a copy of the Sunday Prophet for Draco to peruse. As he read the date on the front, he realised just how long they had been there. To his best recollection, they had visited the Manor on Wednesday. He assumed their little skirmish took place on Wednesday evening. Charlie confirmed that after Draco asked him. Charlie had barely left the Infirmary, even now, when Severus was awake, he was there for a large part of every day.

For a moment he was concerned for Melchett and Petite Amie, but Charlie assured him that Melchett, and Harry's owl Hedwig, had been seen taking treats up in the Owlery. As for Petite Amie, he assumed that Remus might be looking after her, but the castle was a fairly self-sufficient place for cats. He assumed she was probably having a grand time chasing after the school rats. No doubt he would be chastised for not being there to give her gourmet meals every night.

As he shuffled through the paper, he was surprised to see a distinct lack of news about the battle with the Neo Death Eaters. Dumbledore had mentioned he would be telling Scrimegour about their skirmish. Thankfully, someone with some common sense in the Ministry had let out a small story that they had engaged an enclave of the enemy, and that both sides suffered casualties, but no names had been released.

Draco vaguely remembered a rather short interview with that senior Auror, Gordon Bridgewater. He seemed most displeased at Draco's curt answers to his questions about the attack. Yes, Draco had been involved in the attack. No, he did not 'lure' Harry Potter there. Yes, he knew many of the victims, but had not had any contact with them since the war. No, he had no idea until then that they were the ones in charge of the enclave. No, he had no idea if they were the only Neo Death Eaters, but he seemed to think that most of the evidence pointed to Phillip and Pansy Parkinson having been in charge. Yes, it was true he was once involved with Phillip Parkinson (But Pansy was the one who admitted to two murders). No, Severus was captured earlier – you'll have to talk to him.

"Enough!" Draco's temper was ragged from the incessant stream of questions fired his way. Gordon Bridgewater seemed quite affronted that Draco wouldn't answer any more questions, but he had an obligation to find out why so many Aurors were called in and killed in action.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you more questions, Mr Malfoy – there appear to be many left unanswered." It was blatantly obvious that this fool assumed that Draco was guilty until proven innocent of complicity in the crime. Draco had been dreading this, and he hoped and prayed that Harry and Severus would recover to corroborate his words. To his credit, Charlie Weasley managed to provide an account of what he saw after his arrival, but it was too late to see much of what had transpired.

The afternoon was quietening down and Draco returned to his chair beside Harry's bed. It surprised him to realise that the Infirmary had been mercifully free of visitors. Beyond Dumbledore, Jean-Paul, Charlie and Remus, he didn't see any other visitors. Not that he would have been pleased to see them. It struck him as very odd that Granger and the Weasel had not been to see Harry. He knew Harry was angry at Weasley about something, but he would have thought that Granger would have been by his side, wringing her hands in desperation.

He briefly asked Madame Pomfrey, as he knew Granger had worked as her assistant for a while, but Charlie was the one who interrupted. "Well that prat of a brother of mine wouldn't be welcome if he so much as dared to show his face here. I'd have him hexed and out on his arse before he knew what hit him." Draco seemed thoroughly surprised by Charlie's reaction, but didn't press any further. Obviously there was more going on between them than Draco was aware of. But apparently, Hermione _Weasley_ – how he'd ever get used to thinking of her as anything other than Granger, he had no idea) – had been keeping in touch with Madame Pomfrey.

Charlie had made his family aware of Harry's condition, but they respected Dumbledore's wish that there be no visitors. Hermione had apparently been forbidden from seeing Harry by her husband. Her daily Floo talks with Madame Pomfrey were made from her work Floo at St Mungo's, so the Weasel was none the wiser. He almost had a begrudging respect for her after hearing that. But if the Weasel had shown up at Harry's bedside, Draco doubted he would have been able to control himself.

As the long morning turned into early afternoon, Draco was worrying more than usual. Harry should be starting to wake up, but there was still no change in his condition. He was seemingly sleeping peacefully, with just the odd muscular twitch every few minutes. The fact that the muscle spasms were occurring less often was good news, but Draco knew how bad they'd been without that potion, and could only assume that even with the cure, they would take quite a while to vanish.

The plain white sheet was pulled up under his armpits with his arms laid out bare. His dark hair didn't seem to be any messier than usual, but he was in desperate need of a shave. Draco would have cast a Depilio charm on his face, but he knew that unnecessary magic around a hospital bed was not always the best thing. The idea of giving him a shave in the Muggle fashion seemed the best idea, and Draco managed to scrounge up some shaving cream and a cutthroat razor.

Draco was alone with the two patients. Jean-Paul had returned to the village. Draco had solemnly promised Emmaline he would visit the moment he knew Harry was better. Madame Pomfrey was taking a well-deserved break, but she was only a quick call away if Draco needed her.

Draco looked down at Harry's blackened and scarred arm. Curse scars always formed in symmetrical patterns of some description. The fine lines that spidered across his arm were actually quite intricate, but Draco knew that they were also quite serious. _When_ Harry made it through the critical stage, he was going to still have a time of it trying to cast spells. He couldn't turn Harry over to look at the scar from where the Aboleo Adesum struck, but he didn't need to see another of those. He knew intimately what they were like. Even when he was cured, the scar, like all curse scars, would remain.

Draco was hovering with the cutthroat razor as he was ready to give Harry a shave.

"Surely you aren't having second thoughts?" Severus' voice startled Draco, and he nearly dropped the razor. Looking over at Severus, he could see a smirk on his face, yet he still looked weary and very tired. He pointed to the razor. "There was a time when you would have given everything to be in this situation, with a sharp implement at Potter's throat. Make it a nice clean stroke – you don't want to stop half-way. It irritates the hairs."

By the teaching tone in his voice, Draco thought he was telling him how to use the razor to cut open his jugular. By the end, he realised that he was joking, and offering the best way to use the implement to shave. Draco began the process, being ever so gentle with the sharp blade.

"You must be improving if your sarcasm is back to its former level, Severus." Draco commented in reply. Severus looked far from being better, but the fact he was talking and eating, was a lot more than Harry was doing.

"How is he responding? Any sign that the cure's working?" Severus asked in genuine concern.

Draco turned and gave him an unbelieving stare, but Severus continued before the question could be asked. "Charlie told me what you did," he said to Draco in all seriousness, "For Potter. So, has he responded at all? How did the potion look when it was finally brewed? Was it truly as simple as the instructions intimated?"

Putting down the razor, he sighed wearily, and turned to answer Severus. "I suppose you have a right to tell me off, Severus. You did get those wingtips for me – and I am more grateful than you can possibly imagine..." he turned to look back at Harry, a small smile crossing his face, "But Harry did the most selfless thing. He threw himself in front of a curse – for me. Nobody else has done that much for me before. I had to do it. I can't bear to think how he could live with that curse slowly eating away at his spine. I had to do it," he finally murmured.

"I'm not judging you, Draco. Nor am I going to suggest that what you did was in any way right or wrong. You made a decision to give that potion to Harry, and you made that decision with all your heart. I'm just surprised that it took something like this for you to finally admit how you feel about Potter." Severus admitted quietly.

Draco laughed gently. "A bit like how you've suddenly stopped running from a certain Weasley?"

"Yes, quite," Severus closed his eyes, and looked to be falling back to sleep, a gentle smile on his face.

Draco was alone again as the interminable wait continued. By sunset, Harry still wasn't awake. Draco became plagued with doubts. What if the potion didn't work? What if the wingtips weren't an exact matching pair? What if he didn't brew it correctly? What if... Draco lost himself in the despair of playing the waiting game, and it was a struggle.

It wasn't right that Harry just lay there – seemingly sleeping peacefully – when Draco was in such turmoil. His concentration was all over the place. He tried to keep himself occupied and focussed as he waited, but the novel in his lap was still marked at the same page as when he first opened it.

He had to stop this downward spiral of self-doubt. He just had to be patient and wait. If he were in any fit state to pace, he would already be doing that. If Harry's translations were right (and why wouldn't they be?) and his brewing were accurate and all the ingredients perfect (and this is where he was worried the most) then theoretically speaking, Harry should be waking up in a day or so and should slowly start to regain his strength, his magical aura and his physical mobility. According to the translation, it was a near complete cure, only leaving minor scarring at worst.

Harry still wasn't conscious by Monday morning, but Draco was encouraged by the fact that his breathing seemed to be more relaxed. His colour was a little better – there was a little more colour in his face, and a lot less colour in his damaged arm. This also encouraged Madame Pomfrey.

But nobody expected an uninvited visitor. An official from the Ministry arrived, unaccompanied and unannounced. "What the hell do you want?" Draco asked rudely, irate at how the man managed to force his way through the castle without being challenged.

"The records show that Mr Potter never made a statement after last week's skirmish. I was sent here by the Ministry to ensure we gather his statement before we hand the investigation over." The officious man spoke with an accent, which grated on Draco immediately.

"Sweet Merlin, you're from America?" he asked before really thinking.

The man bristled and his eyes narrowed, "The name's Langley. Dwight Langley, and I'm here on exchange from _Canada_."

Draco shook hands and apologised. "Sorry. Can't tell that accent apart. No offence intended. I'm just tired."

"So when will I be able to speak with Mr Potter?" he asked hopefully.

"When he recovers," Draco answered flatly.

"What do you mean?" Langley asked in confusion. "Has he taken ill?

"He still hasn't recovered from the injuries he took in the battle," Draco seemed just as confused as Langley. How could he not know about Harry's condition?

"But I have to ask him about the battle. We can't close the investigation until we have his report." He seemed quite confused that Harry was not able to talk. "We were unaware that he was injured. Oh dear."

"Excuse me," Severus piped up from his bed across the room, "Am I to understand that you have come here, to a medical facility specifically to ask an unconscious hero how well he did his job?" Draco turned to look at his old mentor, trying to hide the shock he felt at hearing Severus Snape defend Harry Potter in such a manner.

"I only found out he was here from a house elf that escorted me to this infirmary." He sounded apologetic.

"I believe it would be only right of you," Severus continued, "to consider the young man's need for recuperation time. He saved our lives, and took a near deadly curse in the spine in the process. As you can see, he is hardly in any shape to deal with your questioning at this time."

"And you are?" he asked Severus in less that polite tones. Draco could already see Severus bristling as he glared down the Ministry official.

"I am Severus Snape, Potions master, and Mr Potter saved my life, and Mr Malfoy's here during that battle."

"Oh, excellent," his entire demeanour changed at the news. "I needed to talk to you also, sir. I'm just a little confused, though. Why all the secrecy surrounding Mr Potter's condition. Surely this should be front page news?"

"Surely," Draco retorted, "Mr Potter's privacy should be respected at all times. I'm sure you are aware that the full details of the battle in question have been kept out of the public eye." Langley nodded. "Yes, well Mr Potter's prognosis will remain unreported, which is one of the reasons why he is recuperating here, and not at St Mungo's.

"Well I'm horribly embarrassed. I guess our supervisor was unaware of Mr Potter's current state when he assigned us to come and ask these questions. You are absolutely right in your statements." He turned to Severus. "If you are feeling up to it, sir, might I ask you a few questions? I have been authorised to advise you of the details of the Auror cleanup after you Portkeyed out of the cave."

Severus kept a calm and cool visage, but eventually relented to the questioning. Draco seemed surprised that this man was volunteering information to them and treating them without the usual veiled suspicion. It was a nice change.

They were pleased to find out that three more of the Neo Death Eaters had been caught in addition to those injured and killed in the cave battle. The Ministry was wise in thinking that this was not the end of the investigation. They had discovered Portkeys within the cave and on the fallen Neo Death Eaters, which led to a castle in the remote Outer Hebrides. It appeared that the castle was their primary hiding place, and there was ample evidence to support the idea that Pansy and Phillip Parkinson had both been working underground since the end of the war.

What startled Draco the most was that this remote castle seemed to be furnished with numerous items that had recently been marked as having been destroyed in the fire at Malfoy Manor. The castle seemed to have been elaborately furnished, with many Malfoy crested antiques and items scattered throughout. An entire library of books nearly matched the exact listing marked in the Inventory on Malfoy Manor.

"So many of my family assets have been located in an apparently abandoned castle?" Draco seemed incredulous.

Langley nodded. "It would appear so. I understand you're not in charge of that estate, Mr Malfoy?"

A wide smirk crossed Draco's face. "No, I'm afraid I won't be competent to look out for my own assets until I turn 25. The estate was frozen by the Fiscal Investigative Goblins at Gringotts. You'll have to discuss it with them. I believe you should talk to a fellow by the name of Weasley." He had no idea what had been going on, but alarm bells about the Weasel were starting to go off as things were falling into place.

Langley stayed for well over an hour, and left the pair of former spies in surprise. Never in all their years had they met a Ministry official who had been so helpful, and treated them like real people. The officer's final words just proved that they must have been dreaming. "Oh, and don't worry Professor Snape, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter's current condition will remain private. All the public knows is that an elite squad of Aurors and former spies were able to engage the Neo Death Eaters and kill their leaders. We have specified that we're not satisfied that the threat has been entirely neutralised, but we are still working on it. The public are to remain vigilant. We don't want anyone else lingering about looking for an opportunity to start another group like this, you know."

"Quite." Severus' brief response served a duel purpose of driving Langley to say his goodbyes whilst letting Draco know just how run down he was feeling. It had been an eye opening conversation for both of them. As Draco offered a mild sleeping draught to Severus, he commented on the official's behaviour.

Severus laughed. "Probably because he was Canadian. He hasn't yet had time to let his head lodge firmly up his arse. Give him six more months here, and he'll be as bad as the rest of them."

There was no change in Harry's condition by the time Draco fell asleep that night. As his head hit the pillow he was grateful for the fact that, for once, Harry wasn't going to be front page news.

* * *

Draco was down in his rooms early on Tuesday morning. He couldn't bear to stay around Harry any longer. He was starting to feel thoroughly dejected. There was still no change, and he was starting to think that perhaps his constant presence was cursing his recovery.

He had studied every pore on Harry's face – just how far his chest rose and fell as he breathed – there was very little he didn't know about Harry after nearly a week in the Infirmary with little improvement. Heading back into his rooms, all alone, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of spending his future here – but without Harry in his life. The emptiness of that thought was overwhelming. He didn't want that.

For so many days and weeks he had been skirting around what he wanted, and now, just when it was nearly too late, he finally realised that he wanted Harry there always. He needed to see him smile. He needed to see his messy hair everywhere. A sudden thought crossed his mind and he knew he would never get cross at Harry for leaving hair in the sink. Something so small, yet so tangible, was almost unbearable.

Pansy had opened many closed doors that Draco had shielded when Daphne died. He always knew that he had the capacity to have a true love, but he was always scared that it would never happen. After Daphne, then Narcissa's death, he really didn't want to open his heart that much again. Now that it had been reopened, he wanted Harry to share in it all. Everything.

He needed to kiss him, and tell him that he really was more than obsessed with him – why he would even try to be more understanding of Harry's friends. He didn't care what they thought. All he knew was that his future was lying there in the Infirmary, and he needed him to wake up. But first, he needed to sort out some of his confused thoughts.

He suddenly realised why he came down to his rooms. He searched around, finally finding his journal lying underneath a mammoth pile of mail. Melchett was nowhere in sight, but Draco pulled out the jar of dead mice, and left it open on the table for when he next returned. He just hoped Petite Amie didn't eat the entire lot before Melchett returned.

The journal was still there, and he felt the warmth that always accompanied it when he wrote. He needed to sort out his confused thoughts, and Flash was just the man to listen to him. He might have been able to talk to Remus, if he were still around. He had to return to London to finish his summer job. No, he needed to talk to Flash. After all, he had been listening to him for months now. He was about to open the journal right there, but suddenly thought he should take it back to the Infirmary with him. Writing in it would break the monotony of the wait.

* * *

Firmly ensconced in the comfortable chintz wingback chair that he had conjured beside Harry's bed, Draco began the familiar, and cathartic process of writing in the journal._Tuesday 22 July_ _Flash,_ _Sweet Merlin, I am so confused right now, but I have nobody else to talk to. I have no idea if you are there, but I do know that every time I need you, you are usually at the other end offering your particular brand of help._ _I'm sorry I didn't write to you on Sunday – you would not believe what has happened. I see you didn't leave any messages, so I can only assume you were also detained._ _You see, I've just realised what it is that's been happening in the background of my dramatic life. I've gone and fallen in love. Yes, truly, madly, deeply and completely in love with the man I once thought I hated. When did that happen, and why did I not realise it until it was too late? Why us? Why do we not see the truth until it is too late? I realise now that the one thing I have been looking for all my life has always been here. _ _And I'm so afraid of losing him._ _He's in a critical condition here in the hospital, and there's not a damn thing more I can do to help him. I've brewed potions for him, but he's still in a critical condition. All the potions skill in the world isn't going to do a damn thing to save him – and it's all my fault he was injured in the first place._ _You see, I haven't told him yet that I love him, because I only just realised it myself. I love him._ _You have spoken to me about my Anam Cara in the past – well, I am certain that he is in my Anam Cara group... I think he could very well be my soul mate. _ _Are you there at all, Flash?_ _I've always been one to say that I love someone in a cavalier fashion – in fact, if memory serves, I don't think I've ever said it first before. My past lovers have always said it to me, and I sometimes paid a little lip service and repeated it in reply. I don't think I really understood the nature of love – not until now. _ _I know I have been rash in the past, but this is different – very different. You helped me to see who he truly is, and for that, I can't begin to thank you enough. I know you told me that you love me, and I love you too, but in a very different way. This feels... it just feels right. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?_ _Of course, as usual, my timing is completely crap. I think I'm destined to never find true happiness. I solemnly swear that if he recovers from this, I'll tell him and hope to Merlin that he will feel the same way. _ _I have to go – I think he's waking up._

It had been so long since Harry had moved, or spoken, but the deep gasp of air, followed by a fit of coughing was the most marvellous thing Draco had ever seen. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to have woken up, but it was a good sign.

_Please pray that he makes it through, Flash. Do that for me. Please?  
Luc_

As he closed the journal, regretful that Flash hadn't been around to respond, he was struck with an awful thought. What if Flash had been one of the Aurors killed in that raid? He had the war experience, the credentials, the background. He could well have been there and Draco wouldn't have even known. Because they'd never exchanged real names or any other identifying information, there would be no way to ever find out who Flash had been if the journal entries just suddenly stopped. The thoughts nearly drove Draco into a panic, and he forced himself to relax, attempting the slow breathing exercises that he'd begun to learn from watching Harry so much. It helped, slightly, and he soon turned his attention back to watching Harry.

* * *

_Harry was walking slowly along a deserted hall on what appeared to be the fifth floor of Hogwarts. He was being followed, but he wasn't quite certain how he knew that. All he could do was hold tight to his wand and keep walking, hoping that whatever or whoever was following him would either leave, or show themselves. Fighting bold and visible adversaries was always preferable to running from the unknown. He thought about how many times he'd discussed that with the Auror Trainees, drilling it into their heads that if they could keep themselves hidden and force their enemies into the open, they would have a better chance at not only winning, but more importantly, surviving._

'_Potter, Potter, You're a rotter' the voice echoed through the halls, certain tones in the sing-songy phrase catching louder on the stone walls. It wasn't Peeves, but it was someone familiar with Peeves' antics. Before Harry could think this through, he found himself face to face with a half dozen people in Death Eater robes and masks. He was certain at this point that he had to be dreaming because he knew beyond a doubt that these Death Eaters were the same ones who had been killed on the day of the last battle with Voldemort. He couldn't see their faces, they hadn't spoken, but somehow, he just knew._

_"You're not real. I'm not really here and this doesn't matter." He hoped that telling the dream figures the truth would cause them to go away, or cause him to wake up. Neither happened. "I'm just dreaming. I know that I'm dreaming, so you can't do anything to me. You can't hurt me." They looked at one another, and spread around Harry in a semi-circle. Grasping his wand just a bit tighter, Harry reached for his internal focus and took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was merely a dream and he was perfectly safe. He began to relax when he saw Draco coming toward him from behind the Death Eaters. Draco could help. He would verify that these people had died in the war and that it was all a dream. Harry smiled as he thought about Draco, watching his steady, determined pace, noticing that his limp was less obvious today. 'I love him. He doesn't know it yet, but I love him.'_

_He felt comfort in that thought, but it was quickly ripped away when Draco pulled out his wand and aimed it, not at the Death Eaters, but at Harry himself. "You have the nerve to smile at me, Potter? What makes you think you're worthy of my time? Do you think you're so high and mighty that I'll just fall at your feet the way the rest of the school did? That I'll forgive you the way you snubbed your nose at me on the train that first day? Did you really think we could be friends or something?"_

_Only then did he see that Draco was in a matching Death Eater robe and carried a mask in his free hand. The expression in his eyes had gone dark and the sneer on his face was highly reminiscent of their days as school boys. Draco's snarky laugh was the last thing Harry heard before a curse hit him._

Harry twitched a bit in his sleep and let out a quiet moan of pain. Draco looked up from his journal and eyed the man he couldn't stop thinking of. Now that he had finally realised he loved Harry, his only fear was that he would never have the chance to express those feelings – precisely what he told Flash. He reached out and covered Harry's pale and clammy hand with his, watching intently for any reaction. The coughing and murmuring was a sign that something was going on, but Draco needed him to wake up.

_It was dark and cramped and Harry knew by the sound of footsteps over his head that Dudley was awake. He dreaded facing another day with the Dursleys, especially after Uncle Vernon had gotten so angry about the snake at the zoo. He truly didn't understand how these things happened around him, or for that matter, what was so wrong about it, but he knew that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia simply wouldn't stand for it much longer. 'I wonder if they'll kick me out? Where would I go? I wonder if my father had any relatives that I could stay with.' He found himself imagining life without a home, wandering the streets in search of some elusive Potter relative, hoping beyond hope that some stranger would pay more kindness to him than his family ever had._

_His surroundings changed and he was suddenly in the cave outside of Hogsmeade, looking for Sirius. He felt certain Sirius could answer his question (despite the fact he seemed to have forgotten it just now) but he couldn't find his godfather anywhere. This was the last place they'd met, and he really needed to talk to someone understanding, someone who cared about him… He was so confused about these new feelings of his, and really didn't know how to deal with being different yet again. 'In the past four years I've discovered that I'm a wizard, that I defeated a Dark Lord as an infant, that I'm a Parseltongue, that I'm sought after by that same Dark Lord still. I've been singled out in classes, in competitions, in newspapers and magazines. Now, when everyone around me starts dating, yet again, I'm different.' How he wished for Sirius, wondering how long it would be until they could meet again so he could get this off his chest._

"Come on Harry, you need to wake up now. It'll be much easier to get well if you're awake... then you could start eating ... then we could start bickering." Draco smiled weakly. "And I need to talk to you, Harry. There's so much I have to tell you, so much I never knew, never realised. Please, Harry, I never expected this and I have to tell you about it. How can I do that if you don't recover?"

_Harry was flying again, desperately looking for the snitch that was supposed to be out there somewhere. He knew there was something wrong with this experience, some reason he shouldn't have been looking in the air for the snitch anymore, but he couldn't quite remember what that reason was. A blur of Quidditch uniforms fluttered past him and suddenly he was alone on the pitch. He looped around, dove quickly to see what was going on, and then flew up to the level of the goal posts again, but still saw no one. How was he supposed to play the game if there was no opposition? Who was he racing against in the quest for the snitch? For that matter, was the snitch still out there? Had another seeker already snatched it up when Harry wasn't looking? The thought seized his heart with utter dread. If someone else already had the snitch, what would he do? He couldn't bring himself to fly anymore, feeling desolately caught up in those depressing thoughts. Drifting down, he settled slowly on the ground and began a lonely trek to the changing room, trying to take his mind off the fact that he'd lost the snitch. He knew better than to lie to himself about next time or other snitches. This was the one, the only snitch he needed, and he must have missed his chance._

_Harry was so caught up in his own thoughts that he was utterly surprised to find Draco in the changing room, and even more surprised to realise that Draco was holding that golden snitch, the wings still fluttering slightly as Harry looked from the snitch to the green robes to the smile on Draco's handsome face. Suddenly it all made sense. He hadn't missed the snitch, it was waiting here for him. He began to smile in return when Draco spoke._

_"I'm glad you're here Harry, I needed to talk to you. You see, I decided it was time to tell you how I really feel about things," he took a step closer and continued. "About you. I have to tell you that I've had a right good time these past few months, playing along with your little game. It's been a lot of fun, very amusing, especially when you got all lovesick on me. I must admit I hadn't expected that. We had a great laugh about it, didn't we?" Harry followed Draco's gaze, and realised he was surrounded by people. There were Slytherins from his school days, Order members, Death Eaters, Aurors, fans, reporters, the Dursleys, all of them standing around watching him, laughing at his foolish emotions and the game that Draco had played on him. His breath caught in his chest and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to leave, needing to get away from the laughter, the humiliation, the pain, but he found that everywhere he turned there were more people, blocking his way out of the changing room. He finally gave in to the demands of his body and fell into a quaking heap on the floor, devastated by this turn of events and idly wondering where he could go to get away from the repercussions of this._

Draco watched helplessly as Harry shook in what appeared to be silent sobs, and tears began to leak from under his dark eyelashes. He worried that Harry was in pain, but knew it hadn't been long enough since the last dose to give him any more painkilling potion. He gently squeezed Harry's hand, leaning closer. "Come on Harry, let me know what's going on. Wake up and tell me what I can do. We're friends, right? At least somewhat? I know we don't hate each other like we used to. Dammit Potter, I haven't even been able to thank you for saving my life – and Severus' for that matter."

He quickly quit speaking when Madame Pomfrey walked in to check on her patient. "Has there been any change?" she asked as she examined the unconscious hero, checking his energy levels and the response of his magical signature and aura.

"No. He mutters and moans in his sleep, which is something, but it isn't consciousness. He seems to be in pain sometimes, even though he shouldn't be feeling much with that level of painkilling potion, but he just won't wake up."

Madame Pomfrey frowned. "The body needs to stay in a restful state in order to heal, Draco. The curses he took affected him physically and magically, and in order for his innate magic to help with recuperation, some regular functions must be put on hold. He won't wake up until he has recharged his own energy enough to be awake and still continue healing, although I'm afraid the scarring on his arm will remain, and I do worry that he may not regain the full use of it." She sighed wearily. "I only hope he won't lose any of his ability to cast spells. But he's a strong wizard – one of the strongest. He should bounce back in no time."

Draco nodded absently, and Pomfrey saw the pained look on his face. "Don't worry yourself so, Draco. Your potions brewing has likely saved his life. Not to mention that it could very well have prevented him from relying on other people to care for him the rest of his life. I know that he should have woken from your potion by now, but he had other injuries as well. His aura looks good, he's recovering, but it will take some time. We just have to keep waiting."

Draco nodded, knowing enough about the situation and the curses Harry had been hit with to know that Poppy was merely trying to make him feel better by focussing on the optimistic outcome. There was no guarantee of any of this, and the longer Harry was unconscious, the more likely it was that he wouldn't wake up at all. It was taking too damn long!

_Harry walked the halls of Hogwarts, the students looking at him, snickering and smirking in their hands. He turned the corner and found himself confronted by a whole crowd of Slytherins – with Draco in their lead. Pansy stood there smirking at his side, and they were flanked by Damien Michaels and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He seemed to be amusing them with a funny story. "Of course," he was telling them, "Potter fell for it all – he's so naïve and utterly gullible..." The Slytherins laughed uproariously, and indicated to Draco they had a visitor._

_Draco turned and spotted Harry, sneering at him in a long remembered way. "You honestly thought I could love you? You really believe in soul mates at all that rot? You're more pathetic than I thought you were, Potter. You know that night we spent in the lavatory was just a quick shag to get off, don't you? Besides, Nott here promised to return all my embezzled funds if I could get you off – and that night in your living room – well," Draco turned and smirked at Pansy, "That was just to wind up the Weasel. Pansy and I knew that the Weasel would go off his nut at seeing you like that, especially with me." _

_Harry burst into tears. Everything he hoped for was a meaningless lie – and Draco had not changed a bit. It was all a farce, and Draco had yet again shown his true colours. Harry felt like a fool as tears fell and he ran. He didn't care where he ended up, he just ran. _

* * *

Draco could not work out what was making Harry sob uncontrollably. His heart rate soared as adrenalin pumped through his body. He wondered, not for the first time, if there was some lingering nightmare curse that had struck him. It was plausible.

Draco was starting to get a little angry. "You can't die on me now Potter, not when I've just realised I could love you - I do love you. I know you Harry; you have to get better. C'mon, don't die on me. I can't have fallen in love with you just when you're about to die. The world wouldn't be that cruel to me, not again. You surpass every love I've ever thought I had. You just can't die. It's not going to happen. It's not just anyone who could believe in soul mates, not like I do, but I think you could. I think you do. I know I've been a prat to you all these years. I don't know if you really did believe my apology, and I know you've been avoiding me. I'm sure you thought that incident in the lavatory was meaningless, but it was the beginning of an awakening for me. I haven't stopped thinking about it. Even with Jean-Paul I can see that now I need you, Harry."

Harry must have been embroiled in some internal nightmare. It was the only explanation Draco could think of for the sudden shaking of his head and return to consciousness. Draco thought he heard Harry say something, but he wasn't sure. Harry was crying out in despair - "No!" and Draco held his hand more firmly. Whatever demon was chasing him in his dreams, Draco wanted to banish them. He would have swept Harry up into a great big hug if it wouldn't compromise his healing.

_As Harry ran from Draco and his taunts, a pair of strong hands stopped him, and brought him into a warm and loving embrace. The hands stroked his hair lovingly and a warm voice calmed him and soothed away his hurt. A pair of warm lips kissed him on the mouth, telling him everything was going to be all right. Everything – even if he was a Chardonnay sipper._

_"Luc? S'at 'choo?"_

_"Yes," the voice murmured._

_"I love you, Luc... It's me. I'm Flash. The journal never lies – I know I love you Luc, but I love Draco too."_

* * *

In spite of the horrifying images that were haunting Harry, Draco was at least glad of some response. Perhaps it was some manifestation of the pain, but a response of any sort was better than just lying there in a catatonic state. "Come on, Harry, you can do it. Wake up... Please. I love you, and I promise, everything is going to be all right. _Everything_." He kissed Harry on the forehead and clasped his good hand more firmly.

A small smile crept onto Harry's face. Draco was momentarily buoyed. He was trying to talk – Draco could see the Adam's apple bobbing as his parched throat tried to work. "I... I love you too..." Draco just closed his eyes and smiled. Harry was going to come back to him, of that he was now sure.

But Harry continued to murmur. "Luc..."

Draco's eyes opened very suddenly. He thought he misheard, but Harry was still talking. "It's me. I'm Flash. The journal never lies – I know I love you Luc... Draco too."

Draco's heart pounded heavily – was he now the delirious one? "Flash?" the word slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself.

Harry overheard and smiled as he heard the name. "Yeah, s'me. Flash. I'm Flash. Love you Luc."

Draco was completely stunned.

Harry was calling for Luc, and he just referred to himself as Flash.

He was talking about a journal – this wasn't just some weird coincidence. Draco looked around and saw the journal sitting beside his chair. There was no way that Harry could have known about Flash and Luc – was there?

Harry was Flash.

Flash was Harry.

After all these months and having poured his heart out, here was the mysterious man who had kept Draco sane all these months – the man who admitted he loved him. Draco sat back in his chair in disbelief. Sweet Merlin – This is Harry?

Draco didn't know what to think, nor could he comprehend the conflicting emotions welling inside. All this time, and here he was – right before his eyes. But as he sat and watched the serenity on Harry's face, clarity stuck as suddenly as the lifting of a veil. Things suddenly fell into place. The fact that Harry and Flash were one and the same made perfect sense. Absolutely perfect sense. Draco could not believe he had not seen it before. All these months of long and heartfelt thoughts – their deepest secrets revealed, and Flash's desire and craving for privacy – it was so obvious.

But his moment of rejoicing was short lived. His hope suddenly deflated as reality began to set in.

Just what would Harry Potter do when he learned that his beloved Luc was actually Draco?

But Draco wouldn't think on that now. For now, he would be grateful for the fact that Harry was starting to regain consciousness, which was just the start to his long road to recovery. For now, he would continue to hold Harry's hand as he rested his head on the pillow beside Harry's. Harry's smell was still unique, and something Draco would sorely miss. For now he would take what few stolen moments he could keep, before reality came back.

"Love you too, Flash."

It was a long time before Draco slept.

* * *

_Touch your lips just so I know  
In your eyes, love, it glows so  
I'm bare-boned and crazy for you  
When you come crash into me, baby  
And I come into you - In a boy's dream  
_**Dave Matthews Band "Crash into Me"**

* * *

TBC in chapter 18...

**Thank You:** Thank you to **SeparatriX** and **C Dumbledore **for doing yet another fantastic beta job. Great work guys, and thank you for your encouraging ideas and ongoing support!

**Review Thank You's:**

Yet again, the review thank you's will take as long as the chapter to write! I wish this site had a way we could respond to each individual review, without us spamming your inboxes...

So a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to tell us what they thought. It means ever so much to both of us that you are still here, or that you're new!

General comments. So much squealing, squeeing, running around in circles, skipping homework & revisions & chores & sleep to read! OMG, we're such bad role models! The fact we write smutty fan fic isn't enough, you have to go and skip out on your priorities to read? tehehehe. Honestly, we don't mind. Thank you all. There seems to be a lot of Ron hatred going on, but alas, he just has horrid timing. Yeah, yeah, we know you all hate cliffhangers, but Azhure loves them, but that comes from reading too many Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden books as a child. Every chapter ended in a cliff hanger. So did most of Enid Blyton's books, come to think of it.

So many thanks to you all! _Aeril, Akussa, angel-wings6, Annick, AsheslovesHarry, Awe, blue as lapislazuli, Bookwyrm3ny, Brenna8, bubblypop, CannonFodder, CelestialDrgn, Chaotic Draconis, Charley Loves You, checkmarks, cleasmile, CompleteGeek, coupdecoeur, Cremated Hamburger, Cuthrin Khafre, ddz008, Dr. Colleen, Draconias, duchesscarml, Elventess16, Ennovy, Faery Goddyss, Faith Maguire, fifespice, futago akuma-tenshi02, Hahathatsfunny13, hi there:), Honighase, HpDeVoTeE, Immortal Tears of, Inner Voice, inuyasha'sgirl951, Kaaera, Kalirafirestorm, katsuyakaibaobsessed, KC, ktmb20, Lain-Iris, Lelimo, Lillian-is-fickle, LonelyNoMore, Louise4, Ludra, lynnlacy, MachiavellianOrange, Magick, Menecarkawan, Michael Serpent, Moonlit Eyes, Mosrael, MyOriginalIntent, mz psycho, NephyRiddle, Nichalia, Nony, Omnimalevolent, PaDfOoT Da GrEaT, phantomindisguise, pimpilidimpi, Rhiwan, saFire flamE, sassw14, shady gurl, Shini4, Shinosu, Sliver Seraph, smarmy Penguin, Someone in a Mental Hospital, sphinx12, Starlette, TastuKitty, The Chaotic Ones, ThE iNfAmOuS fAg HaG, TheWickedess, Trista Louise, twighlightshadow, ura-hd, venure, volleypickle16, Wannaseemymoon, Web-of-Knots, White-Lily-Blossom, WhyteRoze28, Wispy Veil, Xandria Nirvana_.

Some special words for:

**Michael Serpent: **Wow. wow. wow! Thank you, Michael... thank you. Thank you! Wonderful praise from a brilliant author. Can't wait until I can get my hands on some time to read again, and reread your works. I hope we didn't interrupt your usual schedules too much by making you read this nice and slowly. And as for your coffee drinking habits, well, Draco is rather good at convincing people of what to do... You raise some very good points about what will happen in the future... As you see, Ron wasn't in charge of the NDE's, but there's still something there that we need to discover... He's not completely in the clear just yet... oops, did I say that? Thanks again Michael, you made my day when Wintermoon emailed your review to me at work (cute gaiboi in the next cubicle was wondering why I was squeeing so loudly!) Don't forget, the address for our 'adult' version of the chapters is above. It is also on an LJ community - just look for the community persolumlacuna and you are there!

**Ludra: **Please don't feel insecure writing a review. Very few authors I know would be critical of a review. If you like a story, say so. If you don't like something and you really want to say so, then do that too. Authors love to know what you think. I can't say that every single review we've had has been completely positive, but we have seriously taken any and all concrit seriously, and we both squee back and forth over YIM about all the other reviews! Thank you for taking the time to say hi!

**Chaotic Draconis:** Glad we helped revolutionise the way you see H/D... they're kinda hot, aren't they?

**Cleasmile: **No, Ron was bald at his wedding. Yes, he's being a prick... but there is a reason for it. I can't say if it is a good reason, but he has a reason for being the way he is, and not everyone will be happy...

**Cremated Hamburger: **You win the internet for such a cool name! But yes, it is hard to devote the time to a long term intricate story. Part of the reason why we take our time between updates. We want to ensure it's the best work we can do, and we owe it to you to do our best!

**Faery Goddyss: **Ah, you finally finished it! Thanks for your wonderful words, they really do keep us fed and watered as we write. Hope the wait for this chapter hasn't been too long for you! Be glad you haven't been hanging out since we first started last January... As for the Anam Cara, yes, it's a real thing. Just google it and you'll find out that it is steeped in Celtic belief. As for how many more chapters left... I've looked into my crystal ball, and the number 21 keeps popping up. No, wait, that's just the number on the lottery ticket under my crystal ball... tehehe.

**CannonFodder:** We like to keep everyone guessing, hence the frustration factor. I guess we're both old enough to know that real life isn't that cut and dried, and that things always crop up before our happy ending, and before we meet our knight in shining armour. Glad you are enjoying it. Hope this fix will keep you going until the next chapter (give us both some time to read the Half Blood Prince, eh?)

**Dr. Colleen: **Emmaline swears that she only drinks decaf. As for Ron, yes, Draco woudl dearly love to mix up something for him. He's got the bottle of arsenic right at his elbow as we speak, and he's not adverse to accidentally letting a few drops fall into his cauldron. Glad you enjoyed another chapter. Hope this one hasn't sent you into fits of facial contortion.

**The Chaotic Ones:** Yes, Ron's timing is atrocious, but it could not be helped... I can see that there's a lot of Ron hatred in the room tonight... I wonder why. Glad you enjoyed it - hope we didn't put your schedule out too much by making you take a whole day to read it!

**Pimpilidimpi:** Thanks for your thoughts - we really do try to make Harry and Draco, and the Wizarding World a little more 'real', and it gives us much encouragement to know that we have somehow made them quite human. As for your speculations... Emmaline and Jean-Paul... definitely not quite altruistic, but definitely on some sort of a mission... as for manipulation, is it Emmaline, or is it the journals? Hmmm? Didn't your Uncle Arthur tell you not to trust something inanimate if you don't know where it keeps its brain? Hmmm. Perhaps... No, I can't say any more. Not a word... Wintermoon will come over here and beat me with a very large stick if I say anything else.

Cheers  
Azhure & Wintermoon!


	18. Lost for Words

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 18: Lost for Words  
Authors: Azhure and Wintermoon2**

_And I was lost for words in your arms  
Attempting to make sense  
Of my aching heart  
If I could just be everything and everyone to you  
This life would just be so easy_

_Not enough time for all that I want for you  
Not enough time for every kiss  
And every touch and all the nights  
I wanna be inside you  
**Not Enough Time - INXS**_

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams or Diary entries from Luc.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

**Thank You:** Thank you to **SeparatriX** and **C Dumbledore **for doing yet another fantastic beta job. They are both wonderful! Thank you to all our patient readers who put up with the long wait between chapters. We would rather give you the best possible story than just dishing out our first draft (trust us, you don't want to know about our first draft)...

This chapter is dedicated to **_Michael Serpent_**. RIP.

* * *

**Thursday 24 July**

Draco knew something was different the moment he awoke. From the angle of light shining on his face and the lack of a crick in his neck, he knew he wasn't sleeping in the chair in the infirmary. Days of sleeping beside Harry's bed had become the norm, but now the restful sleep in his own bed seemed to be unusual. As he inhaled deeply, he reveled in the scent and feel of his soft cotton sheets. He had missed this small comfort, but a small smile played across his lips as he remembered why he was back in his rooms.

Harry was going to live.

Finally, after days of heart wrenching concern and worry, the worst was over, and Harry could start the uneasy road to recovery. Pomfrey had kicked him out of the infirmary once she knew for certain that the worst was over. Harry was _alive_, and that knowledge alone was enough to lighten Draco's heart. He was alive, and that made all the difference because Draco was certain that he loved Harry. Knowing that Harry was Flash made it even more poignant.

He still had trouble believing the mumbled word's Harry spoke during his sleep. Draco tried to think of dozens of possible reasons that would make it untrue, but there was no denying what he had heard. Harry confessed that he was Flash, and that he loved both Draco and Luc. For months Draco had been confiding in one person who helped him to fall in love with another – only to realise they were one and the same. It seemed incredulous. It had been wrenching enough to realise that he wanted to be with Harry before this discovery, but now... _I keep wondering if I'll wake up and everything will be part of some nightmare, and things between us will be the way they were before I came to Hogwarts. It's funny, I never realised it before, but I was falling in love with Flash, and to find out that he's Harry..._

There may not have been a spring in his step as he went about his early morning routine, but a sense of calm and serenity imbued his spirit. Unconsciously, he moved towards the window with his freshly brewed coffee to sit in his usual spot watching over the courtyard. The absence of Harry doing his T'ai Chi was palpable, and he turned away, a little disappointed.

He wanted to rush straight back up to the infirmary, but doubted Madame Pomfrey would let him in. Awakening from the coma was only the start of Harry's recovery. He still needed time to heal from all of his injuries, the Aboleo Adesum curse delivering the worst of them. Draco had put his entire life on hold as he waited for Harry, and now a deep weariness overcame him as the intensity of his emotions struck at full force.

Looking around his rooms, he could see the pile of unopened mail was growing taller; Melchett had obviously taken to using the owlery to seek out his treats. No doubt the owl would be more prickly about it than usual when things settled back to normal. With the benefit of sleep, he felt refreshed enough to tackle almost anything, including that pile of mail. He noticed one of Arianna's familiar pink envelopes sticking out of the pile and immediately felt guilty for not having read her last letter. He also noticed a rather thick envelope with the Gringotts seal that had fallen onto the floor. Picking it up, he realised that with all his recent distractions, he had let the ruins of Malfoy Manor slip to the farthest corners of his mind. He still didn't want to think about that now, so he left the mail for later.

A familiar, soft warmth rubbed up against his leg and he unconsciously picked up Petite Amie. A full night's sleep and peace of mind left him with a surprising amount of bundled up energy, and he looked around the room for ways to expend it. For her part, Petite Amie was more than happy for Draco's presence, purring graciously as she was rubbed under the chin. He wordlessly spelled open the kitchen cabinet and levitated a plate of fresh fish down to the floor for her breakfast. In her eagerness to get to it, she lost all sense of propriety and clawed her way out of Draco's hold, leaving him with a few scratches along his arm.

"That's right, you only love me for my food," he chastised her playfully.

A quick glance through his potions stores showed that he was running low on many items. He was going to need a few bunches of Murtlap and plenty of Dittany, the chief ingredients in the poultices Pomfrey used on Harry's curse burned arm. Severus was getting better, but he would be taking Essence of Rue for quite a while to help calm his nerves. He was completely out of that, along with a number of other basic catalysts. His lab seemed quiet, and for the first time since he had moved in, not a single cauldron was full.

There was plenty of work he had been neglecting, such as seasoning the cauldrons with lavender, along with starting on the August batch of Wolfsbane. However, a trip out of the castle seemed preferable, if only because he only just realised he had been cooped up and needed to get out. A trip to the apothecary was needed and it would give him time to work out his next step. Life went on, and now Harry was recovering, he could look to the future. As much as he wanted to rush right back to the infirmary, he did have to sort out his priorities. First things first – he would have to tell Harry that he was Luc.

Compounding that worry was the guilt about not having seen Emmaline in a few days, despite Jean-Paul's protests that she understood why he had not visited. Besides, the lure of Emmaline's pastries was far too tempting. Hopefully a change of scenery and some fresh air might provide him with the inspiration to come up with the right solution to his most recent dilemma. He knew Emmaline would certainly have something to say if he told her what was truly troubling him. _But who else can I confide in? She always seems to know the right answers, even if they are cryptic. Just how do I tell Harry? What will he think? He says he loves me when he's half conscious, yet I just don't know if he is ready to hear that I'm actually Luc._

Although it had now been little over a day since he heard Harry's revelation, he had yet to sit down and make complete sense of it. Even so, just that little bit of knowledge, combined with the fact that Harry had come out of his magical coma on his own, gave Draco a clearer sense of purpose. It seemed unbelievable, but deep down, he knew it was right. Harry admitted that he loved him. The fact that he was unconscious at the time didn't matter. And it was such a relief to admit to himself that he loved Harry as well. It gave him hope for the future.

And yes, the world had turned upside down from the revelation. The coffee tasted so much richer, and the air seemed fresher from that knowledge. Even so, he knew the hardest task was yet to come. Telling Harry that he was Luc was going to be a challenge, and he hoped he wasn't being premature in getting his hopes up. A nagging sense of doubt played in the back of his mind. _But what is there to lose if I don't tell him? Everything, that's what. _

He was just about to step out the door, grabbing his day cloak and his cane on the way, when a loud crash, accompanied by a yowl of displeasure made him turn back. Papers and unopened letters from his desk were strewn all over the floor. Petite Amie looked startled, but she appeared to deny all knowledge of how the accident happened. Draco casually flicked his wand at the scattered mess as the papers quickly and gracefully flew back to the desk. He stopped and stared again as Petite Amie began grooming herself as if nothing had just happened. But he wasn't looking at her – he was pointedly looking at the journal she was sitting on.

The journal. His one link to Flash – the one thing he had spent months pouring his heart into. It made perfect sense that someone with Harry's fame would relish the contact with someone who didn't know they were talking to the wizarding world's greatest hero. He could understand Flash's reliance on the anonymous contact.

The thought of Flash's most private conversations came to mind and he realised just how intertwined their lives had become. Draco unceremoniously shooed the cat away as he picked up the journal. The urge to write was strong the moment that he picked up the book, but the urge to read Flash's words was even greater.

He barely realised that he was carrying the journal as he finally left his rooms. He had to stop twice and change direction, as his feet were unconsciously leading him back to the infirmary. Despite his desperate desire to sit beside Harry as he slept, Pomfrey was adamant that she didn't want to see Draco for at least a day. His potion had worked – at least Pomfrey seemed to think so. He never doubted his own brewing ability, but the fact that the Aboleo Adesum cure was rare and ancient meant that he never had a chance to test it. The lack of Pegasus Wingtips meant that he had only one chance to get the potion right. Thankfully, that was all he needed.

His own convalescence after the war was still fresh in his mind, and he knew that he had saved Harry from a painful fate. Now Pomfrey could concentrate on healing Harry's other injuries. His usual cuts, bruises, sprains and breaks were easy to mend, but Harry's arm was worrying the medi-witch. A series of curse burns ran up and down the length of Harry's wand arm – a legacy of the curse he deflected from Phillip Parkinson. The bones had been broken, but Pomfrey was worried it may have a lasting effect on his ability to cast magic, hence her desire to keep the arm immobilised so that Harry couldn't work any magic.

Draco had seen curse damage that bad before, and Pomfrey denied that Harry would end up with an arm like the Headmaster's. There was no sign of curse remaining in the arm, but she wanted to let it heal naturally, which was going to take time. Draco had every intention of supporting Harry in any way whilst he waited for it to heal.

The moving staircases startled him out of his thoughts, as he spotted Charlie standing a few steps behind him. He greeted the affable red head with a smile. "How's Severus?" he asked, noticing for the first time that Charlie looked tired and haggard. Draco could sympathise with those feelings.

Charlie ran a hand through his hair, "Oh, he's fine – well enough to kick me out for a while. He says he's sick and tired of me hanging around, but I know he truly is grateful, in his own snarky way. He hates being confined to bed, but I think Pomfrey actually enjoys keeping him there. I'm hoping that she'll let him go home in time for the weekend. Not that he'll be gallivanting around the countryside, if I have anything to say about it." He sounded extremely relieved, but the weariness was clear on his face. Draco was rather glad that Severus had someone who cared about him so much. He deserved his own happiness, and he knew Severus would be a fool to let the former dragon handler out of his grasp.

Charlie continued to ramble about Severus, "Of course, I'll tie him to the bed if I have to..." He suddenly realised the connotation of what he just said, and smiled genuinely at Draco's raised eyebrow. "Hey," Charlie continued, a hint of a smile now on his face, "I hear that Harry's woken up on his own – that's good news."

Draco showed his own relief. "I was thinking about heading back up there, but..."

Charlie shook his head. "I don't think Poppy would let you back in if you tried. I checked on Harry earlier, and he's sleeping naturally – which is good. It's the only way his magic will heal, but Poppy said he's still quite groggy and has trouble remembering what's happened when he does wake up."

"He can't remember?" he asked in confusion. "But he seemed fine last night." Draco didn't like the sound of that, and the sudden news put a damper on his mood. Charlie saw his hesitation and stopped him before he could take a step in the direction of the infirmary.

Charlie continued. "Don't be too worried about that, Draco. Poppy doesn't seem too concerned about his memories. Short-term memory loss is common, apparently. He did have that huge lump on his head, if you recall. Poppy's got him surrounded by a field of diagnostic and healing spells. There's no point in you heading back there and crossing her at the moment. She's in a prickly mood, for some reason. I've seen sick dragons with a better temperament than hers right now. Harry's in good hands – honestly."

A little disappointed, Draco nodded his head and sighed, "I understand. Perhaps I can placate her later with a few more potions."

"Sounds like a good idea – listen – I want to thank you for all that you've done for Severus too. I know what he means to you, and, well, I thought I was going to lose him. I was planning on working very hard to convince Severus I was serious about him. I think the thought of possibly losing him made me see that it isn't a game, and I think he sees it that way now, too."

Draco seemed a little surprised by the seriousness of Charlie's tone, but he fully understood the sentiment. He had nothing to say in reply, but a firm pat on the back told Charlie his own feelings. They parted ways – Charlie down to the dungeons (goodness knows what Severus would think when he knew Charlie was down there before he could get out of the hospital wing), and Draco on his way out to the courtyard.

It wasn't until he had Apparated into the village that he realised he was still carrying his journal. Hugging it close, he knew what he needed to do. Having relished every word of their conversations, the time had come to put those conversations into context. Perhaps rereading them would give him some insight into how he should reveal his identity to Harry.

Despite his assertions, Charlie's news played on his mind. He couldn't understand how Harry could be forgetting things. He seemed perfectly fine the night before. As he made his way across the village to the apothecary, he replayed every word of their conversation from the previous evening.

* * *

**Wednesday 24 July (the night before)**

He had fallen asleep at Harry's bedside, the sleep-talking confession and his vigil having taken their toll. His emotions were high, and he remembered clutching Harry's hand desperately as he pleaded for him to wake up. The pleasurable sensation of fingers gently stroking through his hair made up for the dreadful crick in his neck. Realising where he was, he sat up quickly. Harry's deep green gaze stared back at him, and he felt a wave of joy at the longed for sight. Draco moved quickly and dropped a kiss on Harry's lips, without a thought or care for anything else. Harry was still a little groggy, and he was squinting, but he certainly didn't protest Draco's actions. His eyes reflected the pain he was still feeling – the new wrinkles crinkling around them as he tried to smile. Draco thought it was the most wonderful sight.

Harry inhaled deeply. "Draco... I didn't doubt it was you... mmm, that cologne." His voice was cracked hoarsely and fresh pain crossed his brow as he tried to lift his right arm.

"Just for the record, Harry, you are definitely the poster boy for Gryffindor recklessness," Draco drawled as he found a few tears welling in his eyes.

"What'd I do?" Harry coughed, and new spasms of pain visibly wracked his body. Draco shakily pointed his wand at the jug of ever-chilled water beside the bed, which automatically began pouring into a cup. Draco grabbed it as it levitated toward him, and helped Harry to swallow a few mouthfuls. He started coughing in renewed pain as the water slid down his parched throat.

"Oh, just the usual - jumping in front of curses to protect me, of all people. I don't know whether I should be thanking you or throttling you for being so reckless. It's not every day someone owes a debt to Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened as he remembered. "'D'you get them? Is it over? Is Pansy..." He tried to sit up but fresh spasms of pain must have shot through him and his head fell back against the pillow. "But are you all right?"

Draco smiled. So near to death, and Harry was now worrying about _him_. "Just you concentrate on getting better. You aren't well enough to get out of here just yet, you know. And yes, we got them. Pansy and Phillip are dead, but they're not your concern. Why don't you just concentrate on getting better. Leave the cleanup to the Aurors, it's their job anyway."

Harry tried fighting the pain and weariness to protest, "But you're fine – that's good..." Draco felt Harry's hand squeeze his, and the tears threatened to form faster. The worst was over. Harry was going to get better.

Draco just sat there, staring lovingly at his soul mate. That thought kept a smile on his face. As he brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Harry's face, he noticed that the new scar on Harry's cheek seemed darker and more angry against the shockingly pale pallor of his skin. It was in stark contrast to his blackened and scarred arm. Harry opened his eyes again and blinked slowly – obviously in pain. Draco wanted to do more for him, but could think of nothing more than dropping another warm kiss on his forehead. A smile formed on Harry's face afterwards that warmed Draco's heart.

"How do you feel – really?" Draco could not help but ask.

"Like I've been hit by the Knight Bus – several times," Harry tried to joke, and even Draco smiled at it. The unmistakeable clip clop of Madame Pomfrey's heels cut their time short as she bustled into view. No doubt the sound of Harry's voice alerted her. She practically swooped down on Harry, and Draco gladly sat back as she cast numerous diagnostic spells. She left as quickly as she came, but was back before Harry could protest. He quickly found a half dozen potions forced down his throat – wincing at the flavourless assault. Draco sympathised, for he knew exactly how tasteless most healing potions had to be.

"Sorry the potions taste like shit, Harry, but the worse they taste, the better they'll work," he said ruefully.

"Don't think I could feel any worse than this..." Harry closed his eyes and yawned deeply, another wince of pain crossing his face as he tried to move his right arm. He tried to lift his head to look down at it. "Wha..."

"Just you get some rest, young man," Pomfrey interrupted quickly, purposely redirecting his attention away from his injuries. "You're going to be in here for a while yet – no need to rush these things." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Pomfrey gave him a knowing frown. Either Harry knew better than to argue with her, or the potions were already kicking in.

"And you," she turned around to address Draco. "You're going to end up in here as a patient too if you don't go home and get some rest. Harry needs to rest, and so do you. How do you expect to be in any fit state to help him if you don't look after yourself?"

Her words rang true and Draco nodded sheepishly. His only protest was to continue to hold Harry's hand. A reassuring but faint squeeze told him that Harry sympathised with him. He sighed deeply.

He wanted to talk to Harry more, but Pomfrey was right. He was exceedingly tired. Harry had drifted to sleep, the potions having already taken effect. A peaceful smile adorned his face. After seeing that, Draco knew he was going to sleep well. Obviously not moving fast enough, the medi-witch grabbed Draco by the shoulders and pointed him towards the door. "Go on, out! Out!"

He barely remembered being herded out the door and falling asleep in his own bed, but he knew that his dreams would be all the better for such good news.

* * *

With his order in at the apothecary, and a promise they would have it delivered to Hogwarts by mid afternoon, Draco found himself with a couple of hours to spare, and his feet automatically making their way to the Leaf and Bean. He was assaulted at the door by Emmaline's warm and enthusiastic greeting.

"So, your young man must be feeling much better if you finally grace me with your presence," she pouted peevishly, offering him a warm hug. He smiled and laughed and was glad for the small slice of normality that had returned to his life.

"Yes, Harry's awake, Emmaline, and he's over the worst. He'll be down here eating all your chocolate pastries and ordering obscure types of tea before you know it." Emmaline smiled and the relief was visible on her face.

"But look at you – you look as if you 'aven't eaten in weeks – you are far too skinny, môn chéri!" Her frown as she looked him up and down was accompanied by a tsk of disapproval. "But fortunately for you, I have just the solution – you just sit over there and I'll bring you something. I have fresh croissants from Henri's Patisserie, and there is plenty of fresh ham and cheese to put on them..." The audible growl of Draco's stomach at the idea of something so mouth watering only made her add a third croissant to the plate.

He never realised how much he missed talking to Emmaline, particularly since he had very few people now to converse with in French. It felt like forever since he last stepped into her warm and homely shop, and he immediately regretted the absence. He even pushed aside a momentary feeling of homesickness for France. The shop was practically empty except for the elderly wizard with the monocle and handlebar moustache sitting by the opposite window. He was wandlessly stirring his coffee as he had his nose buried in Cicero's treatise on the Extremes of Good and Evil. The irony of that was not lost on him, but he had his own readings to ponder. The comfortable surroundings of the shop made it the perfect place to start rereading the journal.

The revelations of the past few days were completely overwhelming – everything from his new found feelings for Harry to the fact that Harry was Flash. That made him put his emotions into much greater perspective. He hoped the answer to his dilemma would be found in the journal – after all, Flash had helped him with so much in the past few months. Surely he could help answer this. _Just how do I tell Harry that I know he is Flash, and how is he going to take it when he learns that I'm Luc?_ He kept repeating the question to himself, but only because he was hoping an answer might suddenly appear.

As his eyes were affixed to the page, it came as no surprise that Flash's words came to life in Harry's voice. Just that knowledge made them seem all the more poignant. At last, the final piece in a terribly complex, yet seemingly simple puzzle had fallen into place.

The customers came and went throughout the morning, all watching the strange young man in the back corner. Draco desperately clung to an empty coffee cup with one hand whilst lovingly caressed the words on the page. He didn't realise he was doing it – the words spoke for themselves, and it was so easy to fall under their unintentional spell. It was easy to now see and understand that Harry was Flash. Flash had often discussed his desire for privacy, and the need to stop dealing with the expectations of others. Harry guarded his privacy with both hands, and this anonymous outlet must have helped him considerably.

Some of their conversations put a wry smile on his face, and others made him feel like a complete idiot. How could he not have seen that Harry had been the one making these entries? Still, he had mistaken the words for Severus at one stage – perhaps he was the one who was blind. A few times he realised that Harry had been writing about him, and for a brief moment, he felt hurt. However, as he progressed through the journal, he could see that very slowly, Harry was regarding him with less disdain.

Reading of Ollie's betrayal of Harry burned Draco's heart more fiercely than it did when Flash first told him about it. Draco had no idea as to the true identity of this Ollie, but he would certainly find out as quickly as possible. There was going to be one wizard who would be dreadfully sorry he ever hurt Harry Potter.

Draco's emotions rose and fell as wildly as a Gringotts cart ride as he continued to read. He stopped when he suddenly made another startling connection. _Charlie_. Harry only had one friend with that many brothers, and there was no doubt in Draco's mind that the Charlie he had slept with was Charlie Weasley. His jealousy flared momentarily, but he realised that Charlie was truly in love with Severus, and that Harry did regret his rash actions, despite an unconscious attraction. Draco had to reluctantly admit that Charlie was extremely fit, and he could understand Harry's unbidden attraction.

The shadows darkened as evening approached, and he had no idea that he had unconsciously lit the end of his wand to create more light. Emmaline had been plying him with a constant stream of coffee and food – she seemed pleased to see him eating, and not protesting. Other patrons came and went, but he barely noticed them. He only looked up briefly at the frumpy witch wearing a hat that was as crooked as her nose.

Draco was sure she had been jinxed with a delusion charm, for she seemed to think that she was some grand beauty who had wrongly been put into the body of a hag. She was apparently after some way to reunite herself with her one true love – Gilderoy Lockhart. She regaled Emmaline with her dilemma and was most put out when Emmaline suggested that she should ask the apothecary for a love potion cure. After causing a commotion, she stormed out of the shop as the door banged loudly behind her.

Draco couldn't help but smirk. Love made people do some thoroughly stupid things, and he honestly couldn't say he was immune. Here he was – falling hopelessly in love with someone he thought he despised, and trawling through a book in which they had both confided their deepest desires. His past failures in love still left him somewhat pessimistic and a little insecure.

He managed to keep a straight face as he realised that many of Harry's later entries were about him. Draco knew Harry had followed him incessantly during their last couple of years at school, but he never realised that he had been spied upon in the Quidditch showers. The thought was quite arousing and not at all discomfiting. After all, he had done the same.

Something tugged at the back of his mind as he read about their shared erotic dreams, but he couldn't quite make the connection. The discovery that Harry was turned on by spoken French left a salacious grin on his face. Harry had been adamant that Draco wasn't gay, and for that, he partly had Arianna to thank. He absently remembered her unopened letter, and promised he would write back to her soon. He had a lot to tell.

He doubted they would ever see eye to eye about Severus, but he finally realised that it was some of their fundamental differences of opinion that made things so exciting.

They were like dark and light, night and day. So different, yet each defined the other's existence, and Draco knew that his life would be so much different if he had never crossed paths with Harry Potter all those years earlier. He found himself suddenly eager for the moment when he could finally tell him the truth.

Suddenly, one of Harry's own phrases leapt out of the page.

_**I tell you in one entry that I love you, and that I know it is true and right and honest, and almost in the next breath I find myself falling for this man. You no doubt think I'm a right wally.**_

He had to reread the words carefully. Several times. His heart jumped at the realisation that Harry was falling for him. He had not imagined it - it was written there for anyone to see. The irony of the fact that they had helped each other to overcome their preconceptions was not lost on him. These revelations were almost too much to take in at one sitting and he closed his eyes to absorb them all.

It was then that something struck him as being peculiar, and he frowned. _Why didn't he realise it was me when I talked about my Death Eater past? Surely it was obvious to him who I am. Could it be possible that he knows I'm Luc, and he's just been toying with me?_ He didn't want to contemplate that thought, but a small corner of his mind could not dismiss it outright.

He shook his head. _Harry couldn't be that cruel. That sort of thing really isn't in his nature. But as I read, I see things that make it blatantly obvious it's him, yet at the time I never gave it any thought. Surely this must be the same for him. Perhaps we've both been oblivious. After all, we've been writing for months, and not once before have I had reason to think I'm talking to Harry Potter. How could I be so stubbornly blind as not to see what was plainly before my eyes? _

A sudden sound startled him from his musings, and he looked up to see Emmaline pulling the blinds closed with her wand. It was completely dark outside, and checking his watch, he could see it was extremely late.

"I'm sorry... I lost complete track of the time," he said sheepishly to Emmaline as he closed the journal.

She waved him away as she sat down wearily at his table – they often used to sit like this after a long day in the Paris shop. "Nonsense, môn chéri," she smiled. "Since when have I ever kicked you out of my shop? You're obviously mesmerised by your book, and I didn't want to disturb you. If a writer can make you get lost in the words like that, it must be a thrilling read." Draco unconsciously ran his fingers lovingly over the journal's cover.

"You were so engrossed, you barely said anything when Jean-Paul left!" she quickly added.

Draco seemed surprised. "Jean-Paul was here? This afternoon? I didn't see him." Draco would have liked to thank him for all his help in the infirmary in those desperate hours after the battle.

Emmaline nodded, "Oh, he just popped in, but you were so busy, he didn't want to disturb you. He's gone to London for a few days. He's thinking of staying in Hogsmeade permanently – setting up a practice." He couldn't tell if Emmaline was happy or sad about that news – she seemed strangely neutral on the subject, but she did seem eager for a reaction from Draco.

The news that Jean-Paul might be around permanently didn't strike him in any way. It was then that he realised that he had completely moved on, and that he held no more than feelings of friendship for his former lover. Still, it would be nice to have him around occasionally. He had done so much to help Harry in the past few days, and he was the one who made Draco realise just what he was after – and he knew he would be forever grateful for Jean-Paul's vision. He doubted that he would have admitted his desire for Harry if it weren't for him. Of course, the lessons in the Tantra would definitely be something he would never forget. It was just that now he would much rather share them with someone else.

"Draco? How do you feel about that?" Emmaline sounded a little hesitant. Draco's silence was obviously unnerving her.

He suddenly realised what she was talking about - waving her concerns away, as he suddenly made a startling connection. "I have no problem with Jean-Paul sticking around, Emmaline. Honestly, I have a nasty suspicion that no matter what I do or where I go, we would probably end up crossing paths."

"What do you mean?" Emmaline seemed curious, as she hastily rearranged her robes in her discomfiture.

"Have you ever heard of the concept of Anam Cara?" he asked innocently. Emmaline seemed to breath a silent sigh of relief, and the smile returned to her eyes. The whole notion of soul friends had been at the forefront of his thoughts for a while now, and the admission that Harry must be his soul mate was enough to make him believe in the concept wholeheartedly. "Because I think that you are all part of my soul group – you, and Jean-Paul... and I think Harry... no, I don't think, I _know_ that Harry is. He's my soul mate." He didn't notice the sense of relief that passed very quickly over Emmaline's face, but she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Draco, that's wonderful news. I am honoured that you think I'm a part of your Anam Cara. But if you've realised that 'Arry is your soul mate, then why do you sound so dejected?"

He took a deep breath and put the journal back down on the desk. Her question opened the floodgates. "Oh Emmaline, I honestly don't know what to do! It's taken me months and a near disaster to realise that I love him. I've nearly lost him, and I honestly don't know how he'll react." Emmaline said nothing, so he continued to explain. "It's Harry I've been writing to in this journal – the one I found back in the Paris shop all those months ago. I've been pouring out my heart and soul, as has he, but we both agreed we would keep our anonymity. Somehow he helped me to overcome my prejudice, and I've fallen in love with Harry. If it weren't for this journal, I might never have realised."

"But what is your dilemma?" Emmaline sounded puzzled. "'Arry will be fine, won't he?"

"I never told him – I only realised how much I love him after he was struck down. But I never realised I was writing to _him_. He said something as he slept – something that made me realise that he's the one I've been writing to. I just don't know how to tell him that it's me that he's been writing to. I know him, and I think it might just come as a shock to know that we've been talking like old friends and lovers for months." The desperation was starting to sound in his voice. "I love him more than anything, Emmaline, and I couldn't bear to lose him over something like this. Not now, not when things are starting to go so well."

"If he's your soul mate, then he should understand, shouldn't he, môn chéri?"

He hung his head in embarrassment. "I'm turning this into a huge melodrama, aren't I, Emmaline?"

"Draco, finding your soul mate is one of the most important things in your life. I can understand your concerns, but you should give 'Arry a little more credit – he deserves that much. He did – after all – jump in the way of a curse that was aimed at you."

"Yes, but I certainly had no inkling that I've been writing to him for months. He is going to flip out when he realises that it's me. Trust me, I think I know him that well..."

Emmaline's eyes twinkled as she looked down at the journal, pausing thoughtfully, as if choosing her words very carefully. "Perhaps you didn't realise it was 'Arry, because you weren't ready to believe it. Perhaps you had to discover for yourself just how much 'Arry meant to you." Emmaline brushed a hand over the front of the journal. "You know, magic is funny like that. Perhaps there was some spell in this journal that prevented you from seeing the truth until you could admit it to yourself..."

Draco sat back and blinked, startled by what Emmaline was saying. Things were starting to fall into place and his eyes narrowed. "But... but you gave me this journal months ago – you gave me this journal back then – and... and you _knew_ what it was going to do?" he raised his voice in anger. What had the meddling old witch done? "What in the levels of hell were you thinking? I don't need..."

"... On the contrary, you were _miserable_, and this journal will always put you in contact with your soul mate. What else could I have done? It is a _Journal Intime Partagé_. Your soul mate is _always_ at the other end." Emmaline seemed reluctant to part with that piece of information, and Draco's mood darkened. "Besides, the journal chose you. I had nothing to do with it," she added as her last defence.

"You've known all these months? You've _KNOWN_ that Harry was my soul mate, and you never told me?" he accused, but he found that his anger was flagging. What good would it do now to get angry at her?

"Keep your 'air on, môn chéri... I had no idea that 'Arry was your soul mate. Besides, if I had told you that your correspondent was your soul mate, would you have believed me?"

Draco thought about that for a bit. If she _had_ told him that Flash was his soul mate before he actually got to know him, would it have helped, or would it have tainted their conversations? Draco would, no doubt, have put up some sort of barrier, or played some role whilst he learned about Flash. He was starting to see her point, but nevertheless, he still felt a little betrayed.

"You deserve the same 'appiness as everyone else, Draco. Don't block out what your 'eart is telling you." She placed her hand over his chest as she pleaded. Eventually, he nodded as he admitted defeat.

"I still don't know how Harry is going to take the news, Emmaline."

"Well you won't know, will you, unless you say something, Hmmm?"

Yet again, he left Emmaline's with more questions than answers. Could it really be just as easy as telling Harry the truth, and that would be that? _Hi Harry, glad you're doing so well. By the way, just thought you should know that I'm Luc. So should we shag now, or later? _That certainly wasn't going to do. Years of spying, lying and hiding his true feelings were making it so hard for him to express himself truthfully.

_Oh Harry, why is everything so confusing when it comes to you? Why couldn't we just have a normal relationship like everyone else? I guess that by falling in love with someone so extraordinary, I have to expect that nothing will be normal, right?_

* * *

**Friday 25 July**

Harry's sense of smell was about the only thing that didn't hurt. A familiar scent of cologne had brought him to consciousness and he inhaled deeply to drink of that deliciously arousing fragrance. Pain instantly wracked his body and in his shock, he jerked his eyes open, inviting more pain from the sudden movement. He voiced his pain with a feeble groan that proved that every part of his body ached. Eventually, he dared to open his eyes again. The smoky swirls on the ceiling were exceedingly familiar, even without his glasses.

Every sign indicated that he had lost a battle with a herd of Hungarian Horntails, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not think of why he was in the school infirmary. A fuzzy fog clouded his thoughts, and he couldn't honestly remember how he had ended up there.

That familiar cologne still lingered, and he remembered who wore it. _What's Malfoy doing here? Please tell me I didn't end up here because we got into some sort of fight. I thought the Headmaster made sure we moved past all that._ Moving anything more than his eyeballs caused pain, but he dared to look towards the bedside table. It was still quite dark, the large oil burner having burned quite low. He couldn't see his glasses, or his wand, but he doubted there was any room left on the table, for it appeared to be covered in a variety of brightly coloured potions bottles.

He lost count after the seventh bottle, which meant that he really must be in bad shape. Even in his very brief stint in the hospital after the war, he needed only four different potions. _What the bloody hell did I get myself into this time?_ The mere thought of thinking was giving him a headache.

He lay there quietly for a while, mentally assessing which parts of his body didn't hurt. He could wiggle his toes, which was a good sign, but his skin felt as if it was on fire. The strangest sensation was coming from his right arm, but as he tried to wiggle his fingers, he felt the first hint of panic. Nothing was happening. He dared to raise his head to look down. It was a relief to see that his arm was still attached (he had momentarily expected to see a stump), but it was black and bruised and swollen. He instantly panicked as it looked just like Dumbledore's, which meant he really did do himself some damage.

But worse than that, he couldn't _feel_ it. Groaning heavily, he tried to work his arm again, yet it remained stubbornly immobile. Any further effort to sit up was quickly put to rest as he had no strength in his upper body. Yet again he thought furiously about why he was there. He was more than a little disconcerted that he had absolutely no recollection. _Did I get obliviated? What the hell happened?_

His stirring and groaning must have alerted Madame Pomfrey, who seemed relieved to see him awake. "Harry," she shuffled over to the bed and forced him back against the pillows. "It's very early - not yet dawn. But I thought I told you before to try and sleep until the sun comes up."

"Where's..." he wanted to ask her a question, but found himself being forced to drink something. He hadn't braced himself for any of those vile potions, but the protest died on his lips as he realised it was only water, and he swallowed greedily. His throat was parched and it felt like days since he last drank. He wanted to ask about that smell of cologne, but he didn't quite know how to phrase it. A thought formed, but it died just as quickly, and the fog in his mind returned.

She casually waved her wand over him, silently diagnosing his condition. "feeling any better since you last woke up?" she asked, although he didn't really understand what she meant. He didn't remember waking up before – at least not in the infirmary.

"What happened?" he asked Pomfrey imploringly. "I don't... Why am I here?"

"You don't remember?" she asked in concern, avoiding Harry's directed question.

Harry thought back. Things seemed quite blurry. What was the last thing he remembered? The fact that he was here meant that he had done something either monumentally stupid, or highly dangerous. He tried to think back, and a fleeting image of a darkened cave came to the fore. Strangely enough, the image of Malfoy's pale, pale hair interrupted, but then he remembered nothing else. "Why don't you tell me what I did to end up here," he eventually asked Pomfrey.

She shook her head. "Oh, no, Harry. I'm not going to tell you again. Every time you wake up, you ask the same questions. It's time you started to remember on your own." She forced open one of Harry's eyes and shone the tip of her wand at it. His eye watered, and he tried to wriggle in protest.

"I've woken up before?" he asked in confusion. Why didn't he remember?

Pomfrey nodded. "It's becoming evident that you've had some short-term memory damage, Harry." She sighed heavily, making little attempt to hide her frustration.

"Why don't you humour me," Harry replied, not wanting to think about her words. _Memory damage? _"Is anyone else hurt? What could I have possibly done to end up here?" A stray thought crossed his mind. "Was it Neo Death Eaters?" he asked in concern.

The medi-witch sighed, seemingly frustrated about having to repeat herself. "Only you could be worried about others before yourself, Harry. Yes, it was Neo Death Eaters, and yes, everyone is well. You leapt in the path of a curse that was headed for someone else. Do you remember any of that?"

A vague memory seemed to flash by. He could have sworn it was of Lucius Malfoy, which definitely could not have been right. Harry could vaguely remember brilliant flashes of red, green and purple, but the details slipped away as quickly as they formed. The frustration was more than irritating and he found his head hurting from the effort of remembering. "Did I survive another killing curse?" he asked curiously. It would explain away the severity of his aches and pains.

"Well, no. You sustained pretty bad curse damage to your wand arm, and I don't want to risk anything, so I've immobilised it. You'll be resting for quite some time."

Harry snorted, "You know I love your hospitality, Madame Pomfrey."

Pomfrey sighed, uncorking another potions bottle and shoving it under his nose, forcing him to drink, "I'm not going to do this every night, Harry," she said in exasperation. "It's important you get your memories back on your own. In the meantime, you just sleep, and relax. I'd tell you to avoid doing magic, but because I've immobilised your wand arm, you couldn't do it anyway."

"Where is my wand?" he asked, afraid that he might have finally done some irreparable damage. The thought of suddenly being separated from his wand was quite unnerving.

"Don't worry, Harry. I've had it safely put away. You'll get it back when I'm sufficiently satisfied that you've healed."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "We don't want you to be tempted to try to do anything that will compromise your recovery, Harry. Don't worry, everything will be fine in a few days – weeks at the most."

Harry felt quite put out by that, and pouted petulantly. He _hated_ being in the infirmary, but knowing that he did something, yet not remembering it made him feel even more frustrated. He looked down again at the blacked bruising and scarring on his arm.

"You say it's been cursed... like Dumbledore's," he said in distinct concern. Dumbledore's arm had never recovered from the curse that burned it during his sixth year. He remembered just how much work Snape had put in to helping remove that curse. Fortunately, the headmaster had regained full mobility in his arm and it was apparent that he had not lost any power in his spell casting. Even so, the sight of it was a constant reminder to Harry of his own mortality.

"No, Harry, those are just curse burns. Albus actually had a curse directed at him. The colour will fade, but I'm afraid there will be permanent scarring." Pomfrey looked at him in a motherly way. "You're always so impatient Harry. This time you're just going to have to rest in order to recover. You've had other injuries – serious ones as well – and they'll need time to heal also. Why not let others look after _you _for a change." Harry nodded reluctantly. He didn't think to question her about his other injuries, but realised he hurt in too many other places to just have been cursed in the arm.

Harry tried again to come up with memories of what happened, but like before, he found nothing but fog and a few fleeting images. His thoughts harkened back to something she said before. "Who else was with me? Who did we lose?"

"A couple of Aurors were lost, but for the most part, everyone is fine. Now, I think you should try to rest, and the memories should come back with time. If I tell you everything, then we won't know if your memory has returned fully." Harry nodded reluctantly. Somehow he knew there was someone he should be worried about, but he had no idea who. Weariness overcame him, and Pomfrey patted him on the shoulder. The loss of memories was starting to frustrate him, but he felt a wave of fatigue wash through his pain. Pomfrey had given him a sleeping potion. He yawned uncontrollably.

Madame Pomfrey carefully plumped his pillows and rearranged his sheets as he gave her a knowing glare. "I know, Harry. You hate all of this, but sleep for a few more hours, and then we will start to reduce your reliance on the sleeping and nutritive potions. I'll have some broth ready for you when you wake up again. After that, you can sleep naturally. How is the pain?" she asked in genuine concern.

"Bearable," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Which means you are in more pain than most." She poked him in the toes with her wand, and he yelped in surprise.

"What 'choo do that for?" he asked.

Pomfrey smiled. "Sorry, just checking that you can feel your toes? What about your back? How much pain is it in?"

Harry wondered at her sudden interest in that area, and knew she was checking up on another injury. He tried to shrug. "It's fine. Well, it's no more painful than my chest."

"But you _can_ feel your legs?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes." Pomfrey patted his toes and smiled widely, a look of satisfaction on her face. Harry had a million other questions and wanted desperately to stay awake and have them all answered, but a sense of helplessness overcame him as he vainly fought the effects of the sleeping potion.

Perhaps he would have all the answers when he woke up. Anything to stop the random chunks of memory from floating around in his head, and give him a clear vision of what had happened. He was so close to sleep, he couldn't voice why he seemed so preoccupied with Draco Malfoy. Why was his blond visage popping into his memories so often? It was enough to give him a bigger headache than usual. But he was soon asleep and the answer to what he was looking for suddenly came to him in the dream images of love and care and trust and warmth.

* * *

Draco returned to the infirmary with a renewed spring in his step, which had absolutely nothing to do with the extra two cups of coffee he had over breakfast. He was eager to talk to Harry – to see Harry again. A day out of his presence and he was giddy with the thought of seeing him. Even so, he was desperately concerned by what Charlie had told him the day before. If all was going well, Harry would hopefully have his memories back, and they could get back on track. He was going to take Emmaline's advice, and just let their conversations flow naturally. He would know when the time was right to tell Harry that he was Luc.

The curtains drawn around Harry's bed made Draco falter momentarily. This was the first time in days that they had been drawn. _Perhaps he just wants some privacy – or he and Severus have been at each other's throats._ Madame Pomfrey stopped him before he could pull the curtains open, dragging him in to her office. The look on her face did not bode well, and a sense of overwhelming fear came over him. Surely not...

Pomfrey saw the look of fear on his face, and quickly dispelled any of his questions. "Harry's fine, Draco," he let out a breath he never realised he was holding, "but..." When the medi-witch got that look on her face, it could mean only one thing, and Draco knew it wasn't good.

"What's happened? Charlie said he's lost some of his memories. Is that right?"

Poppy looked a little upset, but quickly spoke. "Well, he woke up several times during the night. I had to give him a sleeping potion again, even though he really doesn't need one. Charlie was right. He does seem to have several large gaps in his memory. He claims he knows little about what happened before, or during the battle. Each time he wakes up, I have to keep reminding him why he's here."

"When he awoke the other night, he seemed completely fine. I don't understand..." He held the head of his cane so hard that his knuckles were white. "What does he remember? Has he regressed – does he even remember Hogwarts – or the war..." Draco didn't want to contemplate such a thought, and his fear was starting the gather speed.

"No, nothing that major, thank Merlin, at least I don't think it is. He mentioned earlier that he remembered quitting the Aurors and coming here to replace Hooch, but he seems to only remember bits and pieces of the past few weeks. The last time he woke up – just before dawn, he seemed even more confused."

"What's it all mean – do you think that it's _permanent?_" Draco voiced the fear before he could even process the thought.

Poppy smiled gently, "Oh, no, no, no! If it is only a temporary memory loss from the trauma of the curses, then it should all come back to him very soon. I just wanted to tell you first, because I have a strange suspicion that he's not aware that you two are ... well..." Poppy blushed slightly.

"You mean you don't think he knows that we're friends?" Draco asked.

"Well, more than friends," she managed to finish, the blush still rising in her cheeks. "Not that I'm passing judgement, you understand."

Draco was about to protest at her assumption and claim that they really hadn't moved past friendship yet, but from his recent behaviour, he realised she might have a hard time believing him. He simply nodded instead. "So are you telling me to stay away?" he asked, his voice hard and his mouth firm.

She sighed wearily. "I honestly don't know – I just wanted to forewarn you about that, and to make sure that if his memory loss persists, that you don't go springing any surprises on him. To truly heal, he needs the memories to return naturally."

"Well if I'm not talking to him, then you won't have any worry about that!" He spun around to leave, not sure who he was angrier at, but the medi-witch grabbed him by the arm.

"Now don't you go getting all sulky on me – this is not about you, Draco Malfoy. Harry has to remember on his own. Just remember that you don't _tell_ him everything. If he asks you any questions, just turn them around and see if he can't remember the answers for himself." Draco was about to ask her a question, but she stopped him before he could get a word out. "And before you ask, no, I don't think this is any sort of side effect of the potion you made for him. You've done more good than you give yourself credit for, Draco. I had a bit of a look at the scars on his back, and they were... well, let's just say that it is a miracle that he's alive and will be able to walk. What a shame those curse burns will leave permanent scarring."

Poppy had correctly guessed what Draco was going to ask, and his relief was hidden behind his petulant sulk. He wanted nothing more than to rush right out there and see Harry, but knew for now that he had to step carefully. Draco didn't want to jeopardise Harry's healing in any way. The mention of scarring made him remember something that had been long forgotten.

"I can make him up some Dittany, Murtlap and Aloe Vera salve. That should help the scars."

"Aloe Vera?" Poppy asked curiously. "I didn't think we could get any of that."

"Oh, I know where I can get plenty." _The Manor. _He didn't really want to go back there, but what choice did he have?

"But isn't that highly poisonous?" she seemed sceptical.

"You would be surprised what the Muggles do with it. I was studying it back at _L'Institut_, and they apparently use it with burns, and in particular, sunburn. I did a study on it and we found that it had some ability in reducing the healing time for curse scarring."

The medi-witch was listening in fascination – all signs of her earlier displeasure gone. "You see," Draco continued, "if you combine it with Dittany, the Aloe Vera works around the magic. Because it doesn't have magical properties, the curse doesn't recognise it. It will add more elasticity to the skin. That's also why it has no effect on the Murtlap, which is notoriously fickle about being combined with anything else, and it doesn't counteract the Dittany." He stopped as he realised he had started a lecturing tone, and smiled briefly in apology.

"Do go on, Draco, I never realised this about curse scars." Poppy was still intently fascinated by the conversation.

Draco shrugged. "It isn't a tricky salve to make – a student could even do it, but it's all that I can offer now. Still, I should probably start soaking the Dittany – it works better if I let it steep in the boiled essence of Murtlap for over an hour."

The medi-witch seemed amazed. "Sometimes we forget the simple things when we are looking to the depths of complicated magic for a solution. If you could make that salve, I would be extremely grateful."

Draco nodded briefly. "For Harry, I'd do anything," he whispered. Glancing over at the closed curtains, his heart leapt and he felt drawn back to sit beside his soul mate. Poppy patted his shoulder in sympathy as she saw the pained look on his face.

"You know, you could take a couple of minutes to sit by him." she said, guiding him gently by the shoulder. Draco didn't need to be asked twice, as he quietly pulled back the curtain.

There seemed to be no hint of pain on Harry's face as he slept peacefully. Draco was tempted to hold his hand, but Poppy's words about surprising Harry came to the fore, and he figured it might be best to only do that if (no, _when_) Harry regained all his memories.

He reluctantly let the curtain fall, and turned to leave the hospital wing. _I should be at least grateful that he's alive, shouldn't I? Why then do I have a feeling that our relationship has just gone two steps forward, only to go one step back?_

The uneven footsteps were well out in the hall before Harry had dared to open his eyes. He had been floating in and out of the edge of consciousness for a while, as he overheard Madame Pomfrey deep in conversation with someone. He again recognised the smell of cologne, and somehow knew that it was Draco's. He shrugged, and assumed that Draco was just there delivering some potions. _Or he could be visiting Snape. _Harry knew the Potions master was also in the infirmary – he heard the dulcet tones protesting earlier as Pomfrey had tried to make him take some medication.

_Was Snape injured too? Were we fighting alongside each other? I hope to Merlin I didn't leap in front of a curse to protect him. _Harry pretended to sleep when he heard Draco raise his voice at Pomfrey, and he frowned at the bits of conversation that floated over to his bed.

_'...Don't go springing any surprises on him...'_

_'...but isn't that highly poisonous?'_

_'...it's all that I can offer now...'_

Harry didn't know what was going on, but for the briefest of moments, he thought perhaps that they might be trying to poison him. He had to dismiss that crazy notion out of hand, but then again, his memory was putting all sorts of other crazy notions in his head. The hazy fog that covered his memories was trying to tell him something about Draco, and he could not figure out what it was. He remembered having dreams about the blond, and heaven forbid, they were the most detailed erotic dreams he could ever imagine.

_Surely we weren't..._ He didn't finish the thought, as he heard the uneven footfalls heading his way. He heard the curtain pull back and Harry unconsciously blushed as he remembered one of those dreams. It was making it difficult for him to feign sleep, and he would have pretended to roll over if he knew it wouldn't cause him to wake up screaming in more pain. He didn't need to worry, for he heard the curtain fall and the blond walk straight out of the infirmary.

But his scent lingered, and somehow Harry felt calm and relaxed by the smell. Still, it left him wondering just which images were memory, and which really were dreams. What should he believe filled those holes in his memory?

* * *

Draco's day certainly wasn't panning out as he had planned. He knew he was only doing it for Harry, but whether or not he would be grateful for the help was something else. It didn't bear thinking about. Draco knew exactly where he was going to find some Aloe Vera, as he made a quick trip to Malfoy Manor. With the structure gone, there was no point in his keeping up any wards or protections, and he was able to Apparate directly into the middle of the rose garden, before taking the short walk down the hill to the greenhouse.

He didn't look back at the ruins, but he could still sense the tainted scent of ash lingering in the air. The greenhouses had always been a place he could come to relax, and he quickly slipped into the oldest of them. This greenhouse was still thriving, despite the house-elves well justified fear. They discovered the hard way that the Venezuelan Carnivorous Tentacula had an appetite for house-elves. Lucius used to enjoy sending errant elves down there as a punishment. If the Tentacula didn't get them, there was always the Devil's Snare. Draco chose to go the long way around to the back corner, for he certainly didn't want any entanglements. He planned on getting away as quickly as possible.

The unassuming collection of plants in the back corner seemed to be thriving. It helped that it was summer, and this greenhouse was well placed to get the most of the sun. Draco was grateful he had chosen to wear his jeans and a thin cotton shirt, for it was exceedingly humid.

The two Aloe Vera plants had been there for as long as Draco could recall. As a child, he remembered thinking that Muggle plants held no use in the manor gardens, but he changed his mind rather quickly after a punishment from Lucius. Draco had stolen his father's broom and taken it out for a trip over the forest. He was only nine, and knew that he was a good enough flyer to make it out there and back before his father could find out.

Unfortunately, he never thought to use a sun screening charm, and the evidence of his guilt was all over his face and neck. As punishment, Lucius refused to allow his mother to do a healing charm on him, believing the pain of sunburn was suitable admonishment.

Later that day, Narcissa had dragged Draco down to the greenhouse and introduced him to the magic of nature. The soothing gel of the Aloe Vera didn't make the sunburn go away, but it did take the sting out of it, and Lucius was none the wiser. After that Draco remained rather quiet on the subject of non-magical plants. In fact, he often looked to some of the common herbs and plants without magical properties when he worked on his Wolfsbane research. He knew that there had to be a key to unlocking the mystery around lycanthropy - why would he exclude plants that were non-magical?

But for now, he was working out how to get the two rather large and spiky plants into pots so he could get them back to Hogwarts. In the end, he decided the easiest way was to just levitate them out of the ground, and into two pots he found near the door. Getting them back to Hogwarts was another matter. He failed to think of the finer details of his plan. Draco would have shrunk them, but being non-magical, the plants would not cope with the shrinking and enlargement charms.

In the end, he dragged the pots outside the greenhouse, and Apparated back to the school. He quickly located Dobby, who was only too happy to work with Gaggy to collect the plants and bring them to Professor Sprout. He was secretly pleased that Gaggy had begun to fit in at the school. He suspected that she was glad for Dobby's company, despite her constant litany to the effect that he was a 'bad elf'. No doubt she was still quite upset at the fact that all the other Malfoy elves had perished in the fire. They were all family, and Dobby was all she had left. Draco also felt the loss keenly. He had known Gaggy and her sisters all his life.

It had taken the rest of the morning for him to transfer the plants into the ground with Professor Sprout's help. She seemed keen to have the plants there, and Draco was quite open to the suggestion that she might want to take anything else that was in the Malfoy greenhouse – for he knew it wasn't going to be looked after now. Her eyes lit up like a third year's on their first visit to Honeydukes at his generous offer.

Washing up before lunch, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was a complete mess. He smiled at the sight, remembering a similar image of Harry working in the greenhouses. An inelegant growl escaped his stomach, advising him that he should eat before getting back to work. The physical effort with the plants left him with an appetite, and looking through his empty cupboards, he knew the quickest meal would be down at Hogsmeade.

The weather in Hogsmeade was balmy – most unusual, even for the middle of the northern summer. Draco pulled at the uncomfortably tight collar of his shirt. A quick flick of his wand provided a cooling charm that provided the relief that was sorely lacking. A ravenous hunger was guiding him along unconsciously, and before he knew it, he was following the scent of an oily fry up coming from the _Three Broomsticks_.

The crowds were heavy as he stepped through the door of the pub. The sheer number of bodies crammed into such a small space added to the unseasonable heat, forcing Draco to shed his outer robe. Despite the raucous crowd, he knew he would be able to get a cheap and hearty meal that would arrive quickly. All the better so he could return quickly to the school and start working on the salve for Harry. He waved at Madame Rosmerta, who smiled at him as he slipped into an empty booth.

Within ten minutes, he was wolfing down an extremely greasy, yet completely satisfying tomato and bacon sarnie. He was so engrossed in the meal that he almost didn't notice the wizard who slipped into the opposite seat.

"Mr Malfoy, sorry to disturb you," the wizard held out his hand in greeting. Draco stared for a moment before recognising the interloper. It was Dwight Langley, the Canadian Auror who had been at the school a few days earlier. He was a little put out by the Auror's sudden appearance, and he finished chewing and swallowing before reluctantly shaking hands.

Draco didn't mean to appear rude, but he was hungry, and not really up for being sociable. He greedily chewed and swallowed another large bite before eventually speaking. "Mr Langley, what brings you to Hogsmeade to interrupt my lunch?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"I've been up to the school, and I ran into a rather eager elf who mentioned you might be down here," he replied, completely unperturbed by Draco's rash behaviour. "Please don't let me stop you eating – I understand what it's like to have a rushed lunch."

Despite his natural instincts, Draco was finding it hard to dislike this fellow. Was he always so accommodating? "Well, you had better start talking. I am rather busy."

Langley took his words to heart, nodding in understanding before glancing sideways at the other patrons. His unsure glare told Draco that something rather serious was wrong. He put down the remainder of his sandwich and gave Langley his full attention.

"Oh, you need not worry about eavesdroppers. The more patrons makes it harder for anyone to overhear." But just for good measure, he silently cast a Muffliato spell. Langley sat back in a relaxed stance, but his eyes still darted around carefully. He pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his robes. He was a little overdressed for the stuffy pub. "Do you recall our discussion about some of your, er, property that was seemingly misplaced?" Langley chose his words carefully. Why was Langley so uncomfortable about being overheard?

"I thought you were going to visit the Fiscal Investigative Goblins at Gringotts. Ron Weasley apparently knows everything about my estate," Draco snorted sarcastically. "Didn't he answer all your questions?"

Langley had a eager look on his face. "Yes, you did suggest I visit him, but I managed to speak to the head Goblin, Thufir Magroc, who apparently looked over your file. He was quite stunned to find it was full of anomalies and missing documents."

Draco looked completely stunned. "Anomalies? Well, yes, if that's what you want to call a whole house full of Malfoy belongings turning up in some backwater in the Outer Hebrides," he retorted. "But I know they have all the paperwork – I gave them charmed copies of everything – title deeds, certificates of authenticity..."

"Not according to Magroc. He seems to think that a number of items are out of order." Langley pulled out a battered parchment notepad and started to confer with his notes. He nodded as he reread his notes.

"I don't understand..." Draco pushed aside the wild speculations that washed over him. _Not again. I refuse to believe it. _"Just what sort of papers are we talking about?" he asked with a slightly nervous hint in his voice.

"Well Magroc would like to talk to you directly about those – they aren't my concern directly. Would you be willing to come back to London with me this afternoon?"

"Why can't he ask Weasley? He's the one who's been _proudly _taking an inordinate amount of care of the estate for the past few months. The git has probably misplaced them."

Langley nodded and quickly piped up. "We would love to talk to Mr Weasley. Unfortunately, he is nowhere to be found. He hasn't been to work for the past couple of days, and his wife has reported him missing just this morning." Draco blinked several times in surprise, but the wild speculations began to play in his head again.

"That's partly why we're trying to keep it all under our hats," Langley whispered. "We don't really want anyone to get wind of the fact that the Minister's youngest son has gone missing..."

Draco just sneered and shook his head in incredulous disbelief, "Of course, if the Weasel is the one responsible for these anomalies, then I'm sure the Minister is going to have more of a scandal on his hands than just a missing son." Somehow, Draco just knew exactly who was responsible for this latest drama, even if it seemed a little too obvious. "So Weasley is missing, and there's a whole castle full of Malfoy property that was previously inhabited by our Neo Death Eater friends. I don't think it would take a genius to work out where the git has gone..." Draco was quickly stopped by Langley.

"Oh, no, I don't think you understand." Langley was shaking his head. "You see, we immediately suspected that someone might try to get back into the castle, but it's been under constant surveillance ever since it was discovered. Nobody has been there besides authorised Aurors. We went to visit Mrs Weasley, and she seems to be quite in shock about the whole situation. Nobody is touching your property, Mr Malfoy, but nobody else has been near it either."

"So where does this leave my estate?" Draco really couldn't give two hoots about what might have happened to Ron Weasley, but he was infuriated at the thought he had been nobbling his funds too. _I should have seen this coming. How could I have been foolish to place my trust in that git? Did I really think he wouldn't try to touch my money? He's been dreaming of this for years, I bet_.

"That's why Thufir Magroc wants to talk to you." Langley rummaged around inside his robes, eventually pulling out a squashed envelope. He apologetically tried to flatten the letter before handing it over to Draco.

Draco snatched the envelope away before carefully regaining his composure. He opened it carefully and read. "What does he mean – they don't have an inventory of the Malfoy assets? I've bloody well handed Weasley an updated copy..." He suddenly realised the clinch. How could he be so stupid? He _let_ that son of a Muggle look after his estate – he signed a bloody Wizard's contract. He felt more foolish than ever before.

Langley shrugged. "Don't worry - we have an arrest warrant out for him, and before you ask, yes, the Minister of Magic knows about this. Like I said earlier – this investigation is to be kept as quiet as possible – just like the rest of this whole Neo Death Eater affair. I can trust that you'll be discreet, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco allowed himself a mildly condescending smirk. _So Ron Weasley goes off and joins the Neo Death Eaters and Langley wants me to be discreet?_ Draco was about to make a smart comment, but suddenly wondered how Harry would react to this news. He suspected that Harry and Weasley's friendship was wavering – it was evident after overhearing parts of their confrontation at the Manor, and from what Harry had mentioned about it in the journal. Even so, Draco suspected that Harry would find news of Weasel's demise quite disturbing. _Does he even remember that they have fought? _He thought absently. Instead of the smart comment he was about to make, he just nodded his head, and agreed that he would not make the news public.

Draco picked at the last of the crumbs on his plate. "I do have my original papers, including an inventory, up at the school. As I said before, I gave them a spelled copy of the papers, just in case they thought to alter them during the impending investigation."

"What investigation?" Langley asked out of curiosity.

"Gringotts and the Fiscal Investigative Goblins were investigating transactions that were made by the estate's previous trustees. They ended up in Neo Death Eater accounts and the whole estate was frozen. I was suspected of being a Neo Death Eater sympathiser, or something. Whatever, the upshot of it was that I was swindled, and now everything is out of my hands until they see fit to return things to normal, and return my stipend – at least until I turn 25."

Langley scratched his head, and sat back in his chair, seemingly in confusion. "That's... most interesting."

"Why?" Draco suddenly felt his appetite completely disappear at Langley's words.

"Well, I think you had better discuss that with Thufir Magroc. He did mention an investigation, but I think he said something about it having been cancelled when the accused trustees turned up dead – does that sound right to you?"

Draco's hands started to shake and he ran the now sweaty palms through his hair. _Please tell me this is not happening again,_ he thought. _That Weasel will be dead when I get my hands on him. _He let out a slightly hysterical laugh, which made Langley a little nervous. "Oh, yes, that sounds just like the investigation... what time did you tell this Magroc that we'd be in London?" Draco was definitely going to get to the bottom of this. He had had just about enough of being treated like a fool. The fact that Weasley had been playing him for one wasn't making him any happier. How could he let himself get into another mess?

Not interested in waiting for an answer, Draco stood suddenly, making to leave. He threw a couple of Galleons on the table for Rosmerta, and started making his way out the door. Langley had to practically run to catch up as Draco swept up his cloak and was out the door.

"Wait up!" Langley called. "I took the liberty of making an appointment for half three. There's no need to rush right away. You've still got some time before then."

Draco stopped in the middle of the street, thinking. His fury was ever mounting, but as he took a deep breath, he saw that Langley seemed a little intimidated by his foul mood. Normally, Draco would not have cared, but Langley had been nothing but helpful to him. He reigned in his temper, realising that he was taking it out on the wrong person.

"I'm sorry, Langley, if I'm a little terse. Mr Weasley and I have a long history, and I should have known better than to even consider trusting him. I guess he finally got one up on me." This whole situation made him uneasy. The sooner he sorted it out, the better. "Thank you for organising this meeting, and for bringing this to my attention. It will give me a couple of hours to organise some of my papers, and to get started on some work. There are herbs that need steeping. I'm still assisting Madame Pomfrey..."

"How is Mr Potter, if I may dare to ask?" Langley interrupted hesitantly.

Draco took a deep breath. How much of Harry's condition should he tell? Realising that this Auror seemed to understand the concept of discretion, he relented. "He's improving, but he's still got a long road to recovery. I know you want to ask him some questions – but from what Madame Pomfrey says, he's got some short-term memory loss. You would do well to wait a while longer before you attempt to question him."

"Ah, that's good news, at least. I do hope he continues to get better. You will let us know when he is fit enough to talk?" Draco nodded firmly, and Langley realised he was now impatient to return to the school. Their meeting ended with a firm handshake, and before he could say any more, Draco had twirled and Apparated away.

* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of murmuring voices. He immediately recognised Snape's curt tone, and it cut miserably into his rather sensuous dream – completely spoiling the mood. He could still feel a high flush on his face as he remembered just what his dream self had been doing to Draco Malfoy, of all people. In an attempt to roll over on his side, a severe twinge of pain shot through him, and he was brought to full wakefulness with a jolt.

Recent memories came flooding back into his mind, and he remembered why he was there. He dared to look down at his arm. It was still bruised and burned, and he could not move it. It took every ounce of effort to slowly lift his head from the pillow and sit up.

All of his joints felt stiff and sore, and he groaned unconsciously as he reached for his glasses with his left arm. Just that much effort was enough to make him want to rest again. The murmuring voices suddenly changed timbre, and he recognised Charlie's throaty laugh, quickly followed by a sound he never expected to hear. _Surely that isn't Snape laughing?_ _I must be hearing things_. Before he could lie back down, Madame Pomfrey stuck her head through the curtains, smiling warmly.

"Harry! You're awake! Excellent. How are you feeling?" She bustled around the bed in her usual no-nonsense manner. He was grateful for the silence once Snape and Charlie stopped talking. _Why in the hell are they laughing? Snape wouldn't give Charlie the time of day..._ Harry realised that perhaps there were a great, many things that he had forgotten. _Surely not? _

"How are you feeling now, Harry?" Pomfrey asked.

His mind was swimming from the sheer effort of sitting up, and he tried to focus on her question. That ever present fog was still in his head, hiding so many things, but he smiled, as he recalled their most recent conversations.

"I remember you telling me what happened, but there's still... something. I know it's important, and I just can't put my finger on it. I was hit by a curse in the arm, and you've been very worried about the fact I'm having some memory loss." He seemed quite pleased to have remembered that much, and it did appear to have made Pomfrey a little happier as she cast her usual diagnostic spells on him.

"Right then Harry, if that's the case, then I think it's high time you got out of that bed." she said in that no nonsense tone. Harry wanted to protest. He wasn't nearly ready enough to sit up, let alone get up. But he was familiar with Pomfrey's methods, and no amount of argument would sway her, even if he had the energy to do so.

A half hour later, Harry had barely managed to drag his legs over the side. The sheer effort to get him to that point was enough to make him crave the pillow, but Pomfrey wanted him to actually try and walk the couple of steps to the chair. She muttered something under her breath about ungrateful children and freeloaders, but once his legs were dangling over the side of the bed he was determined to make it to the chair. Judging from the length of stubble on his cheeks, he had been in that bed for more than a few days. If he were ever to make a quick recovery, he had to get his muscles working properly.

Harry's body was shaking from the effort, but he eventually had his feet on the floor. Hesitating, he knew he had to get on with it. Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, but a sudden rush of weakness down his side forced him to abort the attempt. Only then did he finally hear the contemptuous snort from behind him.

"Too much for you, Potter?" Snape's tone was a little subdued, but Harry could feel the sneer burning into his shoulder blades.

It took all his energy to turn to face the Potions master. "I don't see _you_ trying to get out of bed," he offered in the same tone.

"Believe me, Potter. I would like nothing better than to get up and walk away from this miserable place, but our beloved medi-witch enjoys keeping me from even getting up," Snape drawled out bitterly as he turned the page of his book. Harry could see that he was looking a lot more sallow and much thinner than he could last remember. He nodded in understanding. It seemed odd that they shared a common displeasure for being in Madame Pomfrey's care for too long.

"So what happened to you? Cauldron explode on you or something?" Harry snapped back as a sudden twinge of pain shot down his leg.

Snape snorted, "It seems that your appalling memory has not improved, Potter. Still, I think it would be remiss of me not to thank you for indirectly saving my life."

"Somehow I think I'd remember saving your life, Snape," Harry replied sarcastically, but knew in all honesty that it had to be the truth. Snape would rather die than make up something like that.

Snape snorted again, but quickly began coughing. Harry saw the Potion master's hands were shaking quite noticeably as he tried to stop his fit of coughing. "Er, I didn't jump in front of a curse to save _you_, did I?" Harry remembered Pomfrey saying that he had taken a curse for someone, and the vague memory of being struck was getting stronger. "But you were there – you remember, don't you?" he asked, hoping that Snape might relent and tell him what happened. He was insanely curious about everything that had happened. Pomfrey told him that he had to remember what happened on his own, but he needed to know who he had been protecting so fiercely.

Harry was so intent on the fact that Snape might be able to shed some light on his missing memories that he nearly didn't realise he was standing. Unfortunately, as soon as he looked down, he lost his balance and fell back on the bed. Snape pulled himself up into a sitting position in his own bed as another bout of coughs racked through him.

"Yes, I was there, Potter, but I missed out on all the fun." Harry looked at him in confusion. Snape rephrased his words. "I was captured by Pansy and Phillip a couple of days earlier, and they were ever so keen to show me just how well they had learned the Cruciatus. I had passed out before you engaged them in battle."

"Pansy and Phillip... _Parkinson?_ But I thought they were..." Harry was suddenly very confused. He didn't remember any of that. Was Snape just making up stories to mess even further with his head?

"Dead? We were all under that misapprehension," Snape said with a sarcastic tone.

"Why..." Harry seemed to remember something that rose up through a fog of memory, "Why do I have a vision that Lucius Malfoy was there... I know for certain he's very dead..."

"Polyjuice, or so I'm told. Seems Phillip had taken to intimidating people by parading as Lucius." Harry nodded. It seemed to make sense. "No doubt he was using it to intimidate Draco," Snape replied.

"Draco? Draco was there too?" Harry's head was hurting with the effort of remembering. Just as he thought he could grasp a thought, it would slip through his fingers like a greasy snitch. A stray thought tugged at his memory and suddenly his eyes lit up in understanding. "_Draco!_ I was protecting _Malfoy_? We were _both_ fighting the Neo Death Eaters?" Harry's mouth dropped open as he tried to make sense of that fact.

Everything seemed to be pointing back to the blond. Harry's dreams, the fact that Draco had been hanging around the hospital – what had been going on? Harry fought hard to remember something about Draco, but the huge wall of fog was blocking something. All Harry remembered of his association with Draco was that they had been forced to be nice to each other by the Headmaster, and that somehow, they were becoming more civil by the day. Feelings of sympathy and the occasional glimpse of something more flashed by, but it was quickly gone. Was this the source of his strangely erotic dreams? He wasn't sure. Even so, the more he thought about it, the less shocking it seemed.

"Is Draco all right?" he asked tentatively.

Harry was taken aback when Snape actually smiled. "Oh, he's about as well as can be expected. A little touched in the head for his own foolish antics, but I think that he'll survive. You're almost as bad as each other," he added with a hint of sarcasm.

"Draco's foolish antics? I don't understand." Harry's head seemed to be reeling from so much enlightening information. He couldn't correlate the news that he had leapt in front of a curse for Draco, with the information his memory was trying to provide. It was giving him a headache. But a part of him desperately wanted to know just how well Draco was, and whether or not he would be fine.

"My apprentice is uninjured, and has been busily brewing potions for Madame Pomfrey ever since we have been in here. Despite this, I've seen him spend an inordinate amount of time fretting over your prone form, leading me to form the conclusion that he is the one possibly suffering a mild concussion," Snape retorted.

Harry heard the heavy oak doors to the infirmary opening again, and saw the medi-witch return. He realised he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, and would be thoroughly chastised for not trying to stand up. He took a deep, controlled breath and tried to work through the pain. Long remembered control exercises broke through to the fore, and he was calm and gathered enough to stand and take two shaky steps to the comfy chair beside the bed. Sitting down had never felt so good, as every muscle was now protesting and shaking.

Pomfrey literally beamed as she noticed that he had managed to sit in the chair. "Don't get yourself too comfortable there, Harry – after all, you're going to need to get back to bed eventually. But you can rest, for now."

"You're a slave driver – I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better – not worse!" he replied in good humour. The chair was comfortable, and he allowed himself to slowly sink into the cushions.

"Ah, but if I let you lay abed for the next two weeks, you'd take ten times longer to get back on your feet. Don't even ask how long until you get back on a broom," she responded with alacrity. Her tone quickly became serious. "How is your back? Any pains as you walked?" Harry seemed surprised by the questions, but was even more surprised by the barrage of diagnostic spells she silently cast as she poked and prodded around his back.

"Ah, ow!" he exclaimed as she poked her finger in a very sensitive point on his lower ribs. "No, nothing awful. Why are you all so suddenly interested in whether or not I can walk without any pain?" he asked.

"Harry, do you remember being struck by the curse?" Pomfrey asked quietly. Harry thought hard for a moment, a headache forming behind his eyes, but nothing came to mind, so he shook his head.

"Then you'll understand why when you do remember. Ask me again when the memory comes back. But for now, I think you should try to get back to bed. This is certainly enough excitement for one day," Pomfrey seemed pleased, but her sudden change of subject put Harry on his guard.

It seemed to take twice as much effort to head back to bed, but he knew Pomfrey was right. He would have to start getting mobile, no matter how much pain it would cost him. Of course, now he was thoroughly distracted by the brief glimpse of events that had lead him there.

Getting back to be had been just as hard work, but eventually he made it there. After a while, he found himself wide awake, and bored enough to talk to Snape. He hoped to get the greasy git pumped up enough to volunteer some more information. Besides, he had no other distractions. It wasn't like anyone was going to visit him. For a moment, he wondered if anyone had visited him, but like everything else, his memory was failing him. He sighed wearily.

"Care to enlighten me about Pomfrey's concerns, Professor? Why all the sudden interest in the fact I can walk? As far as I know, I've been doing that successfully for quite a few years now."

Snape sneered as he put down his book in frustration. "It was much more fun in this place when you were at death's door and everyone was running around in a flap. I think I preferred that rather than having to listen to your incessant prattling."

"Sorry that my imminent death is no longer a source of amusement for you, Snape," he retorted.

Snape glared at him in utter disbelief. "You really don't know just how lucky you are to be alive, Potter. I suppose you are so immune to death that this all seems like a giant game to you. Just be thankful I wasn't the one brewing your cure – I may have had second thoughts about wasting such precious resources on reckless fools."

Harry wasn't sure what he meant. "If you're going to tell me half the story, Snape, then you may as well tell me everything," he said with a half grin, "You know my memory is full of holes, and I'll just keep asking you inane questions until I get answers." His smug expression belied his deep curiosity. What had been going on? How badly injured had he been? The more he thought about it, the more he recognised foreign stiffness in his back. All his concern had been focussed on his arm, and the fact that Snape mentioned a cure made him all the more curious.

"It seems that the biggest hero of the battle wasn't you – oh don't be so surprised, Potter. Draco not only despatched the main Neo Death Eaters after you foolishly leapt in front of him – but he managed to get both of us back to Hogwarts, and then he had the temerity to waste a perfectly good set of Pegasus Wingtips on _you_. I might have had second thoughts about giving them to him if I had any idea what he was planning to do with them." Snape's scowl widened at the thought.

Something leapt in his mind at the mention of Pegasus Wingtips. They were important and significant in some way. They had something to do with Parseltongue... a book... a potion... a limp... a cure... A vague memory tore out of his head, accompanied by a now blinding headache from the effort. Pegasus Wingtips were extremely rare – so rare that Draco had given up hope of finding any. They would have cured the curse in his knee. Memories of translating the cure and trying to help Draco came flooding back.

His head was pounding, but his heart raced as he realised the significance of Snape's words. "The curse; it was _Aboleo Adesum_, wasn't it?" His eyes widened and he sat up further as the incredulous look on his face widened even further. Snape nodded in assent.

"Yes, you were foolish enough to leap in front of a very dark curse. From what I've been told, it struck you clean in the spine. Technically, you should be dead right now, but then again you are always the one for the spectacular comeback, aren't you?" Snape couldn't help the snide remarks, but Harry wasn't listening.

"You found some Pegasus Wingtips... then gave them to Draco? But he should have used them for himself..."

"Precisely my point, Potter. So despite my apprentice's momentary lapse of common sense, you can see why we're all rather pleased to see that his brewing skills are more than proficient. It was rather selfless of him, actually."

But Harry closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He had become friends with Draco – that much was certain. He had leapt out to rescue him from a curse, only to have Draco use his personal salvation to cure him. It didn't seem right. A wave of guilt crashed over him.

_Well it's obvious now why he's been skulking around. I leapt in front of a curse to save a friend. My over inflated sense of duty tells me to do the craziest things, sometimes. _The guilt was suddenly overwhelming.

Could Draco ever forgive him for wasting his cure? Harry vowed to do everything in his power to find some Pegasus Wingtips for Draco. Only then would he know that he had absolved the debt he now owed to someone who was apparently much closer to him that Harry realised.

_Please don't hate me for this, Draco, because I suspect that I no longer hate you._ All this confusion was making him wish for a deep and meaningful conversation with the one person who usually helped him. _Where is Luc when I need to talk to him?_

* * *

The door slammed behind Draco as he returned home. His cane was thrown carelessly against the door as he carelessly flung his papers aside. He didn't seem to care where they landed as he headed straight for the bottle of brandy. It had been a very long and enlightening afternoon. _I'm sure Weasley is the only one laughing, _he fumed silently_. If there is any money left by the time I can get my hands on it, I'm keeping it in a vault under my own house. Curse those Goblins for letting that stinking Weasel anywhere near my things._

It took several large gulps of brandy to settle his temper to a point where he wasn't so volatile. The meeting at the bank had not gone as badly as he expected, but his suspicion about Weasley had been correct. It seemed that the Goblins were as much in the dark about their employee's covert activities as Draco was. The Goblin in charge of the Fiscal Investigative Unit was more than upset at such a severe breach of security.

Apparently they were not conducting an investigation into the Malfoy Estate. The original query that brought the Malfoy Estate to the attention of the FIG unit was long over. It showed that Draco's trustees had absconded with Draco's money of their own accord, and without Draco's consent or knowledge. Weasley never bothered to keep Draco up to date on that decision, and he began to weave an elaborate series of fabrications that became evident when there was no record keeping to prove it. According to Magroc, the Estate was never frozen. All payments should have been going out as normal, and in fact, they saw that the payments had been made – but just not to Draco.

Draco knew not to anger the Goblins themselves – he certainly had been taught to offer them his utmost respect, but he realised that they weren't infallible. Of course, it was their trust in a wizard employee that was the weak link, and he had every confidence that there would be some rather thorough changes to come at Gringotts. The question of compensation was raised.

Thufir Magroc had been nothing but efficient, helpful and brutally honest. He found himself liking the goblin more and more as he heard the creature's mutterings over what he planned to do to Ron Weasley when he was found. Of course, it didn't make up for the fact that he _could_ have been collecting a stipend these past few months, and he _could_ have completed his studies at _L'Institut_. He could play the 'what if' game for a long time, and dismissed it as a futile gesture.

_Besides, if I didn't accept Severus' offer of apprenticeship, I wouldn't be here now and I would not have had the opportunity to discover that I love Harry..._

A headache was forming behind his eyes as he unconsciously relived the afternoon. It was a vicious habit – rethinking and constantly reliving events. What good was that going to do now? All he should be thinking about was the successful outcome of his talk with Magroc. The Malfoy assets currently in the Neo Death Eater lair were to be relocated to the Malfoy vault, until such time as he rebuilt the Manor.

The longer he thought about it, the more he realised that Weasley must have been working _for_, not _with_ the Neo Death Eaters. Pansy or Phillip had been playing him like a fiddle. It wouldn't surprise him if Weasley didn't even know who he was working for. He was never one for seeing subtleties. The subtleties of his embezzlement had all the markings of a Slytherin plot. No, Weasley wasn't in charge. Someone had told him what to do. _Still, I bet it will kill him to learn that whilst he had my accounts frozen, they were earning more interest than he could possibly even count..._

That thought seemed to quell his temper somewhat, and he turned to look at the clock. It was just after dinnertime, and he really should be getting started on the salve for Harry. Draco felt a pang of worry for his recently discovered soul mate, and knew he had to see him. If anything, that would certainly help calm down his temper.

His knee was aching as he made his way into the hospital wing, but he was startled by the sight of a fully dressed Severus making his way out of the infirmary. He noticed Charlie was there and they smiled in greeting. "How are you, Severus?" he asked, seeing his mentor standing, he could see new lines on his tired and still haggard face. The set of his shoulders was still a little stooped. He was far from being completely well, but if he knew Severus as well as he thought, he was certainly well enough to escape Pomfrey and her equally forceful manner. If anything, his mentor was looking old.

"I'm well enough to be gone from this place," he retorted with a sly glance towards Pomfrey's office. Charlie snorted under his breath.

"What he means, Draco, is that he's sick of our wonderful medi-witch. If he stays any longer, he might incite a violent act upon her, and her unique method of healing. Besides, he's getting out whilst Pomfrey's gone. She won't be happy, but I think there comes a point when you start to recover faster when you are back in your own home."

Severus glared at Charlie. "Which doesn't mean I'm swapping one nursemaid for another, Charlie," he replied in a brash voice, but both Draco and Charlie knew that Severus was joking. Draco raised an eyebrow and folded his arms as he watched the silent byplay of their body language. Severus had obviously accepted Charlie's advances, and he could see that they were going to be just perfect together. Severus seemed reluctant to admit it to himself, but the very fact that he was being pleasant around Charlie showed that they had obviously overcome their differences. Draco understood the power of tragedy to bring people together. He gave them an understanding nod.

But judging from the occasional tremors in Severus' hands, he could see that his mentor was far from well. Charlie also noticed them, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Severus certainly wasn't over this last bout of the Cruciatus curse, and Draco had a dread suspicion that he might never be back to his old health. He wondered how this would affect his teaching ability. Severus hated showing weakness, especially in front of the students. It pained him to realise that, but seeing the care that Charlie was giving him, made it clear that he wouldn't have to suffer alone.

"Don't worry, Severus. I won't dream of letting you escape from my clutches now that I have you." Charlie winked slyly at Draco, who grinned. Draco looked over toward Harry's bed, but could see that he was sleeping. Charlie saw where he was looking, and answered his unasked question.

"He's been eating well, and Pomfrey's had him out of bed. Your potion obviously worked, Draco." He saw the gratitude in Charlie's eyes, and nodded.

"Does he remember yet?"

Charlie shook his head. "Severus was talking to him earlier, and got him a little worked up, but I don't think his full memory is back. At least he keeps saying he can't remember things."

Draco stood and watched Harry sleeping. He seemed to have done more of that lately than anything else. It seems that no matter what, there was always something in the way between him and Harry. Years of animosity to start with, then a blanket of anonymity as they began to explore each other's true personality. Now that he knew exactly what he wanted, Harry was still that one step out of reach.

The peaceful look on his face belied the frustration he must be suffering from not remembering things. Draco had cured the Aboleo Adesum, but he felt useless and helpless when he knew of no magic that could bring back Harry's memories. There was no spell to magically restore a memory lost in a trauma, and that was the hardest thing for Draco to accept. For all their magic, wizards were sometimes just as helpless as Muggles.

His guilt at putting Harry into this situation was creeping to the front of his conscience as he sat in the chair beside the bed. He saw that Pomfrey still had not managed to decipher the curse that had struck Harry's arm, for it was still bound under the immobility spell. He would have sat there for hours, just watching Harry sleep, but he reluctantly admitted his time would be better used in making up that salve instead. He reluctantly dragged himself away from Harry's side, but not before he placed a kiss on Harry's forehead. Harry stirred a little, and Draco was buoyed by the ever so slight smile on Harry's lips as he stirred before falling back to sleep.

* * *

That image helped Draco work through the afternoon to make the salve. Even though it wasn't a difficult process, he wanted to be sure he made it as perfect as possible.

Remus knocked and stuck his head around the corner. "Hey, Draco. I saw your door open – I was a little worried..." Draco looked up, realising he had forgotten to close the door behind him earlier. He waved Remus over.

"Sorry, Remus. Come in. I've been a little ... preoccupied," he admitted.

"Oh," he replied with a worried frown, "Everything all right?" He watched Draco poured the last of the vile smelling salve into the small cruse.

Draco's silence indicated to Remus that something was playing on his mind. "Okay, why don't you start from the beginning. I hear that I'm a pretty good listener and I've got nowhere else to be." Remus offered to help Draco clean up, but the blond quickly waved away the dirty cauldrons with a flick of his wand and a non verbal Scourgify.

He guided Remus to the couch beside the fire, and offered him a drink. Draco ranted, then raved, then ranted some more about what Ron Weasley had done. To his credit, Remus had seemed surprised, but was not leaping in to defend Gryffindor honour, or anything equally as rash. He was indeed a very good listener.

Remus quietly pondered Draco's concerns. "Is there a possibility he's being manipulated?"

Draco rubbed his temples; he was getting tired. "I thought about that too. It's the most plausible explanation. Of course, he'll be a dead Weasel when I get my hands on him," he said bitterly as he finished. "But I just don't know how Harry will react to that news."

"Have you seen him today?" Remus was still nursing his first drink, but Draco was well onto his second.

"Yes," Draco nodded, "but he was asleep." The stifled sigh that escaped his lips showed his seemingly desperate worry.

"What's really troubling you Draco?"

"I... oh, you'd probably think I'm being ridiculous." Draco wasn't sure if he wanted to confide completely in Remus, but in the absence of Harry, and by association, Flash, he didn't have too many other outlets. He would have talked to Severus if he knew he didn't have his own concerns right now.

Remus shrugged. "Try me... or better still, why don't you tell your friend – the one you talk to in your journal? Perhaps he might understand what it is you need to get off your chest." Draco didn't notice Remus' slightly hesitant glance in the direction of his desk.

Draco just snorted and he wore a sarcastic smirk. "Oh right," he rolled his eyes. "That will _really_ work." He stood up and grabbed his journal – bringing it over to show Remus. The few drinks had helped calm him down somewhat, but he needed to get something off his chest.

"I'd love to tell my friend all about it, Remus – the fact that I've fallen so deeply and madly in love with Harry Potter that I can't bear to live without him. There's just one problem."

Remus' eyes widened, but he said nothing.

"You see, the problem is that it's Harry. _Harry_ is the one I've been writing to all these months." His laugh bordered on being slightly mad. "I've spent months pouring out my heart and soul and falling in love and making friends, only to discover that it's Harry sitting at the other end."

He waved the journal in Remus' face. "This is a soul mate journal. I've been writing to my bloody soul mate, and it turns out that it's Harry. All along it's been Harry. Can you see my dilemma, Remus? Can you?" he asked with just a hint of desperation.

Remus wisely said nothing, but he couldn't maintain eye contact with Draco for long. Draco saw this and snorted, turning on his heel. "I've fallen in love with the prat. Funny how I didn't realise that I loved him until I thought I was going to lose him, and now I don't know if he even remembers that we are friends."

Draco saw Remus' lack of shocked response to his news, and nodded knowingly. "But you knew." The lack of shock in his face convinced Draco he was right. "Yes, you knew these were soul mate journals – you said as much once before, yet you never told me..."

To his credit, Remus didn't deny the charge. He eventually hung his head, nodding silently. A huge sigh escaped his lips before confessing. "For what it's worth, I _did_ want to tell you, Draco. The thing is you wouldn't have believed me at the time. It's the same reason why you didn't realise who you were talking to."

"When did you work it out?"

Remus took a deep breath as he looked wistfully at the journal. "I had seen Harry with Sirius' old journal, and then a few days later I saw you with mine." Draco seemed to sit up at that bit of knowledge. Remus smiled. "Oh yes, that was definitely mine. I seemed to have misplaced it when I was living in Paris. I think I might have left it in a box of books I had sold to a wily old witch who ran a bookshop in the Student Quarter..."

"Emmaline," Draco just shook his head. Why was he not surprised to discover that Emmaline was somehow involved. Now that the truth was out in the open, he couldn't stay mad. "So what stopped me? How did I not realise I've been talking to Harry Potter for months and months?"

Remus finally took a large swig of the drink that lay forgotten in his hand. "Draco, you have to realise the ancient magic at work here. That set of journals is exceedingly powerful. Nothing was hidden from you. You had to overcome your pride and your prejudice. That was the lesson here. You had to learn to see who your soul mate was without all those years of baggage attached to them. If I had told you, would you have believed me? You needed to discover the truth for yourself."

Draco wanted desperately to accept Remus' apology. Deep down, he knew it was a logical explanation, but he hated feeling out of control. "How do I tell Harry? If he's forgotten everything, I'm going to have to start all over again, aren't I? He may not even remember the journal. How can I write to him knowing what I know now, Remus? I have no idea how he'll react to the truth... We were so close to being together."

Remus saw the reflected pain in Draco's eyes. "If you know him as well as you think, you should already have your answer."

Draco shrugged, the pain back in his eyes. "Maybe I misinterpreted his words... Perhaps I'm the one who thought there was more going on than met the eye."

"Trust your instincts, Draco. Harry would have to care deeply for you to do what he did in that cave. The fact that he stepped in front of a curse for you with no thought to the consequences must count for something. You have to believe that his memories will return, Draco. Please don't beat yourself up about it. If you love him, as you say, then you'll find a way to tell him."

"You know, just when I think my life can't get any more complicated, I see that the benchmark has been raised, and things become even harder. Falling in love and having a relationship shouldn't be this hard, Remus. Why is it always so difficult for me?"

It pained Remus to see his young friend in such turmoil. It wasn't often that he saw Draco so open and depressed. Was this the real Draco that Harry had spied behind the mask of bravado? He had to admit that their timing was just appalling. Just when Draco finds his soul mate, Harry ends up critically injured. It truly could not have been any more tragic. He didn't feel right giving away the knowledge that Harry already knew that he was deeply in love with Draco. It wasn't his information to tell. He hoped beyond hope that Harry would regain his memories – both of them deserved to be happy together, and finally the journals could be responsible for a match that didn't have a tragic ending.

"But your cure worked, Draco. Doesn't that count for something? I visited earlier, and Madame Pomfrey said he had been forced to get up and walk a few steps, which is a good sign." Draco wasn't sure Remus fully understood how he felt and he was still a little upset at the werewolf for his silence about the journals, even if deep down, he could understand why he did it.

Draco finally shook himself out of his maudlin mood and realised he was being a bad host, changing the subject in the process. "I'm sorry, Remus. I can only guess you came in to talk about your last Transformation. Instead you get an earful about all my problems."

Remus waved him away. "Don't worry, I understand how busy you've been, and it's late. Everything went just fine. The potion helps me to keep my mind during the whole night, and after I transform back, I feel a lot better. Still, it would be nice if it could do something to alleviate the pain of the actual transformation. That bit is the killer."

Draco had put a lot of thought into that phase of the lycanthropic curse. The actual transformation was the toughest stage. "I did some studies on the actual transformation a long time ago, but I am yet to have any success. It seems that the transformation period is the whole crux of the curse." Long repressed memories came to the fore, and he repressed a shudder. "I had the distinct displeasure of having to work alongside Fenrir Greyback my tenure with the Dark Lord."

Remus' nostrils flared and he unconsciously scratched at his shoulder blade at the mention of Greyback. "I understand your father had quite a bit to do with Greyback, but I didn't know that you had anything to do with him." Both men shuddered at their own memories of the violent and mad werewolf who was responsible for infecting so many innocent victims.

"He may have had something to do with my interest in developing something to help his victims. Goodness knows he left enough of them behind."

"Speaking of which," Remus suddenly remembered something he needed to tell Draco. "I was in Werewolf services earlier this week, and one of Greyback's victims is enrolled to start in the new school year."

Draco put down his glass. This news almost made him forget his previous worries. "Really? I didn't realise there were that many child victims left."

"Yes, there's still a few, surprisingly. I think we'll have two or three more to come through the school yet, if our records of registered werewolves are correct. That still doesn't account for all those who are still too scared to register. We try to change the laws, but the Ministry still has an element that is against people with my affliction. The fact we have to report to the registry every so often doesn't help matters. Of course, the School Board has stated that she must take Wolfsbane each month, so you'll need to account for that in your brewing."

Draco could understand the Board's reluctance, but nodded. Increasing the quantity of Wolfsbane would not be an issue. "Who is she?"

"A young lass by the name of Maggie Gadbury. Poor thing. Fenrir killed her parents and her older sister, leaving her to survive with a bite. She's been in and out of foster homes ever since. I'm actually looking forward to seeing her here - she's such a beautifully natured child. Her parents were quite talented, actually. Maggie has had problems in her domestic life – her latest foster family has barely been adequate. I'm hoping that school can help her to come out of her shell."

"Isn't it always the most innocent of victims who have to suffer the most?" he asked, his mind thinking about Harry as he spoke. He really was looking forward to meeting this Maggie Gadbury. A female lycanthrope offered her own set of challenges. He absently wondered if he would need to change the Wolfsbane potion to account for the different hormonal needs. His brain immediately went into analytical mode as he began thinking of different combinations of herbs that he could use.

"You seem a little excited by the prospect, if I do say so."

"Remus, if I never see another werewolf again, it won't be too soon. No offence intended of course – oh, you know what I mean." That had not come out as he meant, but Remus seemed to understand his sentiments.

"I have often wondered how you managed to be so near to Greyback for so long during the war without being bitten," Remus commented curiously. "He was well known for taking the odd bite at Death Eaters he had taken a fancy to."

Draco snorted at the irony. "Oh no, he was never allowed to bite his colleagues, for which I was eternally grateful. Voldemort must have made some sort of unbreakable vow with him. He was only allowed to take a bite at them if they displeased the Dark Lord. Even so, I was always wary around him. I'm just glad Greyback is dead. I really would like to shake the hand of the wizard who eventually got rid of him though. He was even more unstable than Voldemort at times."

Remus shook his head. "He was more animal than wizard, which might have accounted for some of his madness." It was then that Draco remembered that it was Fenrir who had infected Remus.

He offered an apologetic reply. "I'm sorry, Remus. I shouldn't have brought up the topic. I'm sure you think about it often enough without someone like me reminding you."

"No, don't apologise, Draco. You of all people are doing all that you can, which you never should apologise for. Is it your past run-ins with Greyback that have made you so passionate about helping those with my affliction?" Remus asked out of sheer curiosity.

Draco had to think about the question for some time. It was never a conscious decision on his part to do his research on Wolfsbane. He just needed to brew it one day during a class at _L'Institut_, and he became all the more curious about improving it. But he admitted that his work with it had brought back many memories of his time in the Death Eaters. "I never really thought about it, but now you ask, I guess I was thankful – I know how close I came to being bitten. Perhaps it is some unconscious desire to make up for what I had to do." His voice faded away and he closed his eyes. Still, the unbidden memories returned. "Maggie might not have been one of the lucky ones, but I'll be damned if I can't try to offer her a chance at something close to normal."

Remus gave his shoulder a firm squeeze of support. "You truly are a good man, Draco. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Harry truly deserves someone like you. He's alive, thanks to you – and that's the most important thing."

Draco nodded. He knew that Remus was right. He came along just at the right time, and he had certainly given Draco plenty to think about. "Thanks Remus. Thanks for listening."

"You're welcome." Remus was on his way out, but turned – a wry smile on his face. "Not to stir the pot, or anything, I just thought you should know it was Ron Weasley who took Fenrir down. Something about avenging his brother."

"Really?" Draco asked in surprise. The scowl at the mention of the Weasel returned to his face. "Well then, I take it back. Greyback should have bitten him first."

* * *

**Sunday 27 July**

The halls were peaceful and quiet as Draco made his way to the infirmary. It was still quite early, particularly for a Sunday, yet the weather was already wonderfully warm. Draco had finished the salve and was on his way to offer it to Harry. After his confession to Remus, he had lain awake for half the night, frightfully concerned that Harry's memory loss was a side effect of the Aboleo Adesum cure. He couldn't be sure, and he would never get a chance to brew the potion again, so the thought played on his mind and disrupted his sleep. He had so much to talk to Harry about, but he had no idea where to start – especially if Harry's memories were still vague.

The last thing he expected to see was someone sitting in _his_ chair beside Harry's bed. His good mood soured as he recognised a familiar head of bushy hair.

"Granger," he said softly, not wanting to wake Harry, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

Hermione turned to look at Draco with her swollen red rimmed eyes. She looked dreadful. "Draco," she said and shrugged offhandedly.

A surge of possessiveness overwhelmed him, and he felt like pulling her away from Harry's side. Unfortunately, his mouth moved into gear before he could think. "Shouldn't you be out looking for your Neo Death Eater of a husband instead of weeping all over Harry?" He realised how harsh he sounded the moment the words left his mouth.

His words obviously struck a nerve. Hermione's shoulders sank and tears began welling in the back of her eyes. "How… how did you know?" she asked in disbelief. "I… they said they were trying to keep the news quiet. Arthur is putting up a brave front, but Molly is a wreck…"

Draco noticed the quiet desperation in her voice. She was shaking quite visibly now, and for just a moment, he felt guilty. Despite everything that had gone on between them, this was one of Harry's oldest friends. Even though she had absolutely no taste in men, Draco could see that she was distraught.

"I'm sorry I sounded so harsh – I'm not angry at you... just a little surprised that you weren't here earlier. I would have thought that you would be here the minute you knew Harry was injured."

"Ron wouldn't let me come to see him," she bristled defensively. "They… they had an argument, and he tried to stop me seeing Harry. I have just as much right to be here as you, Draco. Besides, I just had to see him for myself. Although I should be with Molly – I don't want to give her any more cause for worry." Draco nodded reluctantly. She did have a right to be there – he was just feeling a little possessive.

"How did you know Ron is missing?" she asked again, a little more firmly.

He moved around the other side of the bed, keeping a sharp eye on Harry. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake him. His argument wasn't with Hermione, rather it was with her sneaky weasel of a husband. It struck him that if he were to be a part of Harry's future, then he was going to have to make the effort to prove his worth to Harry's friends. The last time he ran into Granger, she had been quite mature and surprisingly treated him with respect. She was obviously distraught. He pulled back his triggered response to be snarky.

He indicated that perhaps they should talk away from Harry's bedside. Hermione looked back at Harry fondly for a moment. There was no indication they had interrupted his peaceful sleep, so she nodded her head and followed Draco as he moved to the windows at the opposite end of the infirmary.

"One of the Aurors contacted me yesterday. There have been a few unaccountable transactions in relation to the Malfoy Estate. It seems a considerable number of Malfoy assets ended up in the clutches of the Neo Death Eaters, despite the fact that the estate was apparently frozen and administered by your husband." Hermione took a step back in shock at that news. "I had a very long and interesting meeting with Thufir Magroc yesterday," he continued. "It seems that your husband was working to his own agenda. His bosses certainly were not aware of his extra-curricular activities."

From Hermione's reaction, this information was news to her. She shook her head in disbelief. "I had no idea," she whispered quietly. Draco watched as she tried to hold herself together. He felt awkward and uncomfortable being civil to her – considering their history – but from the pain in her eyes he could appreciate the fact that she was suffering for love. That was certainly an emotion he could understand. He didn't know what a brilliant witch like Granger could see in a fool like Weasley, and he was under no illusion that if his feelings for Harry became public, people would keep their opinions to themselves. He just hoped to Merlin that he would get to that point of public declaration.

"You know, I was so caught up in my own studies, I barely realised that there was anything wrong. I thought his long hours were simply because he was given more responsibility at work. I knew he was involved in your estate, but I assumed that he kept the details secret because of the bank's security procedures."

"Did you notice anything odd or different about his behaviour of late?" Draco asked.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, but sounded unsure as she spoke. "He was acting a little edgy and nervous ever since his birthday, but I just assumed it had something to do with the fact that he was nervous about the wedding." A small smile crossed her face, and Draco could see that there were tears in her eyes. "He seemed to fly off the handle more easily than usual, but you know that his temper has always been so easy to trigger." Draco just nodded in return. If he could find out as much as he could here, they might be able to find some clue to Weasley's whereabouts.

"But it was after his little stunt at his stag party that I realised something was terribly wrong. Did you know he and Harry had a huge fight?" she asked.

"I was aware that they had a little falling out over… something," he said truthfully.

"That was the first time I admitted to myself that Ron was changing. I thought perhaps it was the pressure of getting married. He suddenly seemed so aggressive - especially towards Harry. He just lost all ability to reason. I was so angry at him - and Bill - they are as bad as each other. At least Bill has an excuse for his foul behaviour at times, but Ron…" she seemed on the verge of tears again.

Draco thought carefully for a moment. There was something familiar about how she described the weasel's behaviour. It seemed almost forced… unnatural. "Did you consider the fact that someone may have been influencing him?"

Hermione sniffled inelegantly and nodded. "I keep asking myself that now, but Ron learned to resist the Imperius curse during the war. I did ask Ginny to come over and confirm that he hadn't been cursed - she's a curse breaker now. I admit it seemed silly at the time, and I just thought I was being paranoid. Ron had said I was working too hard, and I should have been home more often, but he was the one working longer and longer hours."

Draco barely flinched at the mention of Ginny Weasley, cringing slightly. "Did she check for any Dark curses?" he asked.

"If there's a curse breaker that knows her dark curses, it's Ginny. She's the best free-lancer in the whole of Europe. I trust her judgement. "

Draco didn't particularly care for any more conversation about Ginny Weasley, suffice to say that if she was only half as good at curse breaking as she was in deflating egos, then she was probably more than competent.

"But what I don't understand, is how Ron could get into a position where he could be controlled. He certainly had no love for the Death Eaters..."

"It is possible that he may have never known he was being controlled. On the other hand, he could have been blackmailed into making some sort of binding vow, and he couldn't renege. Although, if he can shake off Imperius..."

"If someone was controlling him, wouldn't the magic have been lifted after you killed the ringleaders? Shouldn't the spell have finished?"

Draco nodded, "If it was a spell, then yes, it would have stopped the moment they were killed…" He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. "Unless…"

"Unless what? You don't think there are more Neo Death Eaters out there?" Hermione sounded a little intimidated by the thought.

Draco shook his head. "Sweet Merlin, I certainly hope not. ... Surely not coercive potions."

"Coercive _potions_? But aren't they illegal?" Hermione realised how stupid her question sounded. "Of course, they're Death Eaters - they wouldn't care about that," she shook her head. "How could I not have thought of a potion?"

"Relax, Granger. I only thought of it myself just now, and only because I remember a conversation..." A long forgotten discussion with Phillip Parkinson was resurfacing, and Draco had a horrid thought as he realised the implications of it. _If Phillip had been successful…_

"Did you know them?" she asked curiously. "The ones you killed. Were they Death Eaters you knew?"

He saw the serious look on her face, realising that the Neo Death Eater identities were not yet publicised. "Yes," he nodded. "But there was certainly no loyalty, or friendship."

He glanced over Hermione's shoulder to look back at Harry, and the pang of worry must have been visible in his face. Hermione followed his gaze, bringing a smile to her face.

"I worked it out, you know," she said with a hint of smugness in her voice.

"What?" Draco had no idea what she was talking about.

"Harry told me about his journal. He couldn't stop talking about his friend, _Luc_." She watched carefully for Draco's reaction, and his head snapped to look at her, his pale gaze directly penetrating her own as she nodded carefully. "I know that he's been talking to you, confiding in you for months now, Draco. Are you aware of the significance of the _Journal Intime Partagé._"

_Granger knew?_ He started picking at some imaginary lint on the sleeve of his robe, not really knowing what to say.

"I have to say that I was a little stunned at first, but then I realised it made sense." He was startled by her statement. She grabbed at his hand and held it firmly. "If I had any doubts, then they all flew out the window when I saw what you did to help Harry. Poppy told me exactly what you gave up for him. It just goes to show how much you really do love him. I never thought I'd say it, but Harry deserves someone who will love him unconditionally, Draco. I think you'll be good for each other."

_Bloody hell, she really is the smartest witch around. I didn't even believe it for myself until it was nearly too late._ Unable to think of anything to say, he eventually gave in and just nodded his head.

"So did you tell Harry about your discovery?" he asked in trepidation.

"No, he has to learn about you himself. I don't know what would happen if he found out you were his soul mate, and he wasn't ready to accept that possibility. When did you realise your feelings for Harry?"

"When I thought I was going to lose him. We were getting closer, Granger, but I don't know if Harry even remembers that. It seems the missing gaps in his memory extend back to well before the summer. I doubt he even remembers that we are friends." A note of desperation crept into his voice.

"Well if that's the case, you're just going to have to make him fall in love with you all over again," she replied with a smile.

He looked up again as he finally understood what she had said. "He told you he was in _love_ with me? You just said he didn't know who I was," he asked in disbelief. Telling someone you are in love in an anonymous journal is one thing. To tell your best friend is something else.

Hermione shook her head. "He never said that it was _you_, Draco. He admitted that he was in love with _Luc_, but I'm not sure if he worked out who you truly are. I'm sorry to get your hopes up."

Draco pursed his lips into a thin line. "Perhaps he was ashamed to tell you it was me," he said bitterly.

Hermione shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco. I'm almost certain he never knew. He is terrible at keeping secrets, and I would have known if he was. Don't worry yourself. You're still here, and you're still helping him, which is the most important thing."

"And what do you think of that, Granger? The bane of your school existence falls in love with your best friend. Do you think you could live with that?" No matter what, if Harry was going to be a part of his life, then all of his friends and various hangers on would have to be a part as well. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he could separate Harry from that which had been important to him in the past. Just like he knew that Harry and Severus would have to learn to play nice.

He reluctantly admitted that he could stand Granger's company. He was just surprised that she already knew about the journal. _Am I the only one who didn't know? How foolish do I feel?_

"I honestly don't have a right to an opinion, Draco. But all I know is that if Harry is ecstatically happy with you, then I'll be happy. He is certainly old enough to make his own decisions, and I'll support those decisions as long as he is still happy about them. Besides, who ever said that love made sense?"

Draco knew that was the best he could possibly expect from someone he taunted mercilessly at school. "Thank you," he replied.

"Of course," she continued, "If you ever do anything to hurt Harry, I'll be doing more than just slapping you." They both smiled after that comment, and they turned as they heard Harry stirring.

"Do you think he'll get his memories back?" Draco asked. The look of worry on his face was palpable.

"It's a miracle he's still alive, Draco. If, as Poppy seems to think, it's only a temporary memory loss, then there is every chance it will return in time. Did he somehow get a concussion during the fight?" she asked.

"Hmmm, yes, he had a nasty fall from the portkey, but he seemed okay at first." Draco's mind wandered back to memories of the cave. It was something he didn't want to remember. A shiver ran down his spine at the thoughts. He quickly pushed aside the frightening memory of Phillip pretending to be Lucius - an image that was now haunting his dreams nightly.

"But concussion is like that at times. He might seem fine, but then he'll forget things. It will all come back soon, don't worry." Draco was relieved at the quiet confidence in Granger's tone.

He just nodded, not really knowing what to say. "Thanks, Granger."

"Hermione," she replied.

"What?"

"My name is Hermione. I'm married now, in case you had forgotten. I'm sure you really don't want to call me 'Weasley', so perhaps it's time you called me Hermione."

"That might just shock Harry back into a relapse," he replied with a wide smile and a light laugh. Hermione smiled in return. "I should go. I wish he were awake, but it's probably best that he get as much natural sleep as possible. Poppy should be back soon, but he's in good hands, for now."

"Thanks, Grang... Hermione," he offered. "Harry did well to choose you as a friend," he admitted frankly.

Hermione already had a handful of floo powder. She raised an eyebrow at his comment. "Thanks, Malfoy."

* * *

Harry woke slowly, thoroughly convinced he could hear voices. Surely he must have been dreaming, for it seemed impossible that Draco and Hermione would ever have a civil conversation.

"'Mione?" he mumbled, remembering from the sharp antiseptic smells that he was in the infirmary. The ever present aches and pains were still there, but he was getting used to them. He only began to fret when he found he couldn't grasp at any of his missing memories. It frustrated him more and more each time he woke, but right now, he had a more pressing need with a bladder that felt ready to explode.

"Harry," Draco's voice sounded relieved as he made his way to the bedside.

He blinked owlishly as his vision slowly adjusted. "I thought I heard 'Mione," he said.

Draco handed him his glasses. "She was just here, but had to go."

"You two weren't fighting, were you?" he asked sceptically.

"Of course we weren't fighting, Harry. She had to go and visit her mother-in-law."

Harry had a suddenly vivid flash of memory – an intense argument with Ron. His sense of anger at him was vehemently strong, and he took a deep breath in realisation. "Was she alone, or was _Ron_ with her?"

Draco shook his head. "So you remember..."

"When your best friend for half your life suddenly turns on you, you tend not to forget. Hang on, That's only been recently. I didn't remember that yesterday." Harry's eyes widened as he realised that a memory had returned. Draco nodded, clearly pleased that Harry had a memory return, even if it wasn't a pleasant one. Harry started to make the effort to get out of bed and get to the bathroom. "Should you be trying to get up, Harry?" The look of concern on Draco's face was genuine.

"Pomfrey says I should be getting up and about. Easy for her to say," Harry snorted as he struggled to get his balance. The immobilised arm was making it nearly impossible.

"Well, I suppose if she says it is for the best, then who am I to argue?" he said, helping Harry to sit on the edge of the bed. "You had forgotten about your argument with Weasley, hadn't you?" he asked. Harry nodded. "That's a good sign."

Harry was a little frustrated as he tried to move his arm, and found it was still immobile. "What? That I've been fighting with my oldest friend?" he was starting to shout, but his frustration had nothing to do with Ron. His immobilised arm was beginning to annoy him.

"No, I mean that you're starting to remember things. Your memory should be back to normal in no time." Harry had to admit that Draco was certainly being positive. _Why is he so eager for me to remember? What has happened? I am so sick and tired of being left in the dark. _He almost missed Draco's question in his daydreaming. "Are you in any pain? Are you suffering any symptoms like a headache?"

Harry nodded. "A little headache, I think. I've had it for a while now, and I can't really tell if it's better or worse. It's like there's a fog in my head, and when I try to think too hard, the headache gets worse. Still, it's not nearly half as frustrating as this bloody arm," he said snappily. He hated being sick, and he really had had enough of the infirmary.

"You just concentrate on resting, and things will improve with time," Draco offered confidently.

Harry snorted. "That's easy for you to say, you're not the one who's in pain. You could save me some time by telling me what I'm forgetting. Snape was only too obliging."

"And I am sure that you were only too eager to goad him into it, weren't you?" Draco asked knowingly.

"Why would it bother you that Snape's been telling tales? I know who I was protecting when I was cursed, if that's what you're implying." Harry felt a little uncomfortable. _How does Draco feel about that? _The knowledge of what he did played heavily on his mind.

Draco seemed a little apprehensive and hesitated, shaking his head, but didn't voice any thoughts as he offered a helping hand to Harry.

"Take it easy, Harry. I'm not going to let you fall." Harry didn't have time to think about Draco's helpfulness as his bladder was being insistent. He reluctantly took the proffered arm and inelegantly stood up.

Draco slowly helped him take a few steps, his legs wobbling as weakly as a newborn foal's. There were still some aches and pains shooting up and down his back and legs, but he recognised them as being from days of inactivity. Luckily, the lavatory wasn't too far from his bed.

"You'll be all right on your own?" Draco asked as he watched Harry's unsure gait.

"I think I'm capable of taking a piss alone, but thanks for the offer." His words growled around his frustration at feeling so helpless. Draco nodded in understanding, and quietly left him on his own.

Harry eventually figured out the logistics of getting his cock out with only one working arm. Being right handed, he never realised how awkward things were when he tried them with his left hand. _Merlin, I'll probably make a cock-up of wanking too,_ he thought, as he wasn't being terribly efficient at aiming. He thought about sitting down to pee, but knew he would need to stand up again, and that was going to be too hard. He allowed himself to relax momentarily as he relieved himself.

_What the hell has gone on in the past few months? Draco seems almost like a different man. He's certainly being far too obliging. _Harry had so many questions and the list of questions surrounding Draco was growing longer. Although, he admitted that remembering new things gave him hope that his entire memory would return.

_How long have I been lying here? Is it days, or weeks? Judging from what seems to have gone on, it feels like months. _But he knew it was still the school holidays – there was no sign of any students. He would have heard them by now if school were back in session.

_I distinctly remember being offered the job as Remus' assistant, but things are getting a little foggy after that. I remember helping Draco by translating that potion, and I definitely recall Ron being a complete twat, and I have some vague memories of Hermione's wedding._

He was the first to admit that there was a lot of missing information between feeling sorry for Draco, and stepping in front of a curse for him. All he could remember about confronting the Neo Death Eaters was a few snatches of memory, mostly quick flashes of curses being fired back and forth. Something odd suddenly struck. _Why didn't I put up a shield? Why didn't Draco, for that matter?_ _Perhaps I am trying too hard to make my memories come out_, he eventually admitted with a deep sigh. His determined curiosity hated being kept in the dark.

As he shuffled over to wash his hand, he dared a cursory glance in the mirror above the sink, and stopped in shock. The face that stared back at him seemed barely recognisable. He was pale and gaunt, with deep bags under his eyes and patchy stubble accentuating his hollow cheeks. His messy hair was getting longer and starting to curl, but he barely noticed any of that as his attention was drawn to the new and very angry looking scar on his cheek.

He had paid little attention to the tightness in his face – he had other aches and pains to be concerned about, but seeing it there, and so bright against his pale skin, he felt the enormity of his injuries. He looked at the useless arm that hung limply at his side, and wondered if it would always be like that. The bruising was fading slowly, but he saw the little starburst scars that would likely remain. He looked away, knowing that this was the price he paid. _They're just more scars. So many people have lost their lives, or been permanently maimed because of this fucking pathetic war, and here I am complaining that I'm going to be left with scars. That's me – scarhead. Everyone else gets severe injuries, and I'm yet again the lucky one. Perhaps I deserve a permanent injury for putting so many people in danger. _

That old guilt rose to the fore, and he bemoaned those who suffered or were injured. The knowledge that Draco had given up a cure for him only added to it, once again bringing it to his attention. Perhaps his luck had finally run out, and he was getting what he deserved.

As he slowly made his way back to his bed, he noticed how open and lonely the infirmary seemed. With Snape gone, he was the only patient left. Not that he was going to miss having the greasy git around. He distinctly remembered that Charlie had admitted a long held crush on Snape, but the idea that they were now a couple made him sit and wonder if he was dreaming all this. He couldn't imagine anything more unthinkable, but Charlie was a grown man, and he obviously knew what he wanted out of life. Somehow, he knew he was completely over his crush on Charlie, but not having any memories of it made it feel strange. It all seemed so surreal.

The early morning sun was streaming in through the hospital wing's large windows, and the birds were chirping happily as a light breeze rustled through the branches of the trees. Harry suddenly realised he should be out in the courtyard doing his T'ai Chi – something else he had forgotten. No wonder he was feeling out of sorts – his usual regimen of exercises had been forgotten.

He wasn't sure if he should be upset that he was missing such an important part of his daily routine, or whether he should be excited that he had _remembered_ something else. The idea that memories were returning – no matter how slowly they trickled back, gave him some comfort. Still, it didn't help his impatience level. Back in his bed, he relished the cool sheets and desperately hoped one of the vials on the bedside table contained a painkilling potion.

Draco came back out of Pomfrey's office with even more potions. He handed Harry a bright yellow one – he had not seen that before, but if it tasted as bad as it looked, he would be gagging all day.

"Madame Pomfrey left that one for you. She doesn't want you having any more sleeping potions, but now you're going to need to stay awake." Harry looked sceptically at the bottle. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to poison you. If that is what I wanted, you wouldn't have even woken up in the first place."

Harry glanced from the bottle back to Draco. "I still can't work out why you're being so nice, Draco, but something tells me I should trust you. Where is Madame Pomfrey, anyway?" It suddenly struck him as quite odd that the ever-present medi-witch was nowhere in sight.

"She was taking the day off – to visit Madame Hooch and her new baby, according to Hermione." Harry wrinkled his brow, and turned his questioning stare to Draco.

"Hermione? Since when have you stopped calling her Mudblood or Granger?" he asked in all seriousness.

Draco shrugged. "Perhaps we've both realised it's silly to hold childish grudges, now, drink that potion before Pomfrey hauls me over the coals for not being helpful. If you think she's bad when you're a patient, you haven't seen her when you're supposed to be helping her."

Harry reluctantly downed the potion, and his earlier thoughts were confirmed. It tasted worse than fermented fruit juice – the acidic taste burning all the way into his stomach. "So did you just come in here to shovel ghastly potions into me, Draco?" he asked.

"I actually just came up here this morning to put this salve on you – it should help with the curse scarring on your back," he held out a small cruse filled with a thick honey coloured balm. "I was planning on just leaving it here, but Hermione said that Pomfrey wasn't around, and I thought... I can go if you want me to..." Draco sounded hesitant, and stood to leave, but Harry quickly stopped him.

"No, I don't... don't go. I'm sorry, I don't know why my temper is so short." He honestly didn't know why. He had no reason to take his ever present frustration out on Draco.

"It probably has something to do with the fact you haven't done any of your T'ai Chi, or your other exercises. Your body is probably telling you that it needs to get back into its routine. Perhaps exercising your body might make your mind remember what it has forgotten." Draco sounded a little wistful, but Harry barely noticed it.

"You're probably right. I can barely walk to the lavatory, and I don't intend to have someone help me out every time." His stomach growled so loudly, it startled both of them. "Of course, I probably might feel better if I ate something," he admitted.

Draco said nothing before heading over to the fireplace. Harry couldn't see who he was talking to, but he heard the low murmur of voices. A few minutes later he returned with a tray, the smell of soup and crusty fresh bread escaping, making his mouth water. A familiar pot of tea also sat on the side of the plate. "I didn't think you'd find Poppy's usual fare all that appealing. I know you haven't had anything but broth for the past few days. I thought some of Emmaline's own home made soup and bread might hit the spot."

Harry was completely stunned by Draco's thoughtfulness, but the fresh food distracted him enough that he merely muttered a polite thank you.

Draco shrugged. "Don't expect service like this all the time."

Harry enjoyed every mouthful. The vegetable soup wasn't too rich, but it was quite tasty, without being spicy. He was a little shaky at first, not used to working with his left hand, but with a little bit of sustenance, he was soon feeling a little stronger. Everything was still hurting, but the effort of chewing the bread was dispelled by the joy of having eaten.

He saw Draco toying with the small bowl of salve. "So what's so special about that salve, apart from the fact that you made it?" he asked curiously.

Draco shrugged again, "It's just a little something I developed. It might help with the scarring," he replied.

Harry put a hand to his cheek to the new scar. "Oh."

Draco was staring at his new scar intently, his face unreadable. "No, that one isn't a curse scar. This might help, but I thought you might want this for the scarring around where the Aboleo Adesum struck you."

"There's _more_ scarring?" Harry only now realised the extent of his injuries.

"Well curses usually leave scars, Harry. _All_ curses." His eyes momentarily flicked to Harry's forehead, and Harry felt extremely stupid.

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I'm only just coming to terms with the possibility that this arm might not work again," he replied dolefully.

Draco shook his head. "No, your arm will get better. Pomfrey knows how impatient you get, that's why she's immobilised it. If you try to do any magic now, it would be weak – unpredictable. It would be much better if you let it heal naturally, and your magic will return, in time."

Harry found himself placated by Draco's assurances. He knew he was rash and impatient; he just didn't have to like the waiting time. He nodded and sighed, picking up the teapot and pouring a cup.

"Well," Draco's voice held just a hint of a smile. "Are you going to take your shirt off, or am I going to have to forcibly rip it from you?" He held up the salve.

Harry almost choked on his tea at the subtle tone of Draco's words. _Surely he didn't mean it that way, Harry._ _You've certainly been thinking about him that way, if the dreams you've been having are any indication. No, something definitely has happened between us, something I can't remember. It's the only explanation. We've obviously moved beyond the enforced civility that Dumbledore put upon us._

Harry saw from the smirk on Draco's face that he understood perfectly the flirtatious tone of his words. Harry managed not to blush, and finished putting down his tea cup.

"Well?" Draco asked. "How else can I rub this salve into the scars?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Harry forgot himself for a moment as his mind was transfixed on the idea of being intimate with Draco. He wondered why the idea wasn't so abhorrent. _What has happened? _He fumbled clumsily with the shirt, eventually undoing all the buttons.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but it might be best if you lie on your stomach. I'm not sure exactly how the scars are scattered. You may have to whip off your pyjama bottoms as well, but we'll see." Draco seemed serious now, all hint of teasing gone in his voice.

Harry arranged himself on the bed, feeling a little awkward and extremely vulnerable. The more he allowed his thoughts to wander, the more he seemed to think that something had definitely changed in his relationship with Draco, and the only logical conclusion was that they had become intimate. Turning his head, he saw Draco staring in morbid fascination at his scars. The first touch of Draco's hand to his back was cool and gentle, and he hissed as the salve began to burn cool on his skin.

"Sorry," Draco offered. "I just never realised how badly the scars had spread." Harry couldn't tell if it was a look of disgust or pity on his face, but his mood deflated.

"How bad are they?" he asked in a firm tone.

"They're not bad."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Despite what you might think, Harry, these scars don't look nearly as bad as they should. The scars from this curse are usually ghastly – looking like a large cluster of broken blood vessels on the skin. Yours seem to have almost faded, they're still a faint pink, but I think that they might heal nicely. They should turn a silvery colour when they get old."

"Oh great," Harry remarked dryly. "Now I'll look like a giant flobberworm."

"Better than looking like a road map." Draco dared to touch one of the scars again, the faintest of touches sending a tingle through Harry. "I don't want to sound presumptuous, but I think that the cure potion may be the reason they don't look so bad. I still think this salve will do some good. You want to get elasticity into those scars as soon as possible."

The nagging ache in Harry's back seemed to be set aside as he could feel the salve sinking through his skin. Draco's hands seemed a little hesitant, but Harry didn't offer any resistance, and he was soon spreading the soothing balm across Harry's back. As he felt the soft touch, he realised the breadth and spread of the scars. Draco hesitated again as his hands worked closer to the waistband of Harry's pyjama bottoms, and he cleared his throat.

"The scars don't just conveniently stop at waist level, Harry. Unless you want to have trouble sitting down for the rest of your life, you're going to have to drop them." Draco didn't sound like he was joking, and Harry noted the hint of embarrassment in his voice. He nodded in reply, reluctantly wriggling to allow his pyjamas to lower a fraction. He could feel the blush travel all the way down his back and even further.

The feel of Draco's fingers on his skin was soothing. He could almost imagine them stroking and touching and caressing his body. As he closed his eyes, he almost imagined that it was happening – that it had happened in the past. _You have amazing hands._ Harry distinctly remembered saying those words, and the feel of those hands gliding over his cock was something he knew he had felt. It had been very real.

His eyes opened wide and the spell was broken. "Draco," he called out as he awkwardly tried to sit up.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain – is it burning?" Draco's hands suddenly stopped, and Harry felt bereft at the loss of touch.

He shook his head as he turned to look directly at Draco. "No, there's no pain. But... there's something I have to ask."

Draco's face was unreadable, but he nodded. "Okay, but turn around – I haven't finished putting this salve on yet. I haven't rubbed it in properly."

"I know I've lost a large chunk of my recent memories, but bits and pieces have been floating around, and things really haven't made much sense. Were we... did..." he took a deep breath. "Have we been intimate, Draco?" Harry noticed the very subtle twinkle that may have passed at the corner of Draco's eye, along with the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, but his hands only stopped for a mere moment at the question, before continuing to knead their way down Harry's lower back.

Draco's voice was more hoarse than usual as he answered. "What gives you that idea?"

"I've had dreams – at least, I thought they were bits and pieces of dreams at first, but they're not, are they? They would only make sense if we were ... lovers." Harry swallowed hard after saying the last word. The more he looked at Draco, the more he remembered that he had grown to see more about this man – that he had managed a major paradigm shift, and he knew that there was something fundamental that he was missing. It didn't seem so unbelievable now. Seeing Draco worry at his lower lip before quickly licking it made it even more real. He knew he had seen that look before, and it had been recently.

Draco thought he may have gone just a little bit too far as he started to rub the salve into Harry's back. Just being near Harry again was intoxicating, and once he started, he knew he would have difficulty stopping. From the moment that he saw the extent of the crisscross scars on Harry's back, he knew he couldn't stop himself from getting closer. For days, all he had wanted to do was touch and caress and show Harry how much he meant to him. Not being able to touch him put a real strain on his ability to do that. Touch was such an important part of showing love - his mother had shown him that. But Harry's question had taken him completely by surprise.

_Is it possible that Harry's memories are returning?_ He dared to ask himself in hope. _It would be so easy to tell him everything right now, but Pomfrey was adamant that he would have to make the memory connections on his own. If I tell Harry everything, how will he react? _Should he answer Harry's question truthfully, or should he hedge?

"Lovers, Harry?" he tried not to put any emotion in his answer. He shook his head slightly. "I won't deny that I'm overwhelmed you leapt in front of a curse aimed at me, but we haven't committed to anything." _Yet. _"We are friends now. I've managed to pretty much get over myself, and you seem to have accepted that." It was a cop-out of an answer, but at least it was better than an outright lie, or the startling revelation of the truth.

The answer seemed to take Harry by surprise. "So we haven't had sex?" he sounded disappointed, and Draco couldn't help but smile.

"I'm sure if we had, you would never have forgotten, Harry. Trust me on that. No, we haven't had _sex_... not unless you count a very drunken hand job in the lavatory..." Draco immediately realised he should not be telling Harry this, but the look of amazed innocence on Harry's face was truly priceless. His green eyes were wide with wonder.

"We did _what_?" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't be so shocked. A minute ago you just asked if we had sex. You were admittedly more drunk than I was, of course. You even offered to obliviate me after the fact, but I admit that I wasn't completely blameless. But I shouldn't be telling you these things. Pomfrey will have my guts for garters if she finds out. You're supposed to allow your memories to return naturally."

Harry shook his head firmly. "No, you answered my question honestly. I guess that if I ask a question, I should be prepared for the answer, no matter how surprising. Thanks for answering honestly, Draco. I was beginning to wonder if I was going mental. We haven't shagged, but we have done... something. I'm sure there's a lot more to it that you're not telling me, but at least I have a part of the puzzle answered. I feel like there's something there – something I _should_ know about you – something important. It's right there, but it's being more elusive than a snitch on a foggy day, and it's driving me more insane than being unable to do magic. I'm beginning to feel utterly useless," he said in a very dejected tone.

Draco had to resist grabbing Harry by the chin and kissing him hard, but he refrained with every ounce of his own willpower. He knew he shouldn't be pushing things with Harry, but the act of just touching him was enough to make him feel that there was still hope. It pained him to see Harry struggling for answers, when he could just tell him everything.

"You aren't useless, Harry. You've been injured. You're just going to have to _trust_ that some of us are trying to look out for you. You are probably the most incredibly powerful wizard of this age, and the idea that you won't ever wield your magic again is just ludicrous." He could see that Harry was ready to slip into the same depression that gripped him after his own recuperation. For all the amazing cures that could ensure a wizard was back on his feet quickly, there was little in the wizarding world that could help cope with long recovery times.

But despite his own desires, he was taken completely by surprise when Harry grabbed him around the back of the neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It was extremely sudden, but the first touch of Harry's warm breath was enough to make his lips and tongue respond. Harry quickly broke away, a small smile quirking at the corner of his lips. Draco was speechless, and ruing the fact that the kiss was over as suddenly as it had begun.

"Sorry, I just... That was rather forward, I know, but I just had to know... We haven't had sex, but I definitely know that we have done _that_ before." Draco could see Harry sucking in his bottom lip – savouring the last touch of that kiss. It was something he saw Harry do that night the Manor burned down.

Draco gathered his breath, reluctantly moving away from the bed. "Oh yes, you are definitely right. That certainly wasn't something new. But I'd rather not do anything too rash – at least not until you remember exactly _why_ you wanted to do that in the first place." Draco couldn't believe he said that, when all he wanted to do was to kiss him again. Why on earth was he suggesting that they not do that again?

"I'm sorry. I guess I just don't think. But you're right. I should know why I want to do that in the first place, considering the last full memory I have of you is when I gave you the cure translation. I'm fairly certain I didn't want to kiss you then. I have so many questions. I think I should probably try and write them down. Things usually make more sense when I try to put them into written words." Draco saw a light shine in the back of Harry's eyes as he made a revelation at the last words.

_Has he worked it out? Surely he must have realised that I am Luc. Perhaps that's what he's forgotten._ Harry didn't say anything else, but Draco fumbled with the remaining salve and put the lid back on the cruse.

He watched as Harry looked down at his immobilised arm. "You know, writing things down is such a great idea, but, it's not going to be any help if I can't write." He just shook his head.

"What about a Dictaquill?"

"No, a Dictaquill would be totally useless. Not much use if I can't work the charm, is it?" Draco nodded. He sometimes took his magic for granted, so much so that he now felt like an idiot for suggesting it to Harry. No wonder Harry was inclined to get depressed. He had no illusions that he would feel exactly the same if he were unable to perform just the simplest of spells.

"Would you like me to stay? Or are you up for other visitors? Remus is back from London. I'm sure he wouldn't mind visiting. Charlie wouldn't mind either, although..."

"I'm sure Snape is keeping him busy." They both smiled over that. "No," Harry shook his head. "I would have liked to have seen Hermione, but I am a little tired. Thanks, Draco."

"How about some things to read? I could bring you back some of your Muggle novels."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "You must have been in my room if you know about my novels."

Draco realised his slip. Yes, he had been in Harry's room, but it was Flash who had told him of his love for the Muggle fantasy novels.

"You caught me out again, Harry."

"I'd like that – for you to bring me some of the novels, that is."

"Well then, I had best let you get some rest." He grabbed something from Pomfrey's table, putting it carefully on the bedside table. "If you need anything before Poppy comes back, I'm sure Dobby will only be too happy to help you."

"Thanks, Draco. Thanks for not lying to me. And thanks for everything you've done. Will you come to visit me again?" Harry asked.

"You're not sick of the sight of me yet, Potter?" Draco asked with a wry smirk.

Harry realised that he looked forward to Draco's company. "Actually, not at all, Malfoy. Not at all."

Draco paused, considering what he wanted to do. Eventually he gave in to the temptation, and dropped a chaste kiss on Harry's forehead before leaving quickly. He had to get out of there before he could change his mind and confess everything. At least for now he knew that there was a definite hope for the future.

But little did he know that more than just his own heart had been left lighter for their conversation.

* * *

Harry found himself somewhat bewildered by what he had learned. Draco had explained a very large piece of the puzzle, but that begged an even greater question. _How did we get to the point where we were on the verge of starting a relationship? What the hell could have possibly happened to make us both want to be together - he did want it - didn't he? Or was he just being polite in saying so?_

"Was I the one who changed, or was it you, Draco?" he asked aloud, still pondering what had happened. "I wish there was someone I could talk to who would understand." It was at that precise moment that he remembered his journal, accompanied by a distinct desire to talk to Luc. Part of his apprehension washed away at that thought. _Luc is the only one who would understand. He always has the answers! _Things were starting to fall into place rapidly _Goodness knows I've probably written it all down and told him everything. I'm certain I would have confided in him. Luc would be able to tell me why I'm feeling this way about Draco. He's bound to know everything._

He sat up quickly, suddenly spurred on by a desire to get his journal. He didn't get very far as the effort of sitting up left him feeling quite weary and a little woozy. He had to admit that the salve that Draco rubbed into his back was doing good things - he could feel a tingling sensation all over his skin. He admitted that he would be quite happy for Draco to come back and do that again, even if he had not just discovered they were almost lovers.

He touched his lips tentatively as the distracting memory of that kiss lingered. He had always imagined that Draco's mouth would be hard and unyielding, yet he found the exact opposite to be true. His lips were soft and pliant and they seemed to be untroubled by Harry's brash and forthright behaviour. But what had surprised him most was that Draco hadn't frozen when he instigated the heated kiss. The thought brought a grin to his face.

"Ooh, what's put such a grin on your face?" Madame Pomfrey smiled as she came over to his bed. "You must be feeling better, then."

Harry stretched and yawned, allowing the medi-witch to poke and prod in her usual method of diagnosis. "Well, I just don't seem to have any energy, but I'm not feeling tired. I wish you would take this spell off my arm so that I could at least try to use it," he said with a distinct tone of frustration.

Pomfrey frowned. "Which is exactly why I'm keeping it immobilised, Harry. You might think you are feeling better, but you seem to have no concept of the term 'rest'. I have every intention of keeping you from doing magic until I'm thoroughly satisfied you are better." She sat on the edge of the bed, seemingly uncertain about what to say. "Never in all my years have I known someone to go through so much. You were near death, Harry. It's good to see that you are starting to get onto your feet, but it could literally be weeks before you are in a position to do magic."

Harry didn't seem to understand what she was saying. "But I'm feeling better than I did yesterday. I've remembered a couple of things today as well. Doesn't that mean that I should remember everything in time?"

Pomfrey smiled and patted him on the knee. "Yes, that is good news. You should be starting to feel stronger every day, but that is because you aren't performing any magic. I'm assuming you've forgotten the lecture I gave about magical healing."

During the war, Madame Pomfrey tried to explain magical healing to him, but all he could remember was that it was a complex relationship between a wizard and his magic. "I remember a bit of it, Madame Pomfrey," he replied, sounding a little hurt at her assumption.

She nodded in understanding. "Which means you didn't understand a thing. Your healing strength comes from your magic. You are a strong wizard, probably the strongest alive. I'm not surprised that you seem to be healing fairly quickly. But your magic is doing that, Harry. If I were to put a wand in your hand, you would either compromise your own healing, or your magic would become unpredictable. You should remember how your magic used to get out of control when it was being influenced by Dark Magic."

Harry thought on that for a few minutes. "So you're saying that if I start casting spells, I could get sick again?"

"Precisely. Which is only one of the reasons why I'm keeping your arm immobilised. You do seem to forget that you've had more than your fair share of injuries to that arm."

"I don't remember any recent injuries to that arm," he sounded puzzled.

She had forgotten for a moment about his temporary memory loss. "You fell off a school broom, and because of that Skele-Gro incident as a child, you had to let the break heal naturally. I'm afraid you've broken the bones again. The immobilisation spell on the arm is also helping the bones to heal. I'm afraid we're just going to have to leave it like that for a while longer. It could be weeks before the bones knit back together."

He didn't seem pleased with that diagnosis. With his arm immobilised, he could do very little. He had been hoping to convince her to take the spell off, but if there was an injury that he couldn't remember, then perhaps it would be for the best. _Can't do magic, can't even take a leak properly. _But it then suddenly struck him - it wouldn't be possible for him to write to Luc.

_So how am I going to confide in Luc if I can't even write? _Just as he was about to suggest a Dictaquill, he remembered that he would need to work it with his own magic – something that wasn't possible. The thought that he couldn't confide in him just when he needed him most, left him feeling a little down.

Pomfrey saw his flagging spirits and tried to cheer him up. "I know it must seem harsh, Harry, but it is for the best. Put some of that grim determination of yours to good use. Focus on keeping your strength up and who knows, if you keep improving like this, then you might be able to go home in a few days. You may even be ready for a broom by the time the students are back."

Harry still seemed quite down at that thought, picking at the lint on the sheet as he unconsciously pouted. "So what do I do in the meantime, Poppy? I can't do magic, I can't even hold a bloody quill, and going to the lavatory was an experience that made me feel like a little boy all over again."

"Well, I'm sure there are a few people around here who would only be too happy to spend some time visiting, if that's what you would like. I'm certain Dobby would love to spend time. I hear he's quite good at Wizard's Chess these days..."

"Please no. As much as Dobby is a great house-elf," Harry said firmly. "I'd rather read 'Hogwarts, A History' before spending..."

Pomfrey was starting to get a little exasperated with his petulant behaviour. With a flick of her wand, the book in question landed in his lap, and she headed back into her office.

He sighed wearily. "You don't suppose I could get something a little lighter? War and Peace, perhaps," he chided at her retreating back.

He tried not to let his frustration anger him, but she had pointed out a few poignant things. Being prevented from doing magic literally made him feel like his arm had been chopped off. After half a lifetime in the wizarding world, Harry had grown to rely on magic for the simplest of things. Even though he sometimes reverted to Mugglish habits, he always knew he had magic to fall back on.

He flipped open the front cover of the book and sighed again, just for good measure. Anything would be more interesting than this. It suddenly occurred to ask Dobby to get some books from his room, and in the process, collect his journal. Even if he couldn't write in it, he could at least read it. Perhaps it held the answers to what he was looking for.

He checked to see that Pomfrey was out of earshot. "Dobby," he called out quietly. He never had to yell to get a house-elf, and Dobby must have had a sixth sense when it came to Harry calling out to him. As expected, the house-elf popped into view within seconds, a beaming smile across his face and eyes as wide as saucers.

"Harry Potter has called Dobby?" he said hopefully, wiping his hands down the front of his lime green braces. If Harry didn't know any better, he would have suggested that Dobby looked like a leprechaun. He was too afraid to ask where the clothes came from, for fear of the answer the elf might give him.

"How are you, Dobby?"

"Dobby is glad that Harry Potter is feeling much better, sir. Master Draco is also feeling the same," he added without any thought.

"Is he now?" Harry raised an eyebrow, but Dobby nodded his head so furiously, the pom poms on the end of his tea-cosy hat were bobbing furiously. He didn't seem to notice that he said more than he should have.

"What can Dobby do for Harry Potter, sir?" he looked around the room furtively. "If you is wanting something from the kitchens, then I can get it for you, but I can only bring it to you when Mistress Pomfrey isn't around. She doesn't like it when Dobby does things when he should not."

Harry smiled at the elf. It seemed that Madame Pomfrey's reputation extended beyond the infirmary. "I was hoping that you could go down to my rooms and bring me back some books to read. It's okay, Madame Pomfrey won't mind. Just as long as I don't try to do any magic, she will be happy – see, she even gave me a book to read, but I was hoping for something of my own. Do you think you could do that, Dobby?"

"Harry Potter must not do magic until he is well again. I understand. It would be a pleasure to get you some books, Harry Potter sir." Dobby was about to Apparate away, when Harry stopped him.

"However, there's one book in particular that I want you to get." He went on to describe the journal, and the eager house-elf seemed to understand where he would be able to find it. He popped out with a quick click of his fingers, leaving Harry feeling a little better. At least he felt a little more in control of the situation, which was the most frustrating thing about being stuck in the infirmary.

But two hours passed, and Dobby didn't return. Harry barely noticed, however, as he found himself drifting slowly in and out of a light sleep. He started reading the book given to him by Pomfrey, but he found that concentrating on the page for too long was making the headache return.

Pomfrey roused him for lunch (which wasn't nearly as appealing as the breakfast Draco brought from Emmaline's), and then made him work through what felt like hours of torture (which was, in fact, just a half hour of getting himself out of bed and walking over to the window).

By the end of it all, he was exhausted, and he was nearly asleep when he heard some muffled sobs, quickly followed by a whiney sniffle. Opening one eye, he spotted Dobby looking pale and frightened as Madame Pomfrey dressed his hands. Only then did he remember the errand he sent the elf to do.

"Dobby, what happened?" he sat up and asked.

"Oh Harry Potter, sir. Why did you not tell me about your biting bookends?" the elf asked in a querulous voice.

Harry had to think for a moment before realising what the elf was talking about. "Oh, yeah, my biting bookends." He smiled as he remembered the gift from Hagrid. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened, Harry?" Madame Pomfrey said sharply. "They bit him, of course. I haven't seen his hands mauled quite so badly in a long time. Where on earth did you get such a thing?"

Harry nodded profusely, wondering why they bit Dobby. "I don't understand. Normally they don't bite – I made sure to charm them not long after Hagrid gave them to me. It was always wise to do that to any of Hagrid's gifts. Perhaps I only charmed them not to bite wizards..."

"Dobby is sorry he didn't get the books that Harry Potter asked for," the elf offered an apology.

Harry waved him away. "I'm sorry my bookends bit you, Dobby. It's okay. You don't have to go back and get them. They were just a few books to help me pass the time. I'll ask someone else to do it, and this time, I'll warn them first."

Dobby seemed to accept Harry's apology, but still seemed rather upset as he walked out of the infirmary, shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"Will Dobby be all right, Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked.

"Oh he'll be fine in a few days. I understand he used to do a lot of self inflicted damage to his hands." Harry nodded in agreement. "But I think he's just a little more frightened than anything else."

"Well I hope to goodness that my biting bookends don't get a taste for people. I would like to read something else while I'm recuperating." He thought of asking Draco to get the journal for him, but thought it might be perhaps a little too tempting. Somehow he had trusted Draco in the recent past, but he didn't think that the blond could resist reading the private thoughts of Harry Potter. Particularly when Harry was certain that he had written about Draco in the book.

_No, it's probably best if I get someone else to get it. I'll ask Remus, or Charlie when I see them next. Or perhaps Hermione might visit me again, _he wondered in hope. It seemed strange that she had been there that morning, but left before he woke up. When he thought about Ron, his mood soured and felt a pang of hurt. _Why did she leave so soon? Has she decided to take his side in our argument? I always dreaded something like this happening._ He wasn't completely sure of the details of why he had fought with Ron, but he seemed to think it might have had something to do with Draco.

Every single piece of this damn puzzle led back to Draco. _Why?_ The question begged to be answered, and he spent the rest of the afternoon just contemplating the endless possibilities – all of which seemed to end with him locked in a fiery and passionate kiss with Draco.

It would certainly be a story to tell Luc when he was able to write again.

* * *

Draco managed to spend most of the afternoon in calm contemplation. In other words, he was desperately working away in his lab, trying hard to get thoughts of Harry out of his head. It was nigh on impossible, as all he had thought about for days was his soul mate. He admitted that he was taken by surprise by the kiss, but if Harry had worked that much out on his own, then he knew it was only a matter of time before Harry remembered where they left off.

Despite every inclination to the contrary, he knew he had to let Harry remember their relationship on his own. _Was it really a relationship, Draco? You told Harry yourself – we have made no commitments. But why did he save you from Phillip's curse? Was it just Harry being his heroic self? You won't know until Harry remembers, so stop being so bloody analytical and be patient. _

Patience wasn't Draco's strongest suit. He could admit that now. There were many things he was learning to admit, and they were all thanks to Flash – to Harry. He had cleaned, Scourgified, scrubbed and disinfected everything he could possibly find in his lab that wasn't permanently stuck down. Even the Permanent Sticking Charms found themselves hastily reset and refreshed. He doubted the place was ever cleaner. The hard work left him a little weary, but he needed the mind numbing distraction. He now found himself sitting alone by the fire; his glass of wine barely touched.

Petite Amie leapt up into his lap, disturbing his constant train of thought. Rather than curling up and getting comfortable, she decided that Draco's clothes would make a perfect scratching post.

"Hey, you can't do that – you ungrateful creature." Petite Amie just stared at him, quite putout that Draco had leapt up and that her makeshift scratching post was gone. He tugged at the pulled thread on the silk shirt and glared at her menacingly. Looking down at the cat's confused stare, he found himself talking to her. "It's silk. Muggle silk. Can't weave protective spells into it, and you most certainly can't use it as a scratching post." She blinked up at him as he ranted, but turned her nose away in disdain before walking away.

Changing into his lounge robe, he was ready to return to his comfortable seat by the fire. Feeling a little bereft, he turned toward his desk. His journal sat proudly atop the other papers, seemingly awaiting the usual Sunday night conversations. _That won't be happening tonight,_ he thought. He touched it reverently with his hand, running his fingers over the now familiar patterns on the cover.

It was amazing how one small book could teach him so much about himself. He thought back to his life before he acquired the journal, and realised that not only had his life changed, but he had become a different man. A better man – all because he spent months baring his soul to his soul mate – to Harry. He thought he had known his place in the world and what he wanted out of life. Conversations with Harry made him see exactly what he really wanted. Their conversations were like a veil slowly lifting, revealing reality and all that it had to offer.

He opened up the page and began to reread. He considered the conversation, from earlier in the holidays. He was beginning to wonder how Harry could have possibly not known that he was Luc. He began to read the section where Flash asked him about his deepest, darkest secret. He went back a few pages, skimming again over the purple words, and he suddenly got a feeling that Flash's words changed tone slightly.

_Harry must have known that I was Luc. He didn't even flinch when I mentioned my Death Eater experience. He's known, and he was just testing me. _He sat there for a moment longer, still absorbing this discovery. It made him feel numb. Harry must have known. _But when did he realise it? Why did it take me so long to work out that it was Harry? _

Something Remus said came to the front of Draco's mind. _If you know him as well as you think, you should already have your answer_. It almost seemed an admission that Harry knew his identity, and that Remus was aware of that fact. _How could he keep that from me? Harry knew that I am Luc, and Remus did too._ He stood in a flurry, letting his journal fall to the seat, and the quill in his hand to be crushed underfoot. He felt a surge of anger towards the werewolf.

Not even bothering to change out of his lounge robe, he stormed out of his rooms and down the hall, banging furiously on Remus' door. His fist was poised ready to knock again, but it landed in mid air as Remus flung the door open. "Draco? Is everything okay? Harry..."

Draco stormed past Remus into his room. "Of course everything is _fine_." He turned and confronted Remus. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

Remus seemed a little confused. "Are you talking about your journal? I thought I explained..."

Draco snorted. "Oh you explained yourself well enough, but you neglected to mention that Harry already knew my identity, didn't he?"

"I..." Remus seemed to falter momentarily from Draco's confronting accusation. "Well, yes, but..."

Draco nodded, balling his fists in fury. "So Harry knew, and you knew. Who else knew? Emmaline? Bloody hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she knew." He started pacing in front of Remus' fireplace. "Was it all just some sort of game – 'Let's all have a bit of a laugh at Draco's expense?'"

Remus stepped up and tried to shake some sense into Draco. "No, it's nothing like that, Draco, as I explained the other day. I admit that I was surprised when I learned that you were writing to one other, but I have experienced the power of these journals already, and I know how powerful the magic can be. There was a very good reason why you didn't know, at least until now."

Draco didn't answer. He didn't want to hear any rational explanations. He was still having trouble moving on from the fact that Harry knew he was Luc. "So when did Harry find out I was Luc? How long has he been stringing me along? I feel like a bloody idiot, Remus. I've just found out that I'm desperately in love with him, and he's been laughing his socks off as he plays me for a fool."

"It's absolutely _nothing_ like that, Draco." Remus turned his anger on Draco. "I know you're upset beyond belief, but you have to understand that Harry confronted _me_ almost exactly the same way the day he found out. He wasn't happy that I knew, and he was even less happy that he couldn't tell you." Remus tried to show reason to Draco, who still couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Harry would have told you, had he been able to. Perhaps I would have too, Draco. I'm sorry things had to happen this way, I truly am. I thought you, of all people would understand the dangers that lurk in meddling with old magic. Surely your family would have warned you about that at a young age." Remus seemed truly apologetic, but could think of little else to say that would appease Draco's misplaced anger.

Taking a deep breath, Draco eventually gave a reluctant nod. He did know the dangers that came with handling ancient magic, and even older magical artefacts. Who knew what curses, hexes or spells they could contain. He looked up to see that Remus seemed truly repentant.

"I would have liked nothing more than for the two of you to know the truth, and as soon as possible, Draco, but having lost my own soul mate, I couldn't bear the thought of being the one who mucked it all up for you and Harry. I meant what I said the other day. You both deserve the very best, and I can't think of a more perfect couple. I'm just as devastated as you are that Harry has lost his memories."

"Has he mentioned anything to you when you've been up to visit him?" Draco asked, still feeling a little upset at being so confrontational with Remus. He had nowhere else to vent his frustration.

"He's always been asleep whenever I've seen up to visit him. I have to dash off to London again in the morning, and I planned on seeing him today. That hasn't happened, unfortunately. Just how bad is his memory loss?"

"It's like he has holes in his memory. Everything from before he came back from Hogwarts is perfectly clear, but it gets patchy after that. He asked me today if we were lovers, then he attempted to kiss me. I think he's remembering only bits and pieces." A smile lit up his face at the thought that Harry suspected they were more than they truly had been. "So do I wait until he remembers, Remus? Or do I tell him that I know?"

A supportive hand and a warm smile from Remus made him feel a little better. "You know, you are both as bad as each other. Harry thought you were playing a game with him, and I know he was torn about having to skirt around the truth when he wrote to you. I believe he might have been avoiding writing to you for a while there."

Draco didn't answer. He was starting to suddenly realise just when Harry must have learned of his identity. It must have been around the time he admitted his spy role in the war. It seemed hard to imagine that Harry had gone through the same feelings he was now experiencing. _Perhaps he will be amenable to the truth._

"You will just have to do what you feel is right. Harry isn't going to run away from you, Draco. If you think he is, well, I'm sure you'll know just what to say." For the first time, Draco noticed that Remus was dressed in a fine pair of robes, and he was regularly checking his wristwatch. The smell of fresh cologne was evident, and Draco realised how selfish he had been.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Remus – I came barging in here and being so aggressive. You were heading out, weren't you?" The guilt was written all over his face.

Remus didn't seem to mind. "No, it's fine. I still have a few minutes before I need to be in Hogsmeade. I'm not late. And stop apologising – you're starting to sound like Harry."

Draco smiled at that comparison, but didn't fail to notice that Remus had taken extra care with his appearance, and was now double checking his hair in the Muggle mirror beside the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a date, Remus Lupin."

"You could say that I do, indeed."

Draco saw the sly smile play across his lips, and knew he wasn't going to learn any more. "Anyone I know?" he asked cheekily.

Remus shrugged in a non-committal fashion. He suddenly seemed nervous. "How do I look? It's er, been quite some time since I've been on a date," he said sheepishly.

Draco would be the first to admit that the robes might not be the most fashionable, but Remus could certainly dress to accentuate his best features. "Remus, I'm sure that if this guy is interested in you, he won't give two hoots how you are dressed. More likely he'll be wanting to get you out of those robes as quickly as possible." He left Remus with a sly wink, and a slightly lighter heart for having had the conversation.

As he made it back to his room, he was still feeling a little down. He was still a little put out by the fact that Remus and Harry knew who he had been writing to, but on the other hand, he did understand the intricacies of old magic, and the fickle nature of ancient magical artefacts.

_Harry had wondered if we were lovers. At least he's thinking about the idea. I just hope the truth comes back to him sooner, rather than later._

Carefully putting the journal back on the desk, he promised himself that whatever happened, he would do everything he could to make Harry fall in love with him all over again.

* * *

The next few days were probably some of the hardest of Harry's life. If he thought he had worked hard and been in pain during his pre war training, then he was very mistaken. He took Madame Pomfrey's words to heart, applying his determination to his recovery. He didn't know how he could have forgotten some of Lao Kuai's most important lessons, but he could have sworn that the old man visited him in one of his dreams. For once, his dreams weren't erotic, rather the old Chinese wizard was explaining the fundamental lessons about inner healing.

Harry could clearly remember everything about the dream, as if Lao Kuai had been right there, explaining it to him. It all made perfect sense. If he wanted to recover as quickly and as wholly as possible, then he was going to have to start meditating again to find his inner balance. Only then could he reach a level of calm where he could begin to touch his innate magic. It wasn't easy for a wizard to be able to do such a thing, but Harry remembered that he had achieved the feat in the early days of his training. Now all he had to do was revisit old lessons and keep himself calm enough to be successful in the meditation. It was easier said than done.

Even though he was out of practice, meditation was the only activity that he could do that didn't cause him any further pain. He was starting to get used to the aches and pains that were coursing through his system, as Madame Pomfrey was trying to ease him off the painkilling potions. The longer he meditated, the easier he found it to fall into old habits. With plenty of concentration, he was once again able to feel his inner magic. It was such a relief to know that it wasn't gone completely, despite his enforced inability to wield it.

He was so thrilled to be able to feel the magic coursing through his veins, he was a little over-eager, and tried to touch it though his meditation. That was a big mistake, as his power threw him completely out of his meditative trance, treating him harshly. Not only had his body been injured during the battle, but the curses he took must have taken a severe toll on his magic. Only now did he begin to realise the extent of his injuries. Again, Lao Kuai was in his mind, explaining that his magic was being protective, and had thrown him out of the meditation as a defensive measure.

Harry, however, was not one to back down. He persevered with further meditation, and by Tuesday morning, he made a rather startling discovery. Rather than trying to reach out for his magic, he found that could still direct it. He noticed that when he thought about his pain during his meditation, he would very quickly find relief from it. He had learned how to work _with_ his magic, helping it to do its job by telling it where it was needed most.

On the downside, the effort left him feeling more tired than usual. Madame Pomfrey seemed thoroughly perplexed by Harry's apparently swift recovery, but he took the time to explain some of it to her. She just blinked in disbelief at his admission that he could feel and reach out to his inner magic. "I never thought that was possible," she admitted bluntly. "But if there's one thing I've learned, it's never to underestimate you or your magic, Harry. I told you that you wouldn't have anything to worry about. Just remember to get plenty of rest tonight, and make sure that you stop what you are doing if you don't feel right."

However the medi-witch didn't stop her punishing regimen of physical exercises to get Harry back on his feet. He was currently walking the few metres from his bed to the window. "You know, I really wasn't trying to do that. I just wanted to feel my magic again. You don't know how much you miss it until it's gone," he said fondly. "I just got lucky. Trust me to stumble across my magical core. At least we have learned to cooperate."

"But you have worked hard for many years to get closer to your magic, haven't you?" she added.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Surely you remember what my magic was like when it first began to get out of control. I had to go back and revisit many of Lao Kuai's lessons when the Neo Death Eaters returned, because it started to flare up again. It seems to be some sort of magnet for any type of Dark Magic."

"Which is probably why you can direct it so easily into your injuries, Harry. Most of the damage you sustained was from curses. I'm guessing that they were all fairly dark in their intent."

Harry nodded. The moment he understood what he had been unconsciously doing with his magic, he realised that it made perfect sense. Even though he had managed to somehow control it, he was still struggling to get it into focus.

"So you're suggesting that it will only heal spell damage?" he asked in concern.

"I can only assume so. Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess that would explain why it isn't helping me to recover a few more of my memories. I haven't remembered anything new in the past couple of days." That thought made him feel quite dejected. It was the only thing he was having difficulty controlling. Every time he directed his magic to his headaches, it just seemed to skim across the surface providing no relief.

"Wizards and Muggles have been trying to study the brain for centuries, Harry. Neither group has completely understood how it works. The fact that you can at least attempt to heal it with your magic speaks volumes for the amount of power that you control. I can only suspect that your concussion wasn't magically inflicted in any way. I'm afraid you're on your own with that one."

"I thought about a Pensieve. Why can't I just reach in and pull out the memories that I'm forgetting? I could then view them and know exactly what I'm missing."

Pomfrey shook her head furiously. "No, you're forgetting the two most basic things about that, Harry. You have to clearly focus on the memory before you extract it into a Pensieve. Besides, you have to extract the memory yourself, and without a wand..."

Pomfrey looked at him sympathetically – he seemed to take everything personally. She cared for each of her patients in her own way, but Harry was like a wayward nephew – for all the time he spent in her care over the years. No one person should have to go through what he had, and now he was suffering yet again. She was determined to cheer him up. Depression in long-term patients was something she saw often, and Harry was particularly susceptible to suggestion. "I think that if you can keep this up for the next couple of days, I might be able to take that immobilisation spell off your arm. The bones have knitted well enough together. If you're really good, I might even allow you to go home on your birthday."

That obviously did the trick, for she saw a sparkle in the corner of his eyes as they widened slightly. "How could I have forgotten that? I never realised it was so close to my birthday," he wondered with a smile. The thought certainly spurred him on, and he doubled his efforts to get better. Of course, daily visits from Draco did a lot to improve his general demeanour, even if he could not remember any more of his lost memories.

Unfortunately, Draco wasn't helping him gather any more memories either. Harry hoped that after their previously intimate discussion, that the blond might be forthcoming with more information. Instead, he found him to be a closed book. He visited daily on the pretext of rubbing in the salve. Harry wondered why he didn't just get Madame Pomfrey to apply it, but he sensed that Draco wanted to spend some time with him, no matter how awkward things seemed. He wouldn't deny that he did look forward to those few moments every day when he peeled off his shirt and allowed Draco to run his hands along the scars. It wasn't exactly erotic, but at every touch Harry would close his eyes and fight visions that could very easily turn into much more.

He got the notion that Draco was also enjoying his brief visits, despite the fact that their conversations were a little stifled. Harry was completely convinced that he had overstepped the bounds of propriety by his kiss. Draco made no further indication of his feelings, one way or another, although he would end up staying and talking to Harry for a couple of hours every day. Even so, they discussed very little, and their conversations alluded to nothing. Harry could only guess that the blond was reluctant to accidentally reveal any further memories, and he would guide their conversation away from Harry's questions, towards his meditation and control of his magic.

Harry suspected Draco was trying in his own way to prompt him to regain some of his forgotten memories. A few times Harry noticed Draco visibly biting back his tongue, and he found himself trying to avoid any inappropriate thoughts about that tongue, but he would often let it distract him. Images of a passionate embrace came easily, but whether it was from memory, or from his dreams, he still didn't know. On a few occasions, he sensed that Draco wanted to say something, but he would close his mouth and change the subject. He seemed to be hiding his feelings behind a mask of concerned indifference.

On Wednesday, Harry spent the entire day out of bed, and Pomfrey promised he could go home after lunch on Thursday – his birthday. This was the best news Harry had in a while. He was beginning to give up on ever getting his memories back, and he could only hope that being back in familiar surroundings would jog his memory.

Remus' visit was a pleasant surprise; he seemed all aglow and Harry suspected he was seeing someone. When cornered by Harry, he confessed to having been on a 'more than satisfactory' date. He revealed little more than the fact that it had been a very fine evening, filled with lots of promise of things to come. He wondered if it was someone he knew, as Remus was not forthcoming with a name for his mysterious date.

It seemed like ages since they talked about anything, but foremost in Harry's mind was the concern that he might be unable to do his new job. Remus convinced him that he was being ridiculous, and he seemed to think that he would be back to his old self by the start of the school year. Remus was more concerned about Snape – it was doubtful he would ever fully recover from the nerve damage suffered from repeated exposure to the Cruciatus.

Harry mentioned his meditations, and Remus seemed most interested in his achievements. He was even more pleased when Madame Pomfrey told him she would be removing the Immobulus Spell on his arm. She would do it just before he went back to his rooms, but he would need to practice his magic under supervision, at least until he could prove it was under control. He also made the promise to continue with his daily meditations, as he wanted to be back on his feet sooner, rather than later.

After Remus left, he realised that he had forgotten to ask him to pick up a few things from his rooms, namely his journal. He was still eager to talk to Luc, but every time he was around someone who could collect his journal, he would forget to ask. He even toyed with asking Draco to get it for him, but was sidetracked when they got to talking.

"I, er, was in your rooms the other day, Harry," Draco said, completely out of the blue.

"Oh?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why are you telling this to me now?"

"Well," Harry thought he might get some answers out of the blond, but was mistaken. "Madame Pomfrey says you will be out of here tomorrow, and I have it on good authority that the house-elves won't go back into your rooms after Dobby was bitten by your bookends. I have to say that those things are a piece of work. Why on earth would you keep something that is so ghastly, and so obviously dark?"

"Sentimental reasons," he offered in reply, not wanting to explain the fact that Hagrid gave them to him. He didn't know what Draco's feelings were on the old half-giant, but the last time he remembered, he was still a hairy oaf, according to Draco. "I suppose I won't find a Hand of Glory sitting somewhere on one of your bookcases?" he retorted.

Draco blanched, but was quickly smiling fondly. Harry had a fleeting memory of having glimpsed such a smile before, but it was gone before he could hang on to the thought. "I haven't seen it in years, but it was a pretty cool thing to have. Got me out of a couple of scrapes, I might add."

"It was the most hideous thing in the world, Draco. You were obsessed with getting one ever since you saw it in Borgin and Burkes. It nearly ripped my hand off once."

"How did you know I first saw it there?" he asked in surprise.

_So obviously we haven't shared all our childhood secrets, _Harry thought. "Er, it's a very long story, but I'm not sure if I'm remembering it correctly." Harry quickly changed the subject. "So, now that I'll be escaping Pomfrey's clutches, will I be still needing this salve? It's really doing a wonderful job. I don't feel the scars pulling at all when I stretch."

That seemed to put a satisfied smile on Draco's face. "I'm glad it's working properly. I think that it wouldn't hurt to keep using it on your scars every other day, at least until you think that you don't need it any more." Harry seemed a little disappointed that Draco was intimating that he wouldn't continue to be the one applying the salve. Apart from the opportunity to get a little closer to Draco, he didn't think he could easily reach some of those spots on his back.

"So you will keep making it?" he asked hopefully, picking up the half empty cruse.

"Well of course. I'll make it as long as you'll need it. Besides, I used it on my own scars for about a year after I was struck. It does help a lot." Harry winced at the none too subtle reminder of what Draco gave up for him. Glancing down at the cane and then across to the fabric covered knee, Harry opened his mouth to reply.

Draco quickly cut him off. "I know what you're going to say again, Harry, Please stop thinking that I gave up something that I wanted for myself. I admit that if the opportunity presented itself again, I would grab it with both hands, but I resigned myself a long time ago to living with my curse. It was sheer luck that you discovered the possibility of a cure, and for that alone, you deserved to have it."

Harry nodded reluctantly, still finding it hard to find a way to thank Draco properly. He could only hope that once his memories returned in full, he might find the answer in something he was forgetting.

"So," Draco quickly changed the subject. "I was in your rooms because the house-elves are reluctant to go there after Dobby's bite. I had to convince Dobby and Gaggy that nothing else was going to jump out and bite them if they went in there to clean up. Besides, I thought you might want some decent clothes to wear out of here when you leave. I'm sure if Peeves saw you in those hospital pyjamas outside of here, the whole school will be aware of it in no time." He pointed at a pile of clothes on the end of the bed.

Harry picked up the shirt and jeans Draco gave him. He was still surprised by Draco's thoughtfulness, but frowned as he didn't recognise the shirt. The idea of Draco rifling through his clothes kept the smile on his face. "You cleaned my rooms?" Harry turned and asked in amusement.

Draco squared his shoulders defiantly. "Well, not really. I might have cast a couple of Scourgify charms, but basically I just supervised Dobby and Gaggy until they were satisfied that they weren't going to be maimed by the furniture. Speaking of which, that ghastly green chair of yours has to be the most uncomfortable..."

"...Hey, don't go insulting my chair," Harry replied in mock indignity.

Draco smirked as he put the lid back on the now empty salve bowl. "I'm sure you probably do think it's comfortable, but I wouldn't be seen dead sitting in it. So," he changed the subject almost immediately. "Would you like me to stick around when Pomfrey lets you escape from this place tomorrow? Or would you prefer to be alone..."

"No, I would love the company. Thank you." He admitted he was rather lonely, and the surprise offer appeared to be genuine. Besides, he didn't fancy being stuck on any of the castle staircases alone.

"Well then, I'll be back here after lunch to escort you." He noticed the hint of relief in Draco's eyes at his acceptance of the offer.

"I look forward to it." It was then, he realised he meant what he said.

* * *

**Thursday 31 July**

Thursday morning dawned fine and warm, but Draco barely noticed, nor did he particularly care. He was completely consumed in trying to make sure that Harry's homecoming from the hospital wing was perfect. Every day that week Draco had been to visit Harry, hoping that it might be the day his memory would return, and every day he was disappointed. He wasn't sure who was more disappointed, himself, or Harry.

Either way, he had promised Harry that he would escort him back to his rooms. Being Harry's birthday, he knew that the owls would be attempting to come thick and fast. Birthday wishes had already started to arrive early, if the mound of mail on Harry's desk was any indication. Harry's snowy owl was already looking harried, but Draco gave it a few owl treats and put Melchett right offside as he spent some time with the beautifully natured bird.

Draco was trying not working himself into a flap. Harry had voiced a suspicion that his memories might fully return when he was back home. Draco was banking on it, because he planned to tell him that he knew he was Flash. He didn't want this to go on any longer. He wasn't going to contemplate the possibility that his memories might not return, but it wasn't fair on Harry. Not when he sensed the deep frustration that Harry felt when he couldn't quite put his finger on a memory. It wasn't fair that he knew so much more than Harry.

It wasn't fair on either of them. He was in love, and he wanted to tell Harry how much he cared. It had taken the better part of a week, but now he could readily see himself _with_ Harry. It was a relief to know that Harry was well enough to come home. It was a very good sign. Harry's ability to meditate and to touch his inner magic was something Draco had known was theoretically possible. That Harry could do so just showed how powerful he truly was. It constantly amazed Draco that Harry seemed to show these great displays of magical power, yet remain so unassuming and unaffected by it. It was a quality that he could now appreciate. Harry never asked for it, but he certainly didn't ever try to exploit others with that power.

Their conversations in the infirmary had been awkward, but both of them seemed to be holding back. Harry's rather forward kiss still lingered, but he decided that enough was enough. He planned to let Harry settle in, then cook him a quiet dinner whilst he gave himself a chance to explain. If he was going to make Harry fall in love with him all over again, then he would do it properly. There would be no more barriers between them.

But in the meantime, he had so much to do. He needed to get a head start on the Wolfsbane base, but once that was started, he could concentrate on getting things ready for Harry. As he rummaged around in his ingredients cabinet, he noticed a bunch of Ragwort leaves he had completely forgotten about. He immediately thought of Severus, and knew he should probably go and visit him. He still felt somewhat guilty that Severus had managed to get himself entangled with the Neo Death Eaters. Would he have been there if he hadn't been chasing Pegasus Wingtips?

It was pointless playing the 'what if' game – Severus would chastise him greatly if he knew that he was concerned about that. Charlie opened the door of Severus' rooms, and greeted Draco warmly.

"How is he?" he asked Charlie.

"_He_ is doing just fine." Despite the warmth of the day, Severus was sitting by the fire, a warm blanket wrapped around his legs.

"Glad to hear it," Draco replied with a smirk. "The Gryffindor giving you any trouble?" he asked, tilting his head towards Charlie.

"No more than usual, but it's good to see that you've managed to drag yourself away from the infirmary for five minutes." Severus put his book down carefully. Draco didn't miss the severe shake in his hands as he did so. "I hear that Potter is going to survive. I'm glad, for your sake," he added.

"Would you like some tea, Draco?" Charlie offered.

"No thanks, I really don't have a lot of time." He watched the byplay as Charlie then put a hand on Severus shoulder, asking the same question without words, and he saw the acceptance on his mentor's face as he covered Charlie's hand with his own. It was a very silent and loving communication. If Draco didn't know any better, he could have sworn they had been together for years.

"I found some Ragwort – I've got no need for it, and it needs to be used as soon as possible." Severus took the offered herb with a nod, and Draco could see that the shakes in his hands were starting to get worse. "It is a bit chilly down here," he commented, despite feeling stifled by the warm fire.

"Nonsense, Draco. You don't need to sugar coat the truth around me. The nerves in my hands and feet have been cursed to pieces. Even when I can control them somewhat, I constantly feel cold."

Charlie returned with a tea tray. "I told him that we should go somewhere warm for the rest of the summer, but he's being stubborn, Draco. Perhaps you can talk some sense into him."

"Charlie is right, Severus. I'm sure you haven't forgotten, but you are supposed to be on _holidays_. Go and get some sun – it won't kill you. Rest – relax. I'm sure you remember how to do both of those. I'm sure that Charlie can help you there, if you've forgotten."

"See, even Draco agrees with me. You'll listen to him, won't you?" Charlie pleaded. "Severus, you are going to have to accept that you need to make some permanent lifestyle changes. If moving out of the dungeons is one of them, then so be it. Nobody is saying you have to stop working, but you need to take stock of what you are still capable of doing. I keep telling you that my house in Romania is just perfect at this time of year."

"And I keep telling you, Charlie, that I am in no condition to Apparate or Floo anywhere for a while yet." Draco could see he had stepped into the middle of an ongoing disagreement.

"I am perfectly capable of making a portkey, Severus."

"And I'm sure you want to wait weeks to get approval to make one." Severus was digging in his heels. He was planning on wallowing in his rooms until he became more and more miserable. Charlie was good for him, but Draco knew him better than anyone else. It would take some subtle manipulations to get Severus to agree to anything. An idea formed immediately.

"Which is too bad, really," he replied, seemingly out of nowhere. "I have a portkey to my chateau that is just going to go to waste if it doesn't get used soon. It's not like I can just up and leave the country on a whim, and if I recall, this portkey is due to expire any day now."

Draco remembered the spare portkey he bought in Apt during his last visit to the chateau. Having abruptly ended his trip early, he had almost forgotten about it until he discovered it in the bottom of a trunk when he arrived at Hogwarts. With the restrictions on his travel due to his citizenship, he wouldn't be able to use it until he was out of the UK. But Severus and Charlie could use it without any problems.

Charlie looked at Severus expectantly, and Draco could see that Severus was considering the idea. "And what could I do at a chateau in France for the rest of the holidays?" he asked.

Draco just smirked. "Well, there's plenty of sun, lots of fresh food and very good wine, and I'm sure if you took Charlie along, he could find something for you to do."

He didn't answer straight away, but Charlie was enthusiastic. "What harm could it do? We would be doing Draco a favour. After all, it's such a generous offer. I understand the south of France is just perfect at this time of year."

"I insist, Severus. Go and take a real holiday. I don't know what you think you were up to these past couple of months, but holidays are for relaxing. Consider this my payment for what you did for me. Or if you must, think of it as compensation for the fact that you have indirectly helped Harry. I can't ever thank you enough for getting those Pegasus Wingtips."

Severus still seemed thoughtful. "Honestly," Draco exclaimed. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after things whilst you have a holiday. Besides, it's not a request." Draco flicked his wand at the door, silently casting a spell, and a few moments later an empty wine bottle flew through the door and into his hands.

"Take it. I'll look after the place, if that's what you're worried about." Not waiting for an answer, he turned to head back to his rooms, giving Charlie a sly wink on his way out the door. Hopefully they would both be back at school at the end of August. He didn't want to start thinking of the long-term issues with Severus' new condition, but he doubted Charlie would let him too far out of his sight. Who would have thought that someone like Charlie Weasley would be the one to tame the Potions master?

He made it back to his room and started on the Wolfsbane base. By the time he finished, he saw it was nearly time for lunch. He would have just enough time to head to Hogsmeade and buy some fresh produce for dinner. He thought it might be a nice touch to stock up Harry's pantry as well, although his motives there weren't entirely selfless. If he were lucky, Harry might offer to cook him another delicious meal.

He barely made it down the high street before a whiff of a familiar perfume and a flurry of curls assaulted him in a great bear hug. "Draco!" He would have reached for his wand, but in her exuberance, Arianna let his cane go flying, and he stumbled awkwardly in her embrace as she nearly bowled him over.

"Arianna, so... good to... see you," he managed to say in between breaths as she squeezed him tightly in her embrace. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here in the middle of Scotland?" he asked, still surprised, but very glad to see her.

"Oh, I'm so clumsy," she offered, picking up his cane and handing it back to him. "I was just with Emmaline when I caught a glimpse of your hair as you were walking down the street! Why didn't you reply to my letter? Please tell me that you did know I was coming," she sounded a little hurt, but grabbed his hand and tried to lead him towards the Leaf and Bean.

"I was just..." he pointed toward the market stalls and their inviting array of fresh produce.

"Oh, nonsense. You're coming with me. It's the least you can do for being so rude and not answering my letter," she pouted childishly.

Draco didn't want to argue with her – it was such a pleasant surprise to see her. He _had_ missed her warm smile and her infectious personality, but her timing could not be worse, as he had promised Harry he would be with him soon. "All right, but only because it's you. I'd like to think that you've come all this way just to see me, but I doubt that's why you're here," he drawled.

Arianna playfully cuffed him across the shoulder. "Well, seeing as you didn't read my letter, I'll just have to explain myself all over again." She sounded quite put out, but her broad grin belied that look. "We had to go to London, and I thought we could just pop up here and visit for lunch. I knew you would never forgive me if I was on the same continent and didn't come to brighten your day!" She turned and hugged him again. "Ooh, it's so good to see you again, but you're looking terrible. Hasn't anyone been feeding you?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Emmaline's been worrying enough for the both of you. I've had a... rough time."

"I know," she offered. "I'm so sorry to hear about the Manor. I can only begin to imagine just how you must feel. I really am sorry." It was then he realised he had not written to her since the battle with the Neo Death Eaters.

"Oh you don't know the half of it," he said, pulling out his fob watch again. He could see the pain on her face, but her natural exuberance was just so infectious. He could afford to stay and have some lunch with her, he decided. Just as they were about to enter the Leaf and Bean, he made sense of what she said earlier, stopping suddenly.

"What do you mean '_we_' had to go to London? Who is with you?" he asked.

Arianna waggled her hand in Draco's face, and it was then he finally noticed the huge diamond ring on her finger. "If you had _read_ my last letter, it wouldn't be such a surprise," she admonished. "And before you ask, yes, I've done all the spells, and that is a real diamond."

"You're getting _married_?" he asked, a little dumbfounded, but completely happy that she seemed to be so bright. "Congratulations. I don't know whether to be jealous, or proud." He gave her another congratulatory hug and a warm peck on the cheek. "So what made you both come to London? Were you just here for a weekend of hot sex away from your father's prying eyes? I assume that this is the nice young man you told me about in a previous letter."

"Oh please," she smiled at the rather lewd thought. "Yes, it's him, and we actually came over to celebrate his birthday, and to break the news to his Grand-mère. All I can say is that after my own father, I'm so glad that he's only got the one living relative. I don't think I could cope with any more! I don't think she likes me – I think she assumed I knew little or no English. She made a few unsuitable remarks about my family's pedigree, despite the fact we can trace our lineage back further than the Malfoys."

Draco nodded in understanding. He knew all too well that sort of pure-blood prejudice. "Still, I'm sure old Atilla will be pleased you've got yourself a _nice_ young pure-blood fellow, and not a scoundrel like myself. And he's an Englishman to boot!"

"Yes, there's something to be said about those Englishmen," she dug her elbows into his ribs, and he smiled. "Don't think I have forgotten about you, you still have to give me all the gossip. I have a hunch that there's someone you'd rather be rushing back to, hmmm? Emmaline might have been dropping a few hints."

"That woman talks entirely too much," he said with a smirk, but quickly checked his watch again. "But she might be right," he replied mysteriously. "There is someone, and it's his birthday today, and he's coming out of the infirmary, so I was planning on surprising him. But when do I get to meet Mr Wonderful?" He was definitely sure he could spend a half hour with her, then head back to Harry. If all went well, he might be able to see Arianna later that evening. Dinner, perhaps. He had become lost in thought and nearly missed what she said next.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said that you already know my fiancée. At least he says he knows you," she added with a coy smile. "He claims you were in the same year at Hogwarts."

Draco seemed a little surprised. He did a quick take on all the surviving purebloods from his year, and could only think of a handful. Ernie McMillan, the Hufflepuff came to mind immediately. They walked into the door of the Leaf and Bean, the ever-present bell tinkling merrily at their arrival. He noticed Emmaline behind the counter, and she nodded and smiled in delight. Arianna led him to a table near the back, but he stopped dead and took a double take as he spotted the man sitting there.

"Hello, Malfoy."

"Longbottom?" he asked in disbelief, unsure if this really could be the same bumbling fool he remembered from school. It had appeared that the pudgy former Gryffindor had finally grown into his body. Draco stared at him as blankly as Longbottom gave a wry smile.

"Yeah, it's me, Malfoy. Have to say I nearly keeled over when Ari told me she was friends with you," Neville said, as he stood to pull out Arianna's seat. "Took me quite a while to shut her up, actually. I thought for a while I might have had a little bit of competition there, but she set me straight." Neville seemed amused as he sat beside Arianna. He generously offered the seat opposite to Draco, who practically fell into it in his extreme surprise.

"Set him straight? What's he talking about?" he asked her. _Arianna's going to marry Longbottom?_

"I told him you preferred men," she stage whispered behind her hand.

Neville shrugged. "Can't tell you what a relief that was, to find that out. But Ari told me all the things you've done to help her through _L'Institut_. Guess I have you to thank for us meeting." Neville put out his hand to shake, but Draco was still somewhat dumbstruck.

He eventually noticed the offered hand, and took it, albeit a little reluctantly. "Er, exactly how am I responsible for you two meeting?" he asked in curiosity. He had certainly not expected this.

"Well, if you didn't help me through the basic classes, then there is no way I would have been back at _L'Institut_ for the last term, Draco. I wouldn't have met Neville if that were the case. He's studying to be an Herbologist."

"You got into _L'Institut_?" Draco seemed very surprised at that. He would never have guessed that Longbottom would excel in any area that would qualify him for admittance to such a prestigious university. Its academic standards were exceedingly high for entry. He often wondered how Arianna could have been admitted, but she did know her herb lore extremely well.

Neville looked at him challengingly. "I won a scholarship. Now I get to spend the next couple of years there, with some of the best Herbologists in Europe. Professor Durand is quite amazing." Draco was keeping a close eye on the old school adversary, and he noticed that the same could be said for Longbottom, who seemed to be eyeing him especially carefully.

"Yes," Draco nodded, not looking away from Neville's gaze. "Durand is the best. But I'm surprised that the university is still standing, what with your propensity for melting cauldrons."

Arianna rolled her eyes as she watched their defensive body language. "You know Draco, there's no need to be antagonistic towards Neville," she said, mildly angry at his behaviour.

Draco was the first to break eye contact, giving a sheepish smile to his friend. "I'm sorry, old habits are a little hard to break, Arianna. I'm just having a hard time imagining that you could possibly love Neville Longbottom. You've told me so much about him in your letters... I don't know now how I'll ever get the image out of my head."

"You _told_ him about us, Ari?" Neville asked her as an embarrassed blush crept up his face.

"You know, I don't think you're giving Neville a fair go, Draco. He told me that you weren't exactly friends at school. I did hear some stories about the nasty things he claims you did." Arianna was seething, her voice getting higher as she admonished him in French. "I would never have believed it of you, but I trust Neville and what he says. I can only assume that you've changed." She shook her head. "Perhaps I was wrong."

Draco was stunned as Arianna suddenly became quite angry with him and defensive of Neville. He had not thought of things in that way. He _had_ changed since school – those silly pranks and the mocking seemed like such a long time ago. He barely knew Neville Longbottom, and had only remembered him from their few classes together. His ineptitude in the potions classroom only stood out because Draco was often reminded of the dangers of his work, and Neville's face always popped into his mind when he thought of potions catastrophes.

_She's been writing about him for weeks, and I had no idea who it was. I've been completely happy for her – until now that I discover that it's Longbottom. Is it any different with Harry? Getting over preconceived ideas about people isn't easy. Look at how Arianna looks at him. She's head over heels in love with him. If I'm being honest with myself, I can't find anything wrong with Longbottom, his potions skill aside. He hasn't been nasty or tried to hex me. I should know that holding grudges because we were in separate houses at school was ridiculous. He has to have some redeeming features, and it would appear that Arianna has found them all._

"I'm being a git, aren't I?" he said to Arianna apologetically. "Sorry, I tend to have that response around people. Hex first; ask questions later."

"I never thought you'd admit to that, Malfoy," Neville said. "Although I have to confess that I might have misjudged you as well. I very nearly thought that there was another Draco Malfoy around who was _nice_. Still, all that was such a long time ago, wasn't it?"

Draco let out a deep sigh, looking apologetically to the both of them. "You're right. I barely know you, Longbottom, but I should know to trust Arianna's judgement. If you're good enough for her, then I suppose I can forget the fact I was a prat to you in school." Draco only hoped that if he and Harry got together, he would find people to be so understanding. He doubted that everyone would be happy. The reaction they got from Weasley was the sort he was expecting. He held out his hand in offering, "No hard feelings," he asked hopefully.

Neville stared at the proffered hand. For a moment, Draco didn't think the former Gryffindor would accept it, but he did, and Draco let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. He realised then that he didn't want to lose Arianna's friendship. She was a formidable witch, and he was actually now starting to pity Longbottom somewhat.

"She's got a bit of a temper," Draco stage whispered to Neville. "She's a little bit intimidating when she gets going, isn't she?"

Neville grinned. "I've already guessed that. She bosses me around a bit, but I guess I must like that, or else I wouldn't be planning on keeping her around forever," he smiled at his fiancée, and squeezed her hand. Draco could see the love in their eyes, and somehow, he knew that they were soul mates. It was just a hunch, but now that he knew who he was destined to share his future with, despite all the obstacles still in their path, he could sense that they would be more than just content with each other.

He was feeling bad that he had been so harsh and nasty to Neville, and tried to make it up to them by buying their lunch. He thought he might be losing Arianna's friendship, but he had a suspicion that Arianna was setting out on a mission to make Draco and Neville the best of friends. It was when Neville spoke that he realised that things could get uncomfortable.

"I thought I might just pop up to Hogwarts, Ari," he said as he finished his salad. "Harry wrote to me ages ago to tell me he was working there, and I might have mentioned I would be here today. I just wanted to wish him a happy birthday."

Arianna looked back at Draco. "Didn't you say that your new man was having a birthday today? Isn't that why you're so eager to rush off?"

Draco cursed under his breath at Arianna's abundant lack of thinking before she spoke. He could see the connections slowly being made as Neville began to realise what Draco said, and his eyes were widening in complete shock. Just at that moment, Emmaline came along to clear their plates. She must have overheard the tail end of their conversation.

"Ooh, is it 'Arry's birthday today, môn chéri?" she asked. "You will promise to give 'im a kiss from me. I miss him dreadfully. Oh, but wait!" she exclaimed, racing back behind the counter with their dirty plates trailing behind her as she rummaged around in the patisserie cabinet.

"So, the mystery man's name is 'Arry?" Arianna asked Draco, before looking at Neville. "Could it be the same 'Arry that you want to visit?"

Neville was still staring at Draco. "I would have said absolutely not, Ari, but the more I think about it, the more terrified I'm becoming."

Arianna didn't seem to understand what he said. "What do you mean by that."

"Well, my friend Harry also prefers men, or so he tells me. But he and Draco fought like Kneazle and Krup at school." He stared down Draco, seemingly speechless. "You had better not be having a joke at my expense, Malfoy. This isn't something to joke about. Harry would kill you if he knew you were saying things like that about him."

"Well I'll just have to tell him myself." If he previously thought Neville's eyes couldn't widen any further, then he was wrong. He smirked, "I guess there's quite a few of us who have changed since we left school."

Emmaline came rushing back to the table, a wrapped patisserie box floating behind her in her wake. "I know how much 'Arry loves that chocolate torte. I thought perhaps you might want to share it as a birthday dessert, or to celebrate his release from the infirmary?"

"Harry's been in the infirmary? What the bloody hell did you do to him?" Neville asked in shock.

Draco was ready to bury his head in his hands. Not only was Arianna pressing him for details of his relationship with Harry; he had to contend with Neville's disbelief, and Emmaline's interference. Looking at his watch, he realised that he had been there far too long, and he didn't have time to give all the explanations. He stood quickly, taking the box from Emmaline.

"Thanks for that. Harry will love it, I just know he will," he said to her. "I would love to stay, Arianna, but right now I promised I would help Harry, and now I'm late. I am very glad for you and Longbottom, truly I am." He gave her a peck on the cheek and gave his final glare to Neville. "Relax, Longbottom. I didn't hex Harry or trick him in any way. I've fallen in love with the prat, but I'm hoping that you can talk to him about it." He quickly walked out, not wanting to explain himself any more.

Now he really was running late, as he Apparated back to the school gates. Arianna had surprised him in more ways than one. He would have dearly loved to spend the whole afternoon with her, but he had a promise to keep, and he was doing a bloody terrible job at it.

Arianna's news had come as a complete shock – and it was Longbottom, to boot! Even so, there was a lingering sense of satisfaction at having been able to shock the former Gryffindor even more. Some things Draco just never grew out of, and it always felt nice to have the last word.

* * *

Harry pushed open the door to his rooms. He was never more glad to return home in his life as he flopped down into his chair. The room seemed strange – it felt like years since he was last there but that wasn't the first thing on his mind. Draco had promised to be there for him when he left the infirmary, but he never showed. He never even Flooed to say he was going to be late. He realised just how disappointed this made him feel.

It felt even more disappointing as he looked around his rooms. The place seemed so sterile – so clean, but he remembered Draco mentioning that he would have them cleaned before he went home. _Did he really do that, or was he just full of talk? Why didn't he come to the infirmary? Should I really have wasted so much time expecting him to be there? He seems to have been hanging around the whole time I was there. Has he lost interest?_

Looking around the room, he tried to see if there was any hint of forgotten memories. Nothing new came flooding back, which was a bitter disappointment. He had such high hopes for coming home and regaining his memories. A huge pile of mail sat on top of his desk, which he knew he would eventually get around to sorting. He could only guess that a large portion of it was from strangers who wanted to wish him happy birthday. He got that every birthday. Why would this one be any different. _Well for starters, you aren't with anyone, so no crazy parties for you tonight, Harry._ Of all the things for Harry to remember, memories of his previous birthday with Oliver were not the sort he wanted.

Freed from Madame Pomfrey's clutches, he felt somewhat more independent. He had never been more glad to see his wand, even if he could barely use it. The moment she took the immobilisation spell from his arm, he felt the intense pain that lingered after the curse. It seemed unbearable at first, but no more so than the annoyance of feeling like he only had one arm.

Under Madame Pomfrey's direct supervision, he attempted the simplest of spells. It felt good to feel the crackle of magic pouring through him and out his wand, but he certainly didn't get the result he intended. He felt like an eleven year old again as the feather merely twitched when he attempted to levitate it. A second attempt saw the feather burned to cinders. That left him feeling less than confident. Pomfrey seemed pleased, however. She insisted the fact that he could at least direct his magic to its intended target was a good sign. He would believe it when he could perform the spells properly.

He was grateful to be away from the infirmary food. Why the elves could produce lavish feasts for the students, yet tasteless and unappetising gruel for the patients, he could only begin to guess. Looking through his pantry cupboards, he found nothing but tea and an unopened packet of owl treats. He put the kettle on the small gas hob, not trusting his own spells. He would love to go down to the village to get some fresh food – a taste of something mouth-watering from the Leaf and Bean seemed very appealing. He certainly wasn't up for Apparating, and he didn't fancy being jostled through the Floo. Perhaps he could convince Dobby to get some things for him.

It took some getting used to having his arm back. He couldn't bear to look at the scars, they were hideous, Fortunately the long sleeved silk shirt that Draco gave him covered the scars. As far as his memory went, he never remembered owning such a fine shirt, nor such an expensive pair of jeans. He shrugged, assuming that he must have purchased them some time during his memory blank.

But as he sat back in his favourite chair (At least that was one fine thing about coming home), he looked around his room again – searching for... something. Anything. A sign. This was the first birthday in years that he wasn't surrounded by friends and admittedly he was feeling dreadfully lonely. Why hadn't Draco come? Was everything all right?

Dumbledore had gone away for the holidays – nobody knew where. Remus had to go back to London and would be returning in time for the full moon. He thought he might have some company from Charlie, but he showed up earlier in the day to tell him that he and Severus were heading to the warmth of southern France for the remainder of the holidays.

Not that he was jealous, he just felt the loneliness. After so long in the infirmary, he really didn't know what to expect, but this wasn't what he imagined. A familiar flurry of wings and Hedwig flew directly into him, obviously pleased to see him again. He smiled and gave her a good rub. She looked as if she had been dreadfully worried – her feathers weren't groomed as well as usual. She nipped boldly at his fingers until he convinced her that he was all right. He went back to the cupboard to fetch the owl treats, and spent a few good minutes with his oldest friend. He was glad that someone was there to give him a loving welcome.

Harry sighed deeply, wondering just what to do. Now that he was home, he knew he would have to start on his T'ai Chi. Exercise was the last thing on his mind, although he knew he should be doing some meditations. The boredom struck, but only because things were not going according to his rather ambitious plan.

He had been certain that something back home would trigger his memories, but so far he remembered nothing new. Draco's sudden disappearance left him feeling a little miffed, but he was beginning to wonder if he might have been reading too much into their interactions. _Was I pursuing him, or was it the other way around? What could possibly have happened to make me want to pursue him? I know there's still something missing._

Perhaps coming home wasn't such a good idea – he was feeling almost as stir crazy as he did in the infirmary. It was times like this that he would just hop on a broom and go flying. Unfortunately, he was grounded until he could prove he could get his magic under control. Another reason to work hard at returning to all his exercises.

Looking long and hard around the room, he saw all the disparate pieces of his life. In all the years he had moved around, he found himself back where he felt he belonged – at Hogwarts, yet the place looked dreadfully temporary and he appeared to have only unpacked a few of his belongings. Was he destined to be a nomad, or was he still not ready to commit to living in one place. He dared to put down roots in Somerset, only to realise that it was not the right place after he threw Ollie out. The only thing in the whole room that looked inviting was his chair by the fire.

As he wandered over to the chair, he spotted the dish with his I Ching coins. His right hand reached out to grasp for the coins and he jingled them in his hands as he pondered his situation. _Why can't I remember anything? When will I get my memories back? When will I find exactly what I'm looking for?_

He barely realised he had tossed the coins, but looking down, he noticed the way they fell. Shrugging, and with nothing better to do, he went over to the bookcases to pull out the I Ching oracle. A slight growl greeted him as he came nearer to the bookcase, and he noticed the biting bookend looking somewhat worse for wear. He shook his head and smiled. He could only imagine the tussle that went on between it and Dobby, but he made a note to renew the charms on it as he stroked it lovingly down the spine. It cooed like a baby and was once again calm.

Heading back to his chair, he looked up the hexagram he had thrown.

_28: Excessive Pressure. Something is out of balance. Everything is in a state of flux. You can either move in the direction of positive change and improvement or towards stagnation. This may be the moment you have been waiting for. Although the current challenge may seem to be more than you can handle, action must be taken now to ensure opportunities for success later on. You will never discover the true extent of your own abilities unless you, at least once in your life, dive into a crisis with complete abandon, dedicating every ounce of your energy, every fibre of your being, to the cause at hand._

_Oh great, _he thought. _That really told me a lot. I think diving in with complete abandon has put me into this situation in the first place. Good to know that at least my Divination skills haven't become any better, or worse. _He threw the book aside, not really expecting it to have given him an answer, but somewhat buoyed by the idea that it was partially right. He would have preferred, however, for it to have actually _told _him what to do.

About the only thing he knew he had to do was work his way through the massive pile of mail. He noticed the Muggle parcel peeking out from half-way down the pile, and smiled as he recognised it. More DVD's. He barely remembered the long standing order that would see new DVD's sent to a Muggle address, one that Hedwig would check regularly. Tearing it open, he found a little bit of enthusiasm for some new episodes of 'Buffy', and he had the first disc loaded into his player. _At least my Muggle appliances are still working, _he remembered, so he watched the first episode as he worked through his mail.

There were plenty of birthday greetings. Cards from friends, old and new. A lovely card came from Molly and Arthur Weasley, but he gave up half way through the attached letter. He didn't want to hear Molly's apologies about Ron. But before he could put the letter down, something caught his eye and he read on. _Ron's gone missing? What the..._

Searching back through the letters, he located the envelope in Hermione's familiar hand writing. He didn't read the front of the card, but Hermione kept it short. _Love Hermione,_ it said at the bottom. No mention of Ron. _What the hell was going on?_

Within seconds, he had the Floo open, and was calling Hermione. There was no answer, so he tried again at the Burrow. It seemed strange that there was no answer there, either, and he was about to ask Charlie, when he remembered that he had gone for the holidays. He was on the verge of calling one of the other Weasley brothers, when a sudden rush of memory hit him. _The stag party. Ron's strange behaviour. The punch. Their massive fight as they stood in front of a burning manor. Ron watching through the Floo as he was kissing Draco..._

He held the table for support as he reeled at the onslaught of images. Ron had fought with him because he didn't want to help Draco. He refused to allow him access to Malfoy Manor to look for Pegasus Wingtips, but Harry remembered the distinct homophobia that Ron was suddenly displaying.

The image of him with Draco on the couch was now burned into his brain. _We were getting pretty heated, _he recalled, _but Ron interrupted us... why?_ His memories beyond that point were lost, but he kept returning to that one moment. _Draco and I were together, and we both seemed to be wanting it. _

Is that why Hermione has been keeping away? Is she scared of my reaction? He was at a loss about what to think. If something had happened to Ron... How could he have gone missing? Was it Neo Death Eaters? Is that why we went looking for them? Harry was now even more frustrated. Despite having a glimpse of memory, he was given more questions that he couldn't answer.

He continued through the letters, coming across one from Neville Longbottom. Harry smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to Neville, but they always exchanged birthday letters. He would have to reply soon, for he had not done so this year. He was surprised to read that not only was he studying in Paris, but that he was getting married. That thought made him smile, but he put the thought aside as the mention of Paris reminded him of Luc.

His journal. Now he could finally explain his extended absence to Luc. As he did a quick search for the journal, he spotted his desk calendar, and noticed that he had circled the Friday – tomorrow. "Lammas" was scrawled across the date and it was then he remembered he had agreed that he would meet Luc on that day. _How am I going to get there? I'm not in any state to Apparate. I'll have to write and apologise. I hope he won't think any less of me._

Pushing aside the remaining unopened letters, Harry eventually found the journal buried deep underneath the pile of mail. It was a sight for sore eyes. He was thoroughly unprepared for the flood of memories that came crashing over him like a wave the moment he opened the front cover. The hazy fog began clearing from his memory and everything started to make sense. Perfect sense, if he didn't swoon from the sheer intensity of finally putting everything into place. The night of the staff party, the discovery about Luc, his confrontation with Remus, the sight of Draco being fucked by Jean-Paul and his intense jealousy.

But most importantly, he finally remembered the missing piece of the puzzle. Draco was Luc. He was in love with them both, only to discover that they were one and the same. So caught up in the emotion of finally making that discovery, he found himself shaking. _I am in love with Draco. He is Luc, and I must have told him. I leapt in front of that curse from Phillip Parkinson because we were tricked there by a portkey from Malfoy Manor... I saved his life, now he's saved mine._

His relief at the revelation of his memories was overshadowed by his emotional discovery. Quickly flicking through the pages, he had thoughts for only one thing. There it was, the entry where he realised that Draco was Luc. It was all truth. _But has Draco realised the truth? _The question pressed at him. _Sweet Merlin, I've fallen in love with him, but has he realised the truth yet?_

He found the last page, and the new entry written by Draco. The entry was nine days earlier, and Harry realised he was out of it for nearly two whole weeks. His heart started racing as he read Draco's words.

_I've gone and fallen in love. Yes, truly, madly, deeply and completely in love with the man I once thought I hated. When did that happen, and why did I not realise it until it was too late? Why us? Why do we not see the truth until it is too late? I realise now that the one thing I have been looking for all my life has always been here. _ _And I'm so afraid of losing him._

_He knows he loves me,_ he could not help but smile. _Draco really loves me._

_I haven't told him yet that I love him, because I only just realised it myself. I love him._

But the further he read on, he could see that Draco was blaming himself for Harry's condition. The entry ended abruptly, and there was nothing after that, which got him worrying. _Does he think that I'm not going to reply? Surely not. But what if..._ It suddenly occurred to him that Draco may have discovered the truth. He had no idea how, but something Remus said came to mind. _"You learned the truth after you admitted to yourself your feelings for Draco. The journal showed you the truth."_

Could it have done the same for Draco? He couldn't be sure, but it could explain some of Draco's behaviour. _But he's just admitted that he's fallen in love with me. Why am I trying to find doubt in that? I've fallen in love with him too. How on earth am I going to tell him?_

For it was then he remembered that he had been dithering over telling Draco the truth, for fear of the blond's reaction. The answer was staring him in the face, and he picked up his quill and unscrewed the top on the purple ink.

_**Hey Luc,**_ _**Sorry I haven't been around in the longest time. You've probably given up on me by now, but it was unfortunately out of my control. I've been quite indisposed and was unable to get to my journal. I know we're supposed to meet tomorrow, but I've discovered something in recent weeks, and the irony of it is that I have to share it with you right now.**_

If it weren't for Hedwig alerting him to it, he would have missed the knock at the door. He put the quill down and carefully walked over to open it.

A rather frazzled looking Draco was standing there as numerous parcels bobbed up and down behind him. A brief smile lit up his face and he looked apologetic. "Thank Merlin you're here. I went up to the infirmary only to find you gone. I guess I should apologise. I promised you I would be there to see you get home."

* * *

Harry didn't realise just how devastatingly alluring he was as he lounged by the door. Draco could see he was a little weary, but no more so than he had in the infirmary. The new clothes Draco had purchased looked extremely good, and he was pleased. "As way of apology, I come bearing gifts." He pointed to the bags of groceries, but was a little concerned that Harry was yet to speak. _He's pissed off at me. Shit._

He seemed to come to his senses, blinking rapidly. "Oh, sorry. Come on in."

Draco put the groceries on the bench and flicked his wand before they began to unpack and put themselves away. Harry watched in fascination as Draco realised his mistake. "Sorry, that was stupid of me to be flaunting spells like that. I see you have the spell off your arm."

Harry looked down at his arm before nervously running his fingers through his hair. "Don't worry about the magic. I got my wand back, but I'm feeling like a first year."

"That bad?" Draco asked in concern. He really wasn't paying attention to what he was saying. All he could focus on was the smear of purple ink across Harry's cheek as he had run his hand through his hair. It took all of his willpower not to stare directly at Harry's desk, but in a casual glance, he noticed the journal – Harry's journal open on the table, the quill and ink sitting atop the page.

"Oh, I'm not overly worried at the moment. Things will come good soon enough." Harry stared at the cake box still on the table. "Oh, you were down at the Leaf and Bean? Thanks for the food – it was a thoughtful touch. I was going to send Dobby, but I'm not sure he trusts me any more," he grinned.

"That's why I was so late. I ran into an old friend at Emmaline's, and we had a lot of catching up to do." He noticed the immediate drop in Harry's face at the mention of a friend, and he just knew Harry was thinking it was an old boyfriend. "But she had some great news – she's getting married, so I had to meet the fiancé."

The relief on Harry's face proved Draco correct. He hoped Harry could forgive him for being late. "So is there any way I can make it up to you? How about I cook you some dinner? I know it's probably not as grand a birthday feast as you might normally expect, but I just thought it was the least I could do. The cake was Emmaline's idea – she wanted you to have it."

Harry seemed distracted, but Draco sensed that Harry was watching him carefully. He really should get back to his room and see what Harry was writing. He was wary. Did Harry suspect something? For once he was at a loss until he knew what to say in the journal.

"Harry?" he asked when there was no response.

"Oh, what? Oh, sorry. I was just... thinking." Harry seemed to snap out of his daze.

"So, can I offer you dinner? I'll even let you bring your own wine – I'll cook something that goes with a nice white. I'm sure you've got a bottle or two of that."

Harry visibly swallowed, then nodded. "Sure, that would be nice. Just a quiet meal. I'm honestly not up for a crowd. Besides, I've had enough of birthday parties – I think I deserve a year off."

"Okay then, well, just come around at any time. Don't forget the wine." His robes twirled as he made his way out the door.

* * *

Draco couldn't get back to his room quickly enough. When he planned on helping Harry back to his rooms, he never expected one of the first things he would do would be head for his journal and start talking to Luc. As he walked into his room, he noticed the pages of his own journal fluttering as if caught in a gentle breeze. "The spell of the journal drew him in automatically as he read Harry's words.

_I don't remember any meeting, _he thought, but then he noticed the date and remembered their planned meeting at Lammas. The quill was in his hand before he realised, and he was writing a swift reply.

_Hello Flash,_ _No, I haven't given up on you. I must confess I was somewhat worried that you did not reply, but I assumed that you must have had a very good reason for not responding, but I am glad you are back now. Is everything okay? _ _**Oh hello, Luc. I honestly wasn't expecting you to be there right now. To be honest, I don't know what I was expecting. I have so much to tell you, but I'm just trying to work out where to start.**_ _You should probably start at the beginning. I hear that's the best place. _ _**I have missed that smart mouth of yours, Luc. I suppose that I should tell you that for the past two weeks I've been in the hospital. I'm slowly getting back on my feet, but I only just came home. The strange thing is that I kept thinking about this journal the whole time I was there, but whenever I had visitors, I would forget to ask them to bring it to me. Strange, really.**_ _You don't think the journal was probably making you forget? I've noticed it seems to have a mind of it's own. I've only just recently discovered that it likes to control things to a certain extent. Apparently this book has been hiding things on me, making me forget. But the other day, everything suddenly fell into place. It was a strange, yet perfect revelation._ _**Oh really? So, er, you've only recently discovered something through this journal? I wasn't sure, but it's only been in the last hour or so that my amnesia has completely gone, and the final piece of the puzzle has just clicked into place. I do know exactly to what you are referring, Luc, and I can't begin to tell you how relieved I am.**_ _You've got your lost memories back? All of them?_ _**Yes, all of them.**_

Draco paused. A feeling from deep within told him that now was the right moment to confess. Harry's memories were back, and that could mean only one thing.

_At first I wasn't sure, but then I realised you must have worked out my identity. I've been waiting for you to get your full memories back to be completely sure, but I have to say I was quite irate when I learned you knew, and you didn't tell me._

_Shit,_ Harry thought. _He knows, and he's not happy_. I so badly wanted to explain this to him properly. The quill flew over the pages as an apology stumbled out.

_**Wait, please let me finish. I made a promise to myself that I would tell you when I could. I knew you would take it the wrong way if I kept it hidden, but I was advised that you would have to work it out on your own. You don't know how hard it has been. I nearly told you twice, but each time we were interrupted.**_ _Actually, I do know what it's like. I've been wanting to tell you all week, but I wasn't sure if it would affect your recovery, or if you really did know the truth. When I thought I was going to lose you, I realised just how much you meant to me, and it was then that I realised that you were Flash._ _**What gave it away, Draco?**_

Seeing Draco's name on the page gave him pause to think. _Well there's certainly no turning back now, Harry. _

_You talk in your sleep, Harry. What gave away my identity? _ _**It was what you wrote the day after the staff party. I'm sorry I stormed away from you that morning at the Leaf and Bean, Draco, but I needed to clear my head. I had fallen in love with Luc, but then I was falling in love with you, and that was quite a revelation. Of course, I had to find out that I really didn't hate 'you' to see that I do love 'you' – the real you.**_ _**I finally admitted the truth of my feelings. It's why I jumped in front of that curse. You helped me to see the real you from this journal, not the stuck up prig that I thought you were. What I'm trying to say is that I love you, Draco. Somehow, I came to realise that a life without you is a life I no longer want to live. **_

Draco looked away from the journal, his heart hammering in his chest. Seeing those words on the page and knowing they were Harry's true feelings made him leap out of his chair and rush to the door, paying absolutely no attention to the pain in his knee, because that didn't matter any more.

_**Draco, are you still there?**_

Harry worried that Draco wasn't answering him. _Is he still angry? _"Why won't you answer me, Luc?"

The door to Harry's room was ajar, and Draco stepped carefully across the threshold as the door creaked. Harry didn't notice, for he was still sitting at his desk, his entire being focussed on the pages of a familiar journal. He didn't even hear the uneven footfalls crossing the rug.

"Probably because I'm right here, Flash..."

Harry flinched at the sudden touch, as he felt a body come up from behind and wrap itself around him. A warm hand was trying to wrestle the quill from his fingers, and he somehow released it into a pale hand stained with the most familiar shade of green ink.

He spun around in his chair to realise he was now in Draco's embrace, as he dared to look into steely grey eyes. The look on Draco's face was unreadable, and it seemed to take an eternity for him to stand up, all the while not looking away from the apologetic look in Draco's eyes.

"Are you angry?" Harry asked tentatively, not sure of the reaction.

Draco shook his head slowly, staring directly into Harry's eyes. He couldn't understand the look of slight sorrow – or was it pity – but he didn't fail to see the deeper, icy blue that shone with a layer of desire shining from deep within.

"Then... why..." Harry indicated back at the journal, but Draco grabbed his jaw and kissed him with a quietly desperate hunger.

Right then and there Harry didn't care about anything else but those lips. Judging from this kiss, it seemed that the time for words was finally over. As their lips spoke to each other in silent worship, their bodies moved in closer and hands began to seek out anything firm to cling to. Harry missed the feel of that fine blond hair as it ran through his fingers, and their kiss deepened as their tongues began a slow dance.

There was no urgency in their kiss. It felt like the most perfect moment in the world, but Harry knew that this was just the start of many more kisses. Their lips broke away as he remembered that spot just below Draco's ear. He remembered the reaction the last time he dared go this far, and he was rewarded as Draco arched his neck and groaned slightly as he lapped and teased at the smooth expanse of pale skin.

Neither man wanted it to stop, but they clung to each other in their embrace, foreheads touching as they caught their breath. Draco was the first to find his voice. "I'm not angry, Harry. How could I be angry?"

Harry wasn't sure if he was hearing Draco correctly. "But I thought..."

Draco put his finger to Harry's lips. "Shhh. I don't know about you, but I have had enough of words. I didn't write an answer because I realised that we have been talking and talking about this for months. I _want_ this... you _want_ this. _We_ want it. I have cherished the time we spent with those journals, slowly discovering new things and really taking our time in getting to know each other. I understand now why it had to be that way. Seeing you lying there close to death, I realised that we have wasted so much time. I don't think I want to waste another minute with words, Harry."

Draco stepped in and stopped all coherent thoughts as his mouth descending against Harry's again. One hand was curled deeply in the dark and messy locks as his lips sought out Harry's mouth. Harry automatically responded, the passion in the kiss rekindling something inexplicable as his hands came up to lock around the back of Draco's shoulders. He was too far gone with desire to keep thinking, but he knew that this was exactly what he had been searching for all his adult life.

Harry's fingers became tangled in the soft, blond locks and pulled Draco in even closer as their lips grazed and scratched and nipped with frenzied abandon. His body reacted favourably to the sudden emotional outburst, yet his mind was still in a dizzy state of confusion. Draco's tongue moved away from his mouth, and bathed a pattern of kisses across his jaw, blindly kissing the new scars on his cheek. He felt his own arousal heighten and he gasped and groaned at the feeling.

He felt a surge of desire rising from deep within his soul and knew this was also exactly what he wanted. Draco yielded as Harry took control and pushed him up against the wall. Harry stopped as suddenly, eliciting a tiny whimper from Draco as he moved back.

"Is this what you want?" Harry asked, still a little unsure if Draco was truly happy. A tiny seed of doubt was at the back of his mind as he wondered if the blond was feeling as emotionally high as he was.

A growl escaped Draco's lips. "Do you really think I could just _say_ that I love you, Harry, and not mean it? Are you forgetting that the journal doesn't lie?" Harry just blinked rapidly, the confused look on his face blatantly obvious. Draco grinned cheekily. "I guess that you had forgotten that, huh? Wool headed Gryffindor."

Harry stared, dumbfounded for a moment. How could he forget that? Draco said he was in love with him in the journal. Everything was going to be just fine. It was all over. The anticipation, the wondering, the concern – he didn't have to worry any more. Draco was right there, in his arms and running his hands over the smooth silk of Harry's shirt as his face wore the most self-satisfied of smirks.

"So, are you just going to stand there all evening, or are you eventually going to shag me?" Harry blinked again at Draco's smart words, growled in a low voice that echoed with lust. He was obviously not reacting fast enough, as Draco pulled roughly on his shirt, bringing him back for more kisses, this time with passionate abandon. Harry finally surrendered as Draco's invitation allowed the last barrier to fall. The soul mates were finally together.

As his own hands reached for the waist of Draco's trousers, he stopped as he realised that he didn't have to rush things any more. Harry finally understood what he wanted, what they needed. Time. They suddenly had all the time in the world for exploration and discovery. But first…

Harry groaned in delight as Draco pulled open the buttons on his shirt, nipping and pinching at his sensitive nipples. "You keep that up, and I'll be the one begging _you_," he whispered hoarsely.

Draco laughed as he guided Harry's hands to the buttons on his own shirt. "Really? Is that all I have to do to make you beg?" he spoke softly, allowing his breath to glide over the edges of Harry's ear, before running the tip of his tongue down to the hollow of his collarbone.

"Well, for starters, I think you'll find that kissing me right there is... sure to get a reaction," he whispered hoarsely. "But what _I_ want to know," Harry slowly ran one finger down the smooth line of Draco's cheek, over his sharp jaw bone and along the curve of his neck, "is the secrets of what makes _you_ lose your cool. What makes you moan and twitch and catch your breath in the back of your throat?" Here Harry moved closer so that his breath flowed directly across the sensitive skin of Draco's neck. He was rewarded with the quietest of breathy gasps when he quickly flicked his tongue out to taste the hollow of flesh just behind Draco's ear. He had definitely caught Draco off guard, but the satisfied look on Draco's face told him all he needed to know. "I want to see the look of contentment in your eyes when I slide my arms around you, like this," Harry released his hold on Draco's hand and moved to embrace the blond with both arms, relishing the feelings that coursed through him as he held onto the man he loved with all his heart.

Harry's was overwhelmed by the sensations, the images, the promise of things to come and the unfathomable notion of everything he had forgotten because of his amnesia. "I want to explore you, Draco," Harry was continuing, his voice sounding somewhat deeper and raspier than normal as he leaned closer again, planting tiny, feathery kisses along Draco's cheek, jaw, ear and neck. "Explore and know every beautiful, porcelain inch of your body just as we've explored each other's minds for so long. I want," Draco shivered involuntarily as he felt Harry's moist breath ghost over his ear, followed by the warm sensation of his tongue tracing the shell before he spoke again. "To touch you, and taste you, and discover things you never knew about yourself. I want to make you feel as much physical joy and ecstasy as possible," he slid his hands down, "just as your words and your eyes and your smile make me feel indescribably desired and loved and revered."

"Merde, 'Arry…" Draco's gasp turned into loud murmurs as a stream of French flew from his mouth in a frenzy that left Harry more aroused than he could possibly imagine. Harry paused as he allowed the words to wash over him. Draco arched up and captured Harry's mouth with his own.

Harry knew on some level that a part of him was terrified of what was happening, of what would follow. He couldn't dare believe it was truly happening. After all these months, and despite recent events, he was finally with Draco, and the emotion was completely overwhelming. _Just don't think about it for once in your life, Harry,_ he told himself. _Just focus on Draco._ The results of his silent demands were quite pleasing to the Slytherin in his arms as he pulled them closer, deepening the kiss and slowly fluttering his fingers along Draco's right side. He felt the quiver that went through his lover and smiled into the kiss before pulling back.

"Ticklish, are we?" The mischievous note left nothing to the imagination, and Harry was grateful for his grounding exercises, which allowed him to ignore certain sensations when the need arose.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "I can be, but I can also **not** be, if I want." The challenge in his voice was hard to ignore.

"Care to explain that?" Harry grinned impishly.

Draco ran his tongue along the shell of Harry's ear, "Maybe later," he whispered, sending a shudder all the way down Harry's spine.

Harry responded with a flicker of his tongue across the hollow at the base of Draco's neck, making the blond completely forget what he was going to say. His body was unconsciously guiding them across the room towards the bed. The gentle, moist movement of his tongue continued to assault Draco's throat, causing a tingling sensation to spread through him, and sending him into rapturous delight.

"Not here," Draco eventually managed to whisper, slightly pushing Harry away.

Harry stopped, suddenly confused. "But I thought you just said..."

Draco looked down at the bed they were about to occupy and he was suddenly overcome with an air of petulant stubbornness. "If you think I'm going to let you fuck me senseless in that flea riddled pile of rags, then you'll be wanking alone tonight, Potter."

He wasn't sure if Draco was serious or not, but the blond continued. "I'm beginning to wonder if you've forgotten the last time we nearly got started." Draco nodded over at the fireplace. "I have no desire to be interrupted again, and Harry Potter's Floo isn't the safest of places to shag in front of, especially not on his birthday."

Harry looked at the fireplace and nodded. "You're absolutely right."

"Of course I am," he smirked, before licking his lips in the anticipation. Harry was completely mesmerised by the sight, and he could sense the energy that was crackling around them.

Before he knew it, Harry was in Draco's room, having pinned the blond to the door with another passionate kiss. He was feeling so invigorated, he barely felt that he had been in the hospital wing for the past two weeks.

Draco's laugh was deep and throaty as Harry eagerly worked the buttons on his trousers. "Why the rush, Harry? We have all the time in the world. Actually, I thinking that it's high time I introduced you to the Tantra."

"Tantra, huh?" Harry replied, peeling the trousers from Draco's legs. "A dear friend of mine told me lots of interesting things about it," he said with a smirk. "I'm definitely up for sharing that with you, Draco, but right now... I've waited so long for this."

Before Draco could form a coherent reply, he finally felt what he had only been dreaming about. Daring to look down, he saw the face that had haunted his dreams for months. Harry looked up through tousled jet black hair with eyes half-lidded with desire. Draco was lost in incoherent murmurs.

Soft hands, hands that knew what they wanted, seemed to slide effortlessly over his thighs and hips, and it seemed that all those weeks of Tantric control were completely forgotten as he was overwhelmed with need.

It was Harry who was in charge – a concept that surprised Draco through his heavily aroused haze. Even through months of dreams, he could never imagine the sheer intensity of this encounter as Harry explored every inch of his body, leaving Draco wanting for more. Mesmerised and tantalised as he reached that perfect moment of bliss, Draco opened his eyes and cried Harry's name.

Still boneless and shaking, Harry had never felt so wanton as he could barely think coherently. Normally, he would have spent hours worshipping every inch of Draco, mapping out the planes and angles of skin as it wrapped around each bone, but right now he wanted one thing. Judging from the wanton lust that shone from those pale eyes, he knew Draco wanted the same.

--oo0oo censored for ff . net --

Their ears rang and their hearts hammered as Draco collapsed on Harry's chest. The first coherent words were a series of discontented sighs. Draco looked up at Harry with a look of total satisfaction in his eyes that belied the smug smirk on his mouth. The blond raised a hand to push a dripping strand of hair out of Harry's eyes before allowing his fingers to trace along the faint line of that scar.

"Sweet Merlin! I don't know if I could cope if I ever let you get out of control," Draco said breathlessly. Harry laughed, before placing a kiss on Draco's sweat slicked brow. "Soul mate." The words spilled from Draco's lips, but for once, Harry knew they were genuine. Draco's face was honest and he saw the look of complete satisfaction in his eyes.

Harry smiled as he acknowledge the words - finally realising all his fears could be at last put to rest. This was real, and he didn't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else – never again.

Draco was suddenly serious and lowered his eyes. "So now that you seem to have your memories back, what on earth made you leap in front of that curse? It was a crazy stunt."

Harry looked thoughtful before answering. "You're right. It was a crazy thing to do and I guess I wasn't thinking. It was a risk, but if you don't take the risk for love, then what do you take it for?" Draco's eyes widened at the mention of love. "Yes, you crazy blond. If you haven't guessed it already, I do love you." Saying the words seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"And just in case you missed the words I wrote, I love you too, Harry Potter. Even though everyone will think it's the most illogical thing in the world, I have to say that it feels so... right. We belong together and if anyone wants to doubt that, they can just go and read our journals," Draco said emphatically.

"Of course it seems illogical and incredible, but logic and reason fly out the window when love gets involved. I'm not going to pretend that we are going to change, Draco, but I just know that even if we will still fight and disagree with one another, I'll still wake up every day knowing that there will still be something new and fresh and exciting to share with you..." Draco shut him up quickly with a languid kiss.

"I had to do something to shut you up," Draco offered as an apology, but Harry leaned up and grinned as he kissed back.

"Actually, you were right," he said excitedly, bounding his elbows on the bed and grinning wildly.

"I was? What about." Harry seemed giddy, or drunk, or both, but Draco didn't really care.

"This bed is _fantastic!_ You're going to have to work hard to get me out of it, you know."

The ever-present smirk returned to Draco's face. "Oh? Is that a challenge?"

"Always, Draco. Always." Harry was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to yawn. He was not going to admit that he was exhausted, but now that he finally found his soul mate, he knew he had all the time in the world to live that passion.

* * *

It was almost dark when Draco woke, but that tingling feeling in his arse and the arm that was draped around him reminded him of where he was and who was in his bed with him. He rolled carefully onto his back, not wanting to disturb Harry. Only when he looked over did he see that Harry was wide awake and staring at him as if starved for affection. "I thought you were the one who wanted to sleep?" he asked.

"I did, but I found something better to do. Watching you sleep."

Draco smiled before dropping a kiss on Harry's lips. "I promised I was going to cook you a birthday feast, didn't I?" he made to get up, but he wasn't expecting Harry to pull him back down onto the bed before kissing him hungrily. Draco melted under the kiss, enjoying the slow slide of tongues as their hands clasped.

"When did you get the tattoo?" Harry asked in all seriousness.

"Huh?" Draco was a little confused, especially since Harry stopped his kisses and pulled away completely. Was he talking about the false Dark Mark? He should have known that Draco had carried it since the war, disgusting thing that it was. If it wasn't connected to his wand arm, he would have had it removed by Muggle means years earlier. Now, it was just an unsightly blemish that he chose to always hide underneath long sleeves.

"Don't play dumb," he replied. "The snitch. When did you get that tattoo? You certainly didn't have it at the start of our last year of school."

Realisation suddenly dawned. He had completely forgotten about that tattoo. Too many years avoiding Quidditch and anything related to it made him forget it entirely. It had gone dormant somewhere over his right shoulder a few years earlier.

"Oh, well, you know. It was the thing to do at the time..." Draco didn't feel comfortable talking about it, especially not to Harry, who was now running a finger over the magical snitch. It twitched for the first time in ages, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Let me guess, you were so thrilled you caught the snitch and won the cup, you went out and got drunk. Rosmerta convinced you that all winning seekers got the tattoo..."

Draco looked at him, dumbfounded. "How..."

Harry looked a little uncomfortable. He knew that now was not the time to bring up past lovers, especially not ones who they would both be working closely with. "Let's just say I've seen one before... Don't worry, I like it... a lot."

The grin on Draco's face was wide and he sat up quickly as realisation dawned on his face. "You spied on me in the showers at school, didn't you? Here I was thinking you were new to this voyeur business."

Harry smirked. "Oh, I wouldn't say I was completely innocent, although a good friend once gave me some brilliant ideas. I was hoping I could try them out sometime, if you're interested?" He raised an eyebrow in a hopeful look.

"Hmmm, I suppose I will just have to teach you all those spells I promised, won't I?" Draco asked with a lascivious glint in his eye.

"I am a quick study, and a keen learner, or so I've been told," Harry added.

Draco smiled and turned to move closer into Harry's embrace. He momentarily forgot himself, and winced in pain as he bent his knee awkwardly. He hoped Harry had not seen it, but he looked up to see a deep frown on his face. He moved to cover over the disfigured limb, but Harry stopped him, bringing his own hand down to run his fingers over the dark and ugly scars. Draco flinched.

"Why won't you let me touch it? You've had your hands all over mine." Harry said with a slightly hurt tone. Draco said nothing. He rarely let his lovers touch that part of his body, and he always flinched away. But Harry's hand was warm and insistent and he was glad for the failing light of evening that hid the true horror of his deformed knee cap.

"I just... it makes me uncomfortable," he replied honestly, but Harry didn't seem to be listening. He had closed his eyes and appeared to be in a meditative state as his breathing became slow and deep. Draco didn't know what to do, but Harry's hand was suddenly red hot as he laid it directly on the knee. Draco yelped in surprise and Harry opened his eyes wide, gasping.

"I really should not have done that," Harry remarked.

"What the... What did you think you were doing?" Draco asked in surprise. He wanted to be angry, but he found that the ever-present twinge of pain had suddenly subsided. He sat back and out of reach of Harry as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know why I just did that," he remarked, "but you have to understand that I had to try. Don't think that I've forgotten about what you gave up for me. I can't bear to watch you limping around, so I had to see if I could direct my magic into healing it. I thought if I could manage to heal myself..." Harry stopped as he became choked up with emotion. "I can't do it, Draco. I tried, but the magic won't heal anything outside of my body."

Draco crawled back over to Harry and brought his chin up to look at him. "Listen to me, Harry. I don't know how many times I have to tell you, but if it came down to my limp or your life, I would do the same thing again." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco was firm. "I don't care any more about this limp. Yes, it can be painful at times, but I've learned to live with it. But I don't think I could live without _you_. This injury is _not_ your fault, and I don't ever want to hear you thinking that it is."

"But your broom..." Harry started, but yet again Draco cut him off.

"I gave up caring about brooms and Quidditch a long time ago, Harry. The only thing I care about now is right here in this bed, and he's going to have to get used to me nipping his self sacrificing moods in the bud." With that he kissed Harry again, taking control as he ran a hand over Harry's body, their bodies stirring as their ardour awakened. A long, slow growl from Harry's stomach broke through the moment and left them both snorting in laughter.

"I guess you're hungry. Either that, or there's some sort of monster in your chest that's dying to get out."

Harry nodded fervently. "I am starving, but perhaps I might like some cake first. I could eat an entire hippogriff, but I think that could wait. It's still my birthday, and I haven't finished playing with my present yet."

"Oh, really?" Draco smirked at the thought that he was Harry's birthday present. "I thought you had all the time in the world to play with your new... present." Draco didn't care. He was right where he wanted to be, and nothing else mattered.

"So what are we waiting for?" Harry asked in a sultry voice that spoke directly to Draco's groin. Draco could feel the stirrings of renewed desire as his hands dove beneath the sheet. All in all, he knew that whatever the future held, he knew that he was never, ever going to tire of it. The adventure was only beginning.

As Draco's talented lips plied their way across his sensitive body, Harry realised that a lifetime of adventure and desire was to be had right there with his soul mate, and at that moment, he knew this was where he was meant to be. Ancient words of prophecy finally made sense... now he was free to live.

The smile on his face at that thought coincided with Draco's hands mapping their way across his body, and he submitted to them.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

* * *

"Nothing's happening!" Jean-Paul exclaimed as he stared into the bottom of a large rune-covered basin. It had appeared out of nowhere at the back of Emmaline's shop earlier that evening. She had eagerly Flooed Jean-Paul when she first saw it, but now the two of them stared at the murky depths in anticipation.

"I... I don't understand..." Emmaline seemed equally as confused as she watched the iridescent fog as it failed to coalesce as expected. She put her wand into the bowl and began stirring the fog, but it seemed to have little effect.

"But you said..."

Emmaline shooed him away with her hand. "I know what I said..." but she stopped suddenly as a thought struck. All confusion dropped from her face and was replaced by a wide, all-knowing smile.

"What?"

"Well, this happened once before..."

"And..." he prompted out of sheer frustration rather than curiosity. Jean-Paul was tired of all her games. As far as he knew, they were all going to end once the basin had appeared. What was the old witch up to now?

"Well it can mean only one thing, môn chéri." Emmaline sat back, her fingers steepled together as she seemed rather satisfied.

Jean-Paul didn't bother to ask her again, for he knew she had her own secrets, and would only ever volunteer what she wanted anyway. He feigned disinterest for a few moments as he willed the foggy bowl to do as it was wont.

She poked him in the ribs to gain his attention. "It means that it isn't over, at least, not yet."

"Not over? But they've been dancing around each other for months, and now they both know they are soul mates. The journals..." Emmaline cut him off quickly.

"It means that it _isn't over_," she said, her eyes conveying the meaning of her words.

"Oh." Comprehension dawned on Jean-Paul's face, along with a slight sense of disappointment. "Oh!"

Emmaline nodded and smiled knowingly. Indeed, things were far from over.

They were only just beginning.

* * *

TBC in chapter 19

**Review Thank You's:**

Normally this section is as long as the fic, but this chapter exceeded ff . net's limit when we added the reviews. Sorry about that. Thanks for all the wonderful words of encouragement. We do cherish each and every review. We promise to put all our replies into the next chapter, which shouldn't be nearly as long as this tome. (I think OOTP was shorter!) As you can see, this is not the last chapter. Definitely one, possibly two more are to follow. Plenty of things still to wrap up, of course. Remember that we both lead full real lives, so it does take a few weeks/months between updates, so please be patient for the next update!

But thank you to everyone below for taking the time out to tell us what you thought of the story:

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Cheers, and thanks again for reading!  
Azhure & Wintermoon


	19. Walk On

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 19: Walk On   
Authors: Azhure & Wintermoon2**

_And if the darkness is to keep us apart  
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off  
And if your glass heart should crack  
And for a second you turn back  
Oh no, be strong  
Walk on, walk on  
**U2 **_

**_Notes: _**Thank you to JediMijan and C Dumbledore for their beta and ideas for this chapter. They are both wonderful! Thank you to all our patient readers who are still with us. This was going to be the last chapter, but it just got too long, and a logical point to cut it in half came at the end here. We apologise for the inordiate delay in getting this chapter to you, but you all understand that real life does take precedence - unfortunately.

* * *

**I. All that you fashion, all that you make...**

From the moment Harry Potter found his soul mate, he found it difficult to hide the goofy grin on his face. Not that it mattered, for Draco wore a similar smile a mile wide. For two whole months after Harry's recovery, every aspect of their lives played out as he had always dreamed. It were as if an entirely new chapter in their lives had begun, and that their previous lives were a long forgotten novel that now lay on the shelf. It felt that way to Harry because he had found what he was looking for, so now they could both get down to the business of living.

Every waking moment of those first weeks was spent rekindling the connection that kept their souls bound from one life to the next. They barely made it out of Draco's rooms (or _their_ rooms as they quickly became known). Draco was ever conscious of the fact that Harry should be resting, but Harry had other ideas. Their new life together may not have just been one long debauched session in the bedroom (although neither complained about that aspect), for they found themselves opening up and doing quite a bit of talking.

Harry saw the real Draco emerge and he regretted never getting to know him sooner. At the same time, Draco managed to discover that under Harry's innocent exterior lay a man whose incessant optimism gave him a whole new perspective on the simple things in life. Although they became closer than ever before, they still were hesitant to completely open up to each other. A lifetime of mistrust and doubt did not go away overnight, but each could see that the other was trying.

In the newness of this relationship, old habits fell by the wayside, and they didn't continue to write in the journals. They did, however, have deep, meaningful conversations about everything from the Minister of Magic to Merlin philosophies and from sausages to biscuits, just as they had always wanted.

Harry's magic slowly returned to its former levels as his confidence and self-esteem were at an all time high. He was happy, and that's all that mattered. He was still trying to work though a few doubts that niggled in the back of his mind, but the intensity of his feelings for Draco drowned them out.

The mask that Draco previously wore in public was slowly eroding, and he wore a permanent smile. Harry wondered how a person could spend so many years hiding behind such falsehoods. For his part, Draco seemed to take great pleasure in watching Harry – no matter what he was doing. Harry knew Draco liked to watch people – old habits were hard to break, and he could feel when those icy blue eyes were staring straight at him. He never knew what thoughts were going through the Slytherin's mind, but he could certainly put on a show for him.

Draco never did manage to budge Harry from _his_ bed, but he never really tried in the first place. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to have Harry in what he now considered _their_ bed, and they fit together perfectly. The depth of their passion was realised as they spent hours refining their skills at the Tantra – all to attain that moment of perfect sexual bliss.

Draco was pleased to note that his control of the Tantra was improving significantly, and their lovemaking often degenerated into one ever long dare, with the winner being the one who could make his lover melt and come with just a touch.

Weaving together the other threads of their lives was not as easy as they had first thought. Yes, they agreed on many things, but there were numerous things that they were both frustrated with and they were learning their way through the slow dance called compromise. Draco promised to join Harry in his daily T'ai Chi, but he asked that Harry not come into his lab whilst he was working. For the most part, Harry was a disaster around anything much to do with potions, and he was happy to oblige.

Harry respected that Draco needed room to work, and he would retire to his rooms. He never admitted to Draco that his wand arm would sometimes tire quickly, and his magic would scatter and become a little erratic. He would often spend hours in diligent exercises and meditations to heal himself with his own magic. Madame Pomfrey was still in disbelief over his rapid recovery, and seemed to be quite the sceptic. This loss of magical control often made him feel as incompetent and useless as a first year, and often put a dent in his wavering self-esteem.

Flash and Luc found that they had surprisingly opened up to one another in the journals, but that same ease of anonymous conversation didn't always flow when talking directly. He _thought_ he knew how Draco would react to certain topics, so he stepped carefully around those topics. He never brought up the subject of Draco's knee, or Ron, or anything to do with Draco's time as a spy. He wanted to help Draco cope with the pain of his knee, but he knew the fierce pride that ran through Draco, and how he would refuse the smallest concession for his infirmity. He continued to channel magic through the degenerating joint whenever he thought Draco was asleep. This concerned him beyond belief, but if Draco was tight lipped about anything, it was this subject.

The touchy subject of their friends came up fairly quickly, for Hermione was a regular contact through the Floo, and with Ron still missing, Harry was often in touch with all of the Weasleys. He noticed the distinct frown on Draco's face whenever one was around. He was always polite, of course, but everyone could feel the tension in the air. Harry never thought to question why Draco never left him alone with Charlie for more than a few minutes, but had he chosen to do so at the time, plenty of angst may have been avoided.

Harry knew from the journal just how much Snape meant to Draco. He seemed to have been more of a father figure than Lucius ever had. He could not begrudge that friendship, particularly after the injuries Snape sustained during the Neo Death Eater battle. He doubted that they would suddenly become best buddies, but like Draco, he made an effort.

After inviting them to dinner, Harry could see that Snape was not a well man. He could also see that Charlie was deeply worried about that, but was trying to hide it behind his affable Weasley charm. It might not have been the longest dinner in history (Charlie and Severus had a timed Portkey back to the chateau), but Harry managed not to snark in Snape's direction, and Snape did manage to complement Harry's cooking. It was a start.

Draco might have tolerated the existence of the other Weasleys, but any mention of Ron brought a scowl to Draco's face that Harry remembered well from their school days. His old friend was still missing, and the Weasley family had undertaken a large scale search for him. Harry would have liked to join in their search, but Madame Pomfrey had suggested that he really shouldn't venture too far from the school, or Hogsmeade, at least not until he could show her he wasn't constantly tired. He just smiled. He didn't have the heart to tell her that his lack of sleep was not a side effect of his rapid recovery.

He tried to look at Ron's actions from Draco's perspective. Part of him wanted to believe that this was all a huge mistake – that Ron had nothing to do with the Neo Death Eaters burning down the Manor and nearly succeeding in getting away with his inheritance. A small part of him _could_ believe it, which was the problem. He knew better than to even mention it to Draco, for he heard enough ranting about it without adding further fuel to the fire.

Whatever reasoning lay behind the truth, Harry just wanted to know where Ron was – for Hermione's sake. Yes, Harry knew which battles were worth fighting, and which topics to leave. They would have to discuss it – eventually. But for now, they were both happy to leave it off their list.

For their relationship was still new and tentative, and neither wanted anything to happen that could spoil the wonder of discovering a soul mate. Unlike many new relationships, Harry's long history with Draco made him more aware of the things that could trigger Draco's temper, and he found it difficult to confide his deeps worries when he knew they would only cause grief. He didn't want to lose what he had only just found. Perhaps when they became more confident, he might confide in Draco, but for now, he would keep the peace.

It took Draco a couple of weeks to fully realise that Harry had moved in to his rooms. First it was the bed – Draco certainly had no qualms about that. Of course, that led to Harry's toiletries ending up in the bathroom, and a few changes of robes in the armoire. Again, not a problem. Harry's rooms were right next door, but it seemed that the view from Draco's window was nicer, and the fireplace more appealing. The thought of Harry living with him made him feel uncharacteristically warm and fuzzy inside. No questions were asked, and no permission was sought, but Draco was glad, all the same. Alas, that was until he discovered 'That Chair'.

"Harry, where did that ghastly chair come from?" Draco asked one evening as they raised the lights. It had been a very pleasant day in Hogsmeade, and Emmaline seemed to be in fine form. They ate far too much brioche and Draco was still laughing over the faces Harry made as he tried to drink Turkish coffee. It was after the tenth spoon of sugar that Draco decided he should try Harry on something a little weaker. Harry refused to show weakness, and continued with the coffee. Unfortunately, to Draco's dismay, he learned that Harry should never be allowed near too much caffeine, and he spent the afternoon regretting it. He came back to his room to find the chair sitting beside the fire.

Harry shrugged. "Well it seemed a bit silly that I head back to my room all the time just to get comfortable in this chair. Besides, the fireplace in this room seems to have a much better aspect" He flopped down into it. "Isn't it great?"

"It's ghastly. Green, but ghastly," Draco's nose turned up at it as he gave it an appraising look. "Are you sure you don't need your eyes tested again?"

"I don't know, you look pretty good to me," Harry retorted, batting his eyelashes innocently, but for a moment he hesitated. "It was... I mean, you don't mind that I brought this chair in, do you?" for a moment he thought he might have overstepped his mark.

"No, why would I mind?" Draco said instantly, putting Harry at ease. "But I don't suppose you would care to transfigure it into something a little more aesthetically appealing?" Harry just looked up at him with eyes that seemed greener and more concerned than ever. He relaxed when he say the playful smirk on Draco's face.

"Love me, love my chair," he retorted.

Draco relented, wondering just how he managed to admit such a tacky piece of furniture into his life. His mother would be rolling around in her grave if she knew. It seemed the chair was not negotiable, so Draco just shrugged and let Harry think that he had won as he pulled Draco down for a kiss.

Of course, he wasn't giving up without a fight, and Harry would come home regularly to find the chair transfigured into something much more tasteful. In yet another competition of wills, the chair became a focal point to see who could outdo each other with their transfiguration skills. Draco would turn it into something elegant – soft designer leather with plush arms, or a solid chesterfield. Harry would pay it no mind and eventually make it look even more gaudy. It was the gigantic chintz rose pattern that finally sent Draco over the top. The next day, he disillusioned the chair. It was only after Harry, without his glasses, bumped into it in the early morning and severely bruised his toes that they called a halt on the feud.

It was the little things like this that mattered, and Draco realised that Harry really did have a very cheeky sense of humour. It appeared that the public managed to get wind of the fact that they were together. Draco saw the article before Harry. It was the usual drivel about the Boy Who Lived, but Draco immediately saw the hidden insults written between the lines. He was prepared for some sort of violent reaction when Harry eventually made it to that page, but he simply rolled his eyes, chuckled and tossed the rag on the fire.

He looked up at the surprise on Draco's face. "What?"

"Did you _read_ what they wrote?"

"Yeah, but you know what? I don't care any more. I don't need public approval to tell me where my heart lies. If the wizarding public knew what was best, they'd leave us alone in the knowledge that we are happy. I've come to the conclusion that I'm never going to stop them gossiping about me."

"You know that once they see we are blissfully happy, they'll try to break us apart," Draco offered. "They'll make up stuff."

Harry shrugged. "Bring it on. They've been making up stuff about me since as far back as I can remember. I could do with something hilarious to read, actually." He looked over at the sceptical look on Draco's face. "Honestly, I'm fine, but if it bothers you that much..."

"No," Draco waved him away. "I don't think those reporters know how to string the word 'Malfoy' into a sentence without the word 'Evil' popping into it as well... I'm well over it. I was more concerned for your welfare."

"Perhaps we should start feeding them some false stories. I'm sure an anonymous reader could suddenly spot you out and about with some hot guy who isn't me," Harry suggested with a wicked smirk.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "When do you want me to start on the Polyjuice?"

"That's positively evil, Draco."

They both laughed.

--oo0oo--

They never did act on the grand plan to foil the gossip columnists, but as the holidays drew to a close, they had managed to fill in all the gaps that had been left hanging over their conversations as Flash and Luc. Food was cooked and plenty of wine was tasted. Disparaging opinions were often given, but they realised that it was their fundamental differences that added that something extra to their relationship. They agreed on all the things that mattered – love, lust and fidelity, even if they couldn't agree on the right wine for dinner.

Harry thought their tastes in food might be a contentious issue, but he quickly learned that Draco's days as a poor student in Paris left him with a fine appreciation of fast food. He would rather a well cooked meal made with fresh ingredients, but he could wolf down a doner kebab or scoff a vindaloo with the best football hooligans from the east end of London. That was perfect, because Harry quailed at having to cook something as fiddly and delicate as roasted spatchcock with prune stuffing and truffles. A fine meal, sure, but there was little substance, and Harry did enjoy the more hearty meals.

It was over one of these dinners that the conversation turned to beer. Harry mentioned how he really could no longer stomach it as it always reminded him of Ollie. Draco asked the inevitable question about the identity of this git, purely so they could put it behind them and both move on. Harry became very quiet and nodded to himself, realising that Draco already knew the whole Ollie saga. "Oliver Wood." He needed no further elaboration, and Draco never asked any further questions. That was not to say that Draco didn't keep a mental list. He had quite a few things he wanted to say and do to Wood if they ever happened to cross paths, for he sensed that Harry still carried some baggage about that relationship.

One of the things Harry took great pleasure in discovering was the fact that 'Luc' was not exaggerating when he claimed there was a whole slew of spells for 'that sort of thing'. His own sexual education had been a very hit and miss affair, with those few previous wizard lovers more eager to say they had scored with Harry than they were in helping him to find what he truly wanted. One night with Charlie Weasley had been enough to tell him that there was so much more to intimacy than just _sex_, and it was extremely eye opening to have a partner who was willing to forego his own pleasure to ensure that Harry could appreciate pleasure in all its forms.

He discovered kinks he never imagined possible (he certainly never looked at his wand the same way again), but it seemed that Draco knew them all. He certainly didn't enjoy everything, and Draco agreed that sexual manipulation and violent sexual gratification were not things he favoured either, but he just had to ask. It was just too harsh and brought back too many unpleasant memories. For Draco, it wasn't so much about his own gratification. He seemed to gather much of his own pleasure from giving Harry exactly what he wanted. That wasn't to say that Harry would just sit back and let Draco do all of the work. For once, Harry proved to be a quick study, and Draco was soon reaping the benefits of his own lessons.

From Draco's point of view, he was constantly amazed by new things he learned about his soul mate. Harry had only recently admitted enjoyment as he watched someone else having sex, and Draco was a well practiced exhibitionist, but he never imagined that there were so many opportunistic corners and alcoves within the castle that offered enough privacy for a quick shag. Of course, Harry, in all his endearing recklessness, decided that he often wanted more than just a quick shag. Harry had an uncanny knowledge of the castle, and Draco only wondered how his lover could seem so innocent, yet have such a wicked streak running through him. He could only imagine what would happen if they continued these activities once the students returned.

Being shagged in the privacy of the Quidditch showers was one thing. Finding yourself in the middle of the Great Hall (without the benefit of invisibility cloak or disillusionment) was something else. He didn't think that 'staff privilege' would be a sufficient excuse if they managed to be caught out by Mrs Norris, or heaven forfend, Minerva McGonagall in one of her regular tours of the castle. Besides, it would have ruined the end of what had been the most wonderful birthday of Draco's life. In the sudden change of pace in over recent months, his birthday had been all but forgotten, but Harry had given a celebration he would never forget.

Harry was sneakier than a Slytherin but with that reckless Gryffindor streak. Draco assumed that Harry enjoyed the thrill of being caught out, as he highly doubted their interrupted liaison on one of the beds in the infirmary was coincidental. He also doubted Madame Pomfrey believed Harry's explanation that he was giving Draco a prostate exam. Draco had no idea that Harry actually had an appointment with the medi-witch at that time, and he knew that he had only encouraged this sort of behaviour. He just never realised he had awoken an almost insatiable monster – one that he wouldn't exchange for anything.

Not even when he found his trousers down around his knees with Harry between his legs along the back stacks of the _Leaf and Bean_ during the lunch hour rush. Harry had thrown down the gauntlet to propriety, and he thought it was amusing that Draco was the one who was worried. The shelves might have ended in disarray, but more good than harm had come from the brief, but intense interlude. Draco was flushed from the heart pumping rush, and suspected that Emmaline knew everything. She just had to be a Legilimens, judging by the look she gave both of them afterwards.

Draco couldn't look her in the eye for days after that, but Harry would not put him out of his misery. Eventually he would get around to telling Draco about the power of his non verbal Disillusionment spells. In the meantime, he would wear an irrepressible grin and let Draco sweat it out.

In short, life was everything they could both possibly want. It was just a shame that the honeymoon was coming to a quickly grinding halt.

--oo0oo--

The return of the students was inevitable, and they reluctantly spent more time on their work related responsibilities. Harry's excitement at the start of another school year had not waned. Somehow, he had managed to pull together an extremely detailed curriculum to assist Remus, who assured him that Dumbledore would have no concerns in approving it at their first staff meeting.

Draco had almost finished ordering, preparing, bottling and drying all the stored ingredients Severus would need for the term and he was eager for classes to start so he could get back into a new Wolfsbane routine. He was excited about seeing young Maggie's progress with the potion, as she responded well over the summer. He had so many ideas about improving it for her, he was eager to get started.

They were slowly waking up on the morning of the staff meeting, when they heard a sharp rap at Draco's door, followed by the Headmaster's voice. They were not expecting the company, and Harry made a very quick dash into the bathroom to get dressed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. The Headmaster usually Flooed the staff, and Harry couldn't recall if he was aware of their sleeping arrangements, which put him in a mild panic.

"Ah, splendid," Albus smiled and shuffled his way through the door as Draco let him in.

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Are you in need of a potion..." Dumbledore waved Draco's concern away.

"Actually, I came to see how you boys were doing." He gazed over at the bathroom door, knowing full well that Harry was in there. He cleared his throat and a moment later, a fully dressed yet slightly embarrassed Harry came out. Draco came quickly to stand next to him, holding his hand defiantly in front of the Headmaster. "I understand you've both managed to recover well after the events of the early summer?" It wasn't really a question, and it appeared he knew exactly what had been going on in the castle.

"We weren't expecting to see anyone before the staff meeting, sir. Was there something else you wanted to discuss?" Draco seemed a little concerned, as he knew there was something the Headmaster wanted to say.

"Oh, the castle seemed quite busy last night... Ahh, there it is," he said in a very self-satisfied manner as he turned to face the wall, pulling back a tapestry that neither remembered being there the night before. Both Draco and Harry followed his gaze. Dumbledore did not seem surprised by the fact that there was now a door in the wall that once separated their rooms.

"How..."

"When..." Both seemed a little startled by the sudden appearance of the door.

Albus nodded knowingly and turned to leave. "I won't patronise either of you or spoil this wonderful time of your life, but I just needed to remind you both that this is a school, and that once the students arrive, I'll expect an adult level of propriety from my staff. You won't stop students from gossiping, and you certainly don't want to give them any more reason to talk." He looked down knowingly at them over the top of his glasses. "I think it prudent Harry, that you are always seen to be entering your rooms via your old door and not this one. We would hate for the School Board to locate that scroll that deals with fraternisation amongst unmarried staff... Now," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "I need to head down to the dungeons. Young Severus and Charles arrived back last night, and I think I need to have a bit of a chat with them as well."

Neither knew if Dumbledore had been half joking, drunk or out of his mind on lemon sherbets, but they seemed impressed by the castle's new addition. "I've often thought we needed a door. Double the space..." Harry suggested as he opened it up to his own rooms.

"Mmm, me too. You're definitely right, Harry. This castle does listen to your needs. I'd been thinking the same thing," he added with a smirk.

"I guess this means someone or something out there approves."

"Oh Merlin," Draco seemed suddenly upset. "This is going to make it so much harder to get rid of you!"

Harry was a little unsure by Draco's words, but sees the wide smile and realises the joke. He was then pulled into an embrace for a gentle kiss, which was broken when Harry burst out in a wide laugh.

"Oh, I really wish I had some Extendible Ears – I would love to hear Snape's reaction to Dumbledore's 'little talk'."

"I think I'm falling in love with your devious mind, Mr Potter."

"Only my mind?"

Draco bailed Harry up against the new door. "Oh... perhaps you could show me what other attributes you have to offer..."

--oo0oo--

They made it just in time for the start of the staff meeting. The entire faculty had now arrived and everyone greeted Harry warmly. Nobody seemed surprised that Draco stood beside him confidently. They agreed that they would not hide anything about their relationship from the staff, but the _Daily Prophet_ had made sure the world already knew of their relationship. Naturally, they would show the necessary discretion around the students. They parted as the meeting started – Harry sitting next to Remus, and Draco sitting alongside the Potions master.

Draco got his first opportunity to see Severus since the holidays, and he still looked quite peaked. He and Charlie had spent a considerable amount of time in the warmer climates at Draco's chateau, but judging from the worried expression on Charlie's face, Severus was sicker than he looked – and he looked dreadful. Draco noticed the new pinched lines around his eyes, and the occasional spasm that would shudder through his hands. He was up and about and walking, but that didn't stop Draco's concern. It struck him for the first time that Severus was looking old. Even without his reading glasses he could see the new streaks of grey in Severus' hair. He began mentally making plans to take over as much of Severus' work as he possibly could. It was the least he could do. After all, he felt a strong twinge of guilt that Severus would not be in this condition if it weren't for him.

In his musings, he failed to notice the newcomer, and was about to lean over and talk to Severus when he was startled by the hostile tone of Harry's voice from across the table.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" A few of the older staff members turned and gasped at Harry's uncharitable and angered turn of phrase. Draco could not imagine who Harry would be talking to in such a way. He peered over, squinting and tapping his wand to his glasses unconsciously to correct his lenses. He didn't want to admit it to Harry, but his sight was not what it once was, and he reluctantly found himself relying more and more on his reading glasses. Harry thought he looked sexier in glasses, and found his reluctance endearing. Draco suspected he just wanted to get back at him for years of calling him a 'speccy git'.

He thought he was now imagining things as he saw the man at the brunt of Harry's ire. He recognised the over inflated ego from the sports pages of _the Daily Prophet. _There was no mistake that it was Oliver Wood - the wizard who had broken Harry's heart and the last person Harry obviously expected to see. Draco unconsciously gripped his wand harder, wishing he could leap up and hex the bastard. He deserved no less than having his balls hexed off and crushed to dust. Draco found himself mentally asking the same question as Harry, only he didn't think he would have been quite so eloquent. No wonder Harry was irate. Fortunately Draco's hearing was still as sharp as a Billywig sting.

"Chin up, Harry. No hard feelings, eh?" Oliver's grin was more smarmy than charming. "Seems old Hooch is enjoying motherhood a little too much. She put in her resignation only a couple of days ago. Thought I'd apply for something a little more... challenging and _stimulating_."

Harry was still blinking as he just stared at Oliver. He could not believe who he was seeing. He glanced quickly over at Draco, who had an unreadable look on his face as he watched. Harry was in a state of turmoil. Here was an ex lover sitting next to him as if nothing had happened between them, whilst his soul mate sat across the table shooting daggers with his eyes. He didn't know what to think, but he said the first thing that came to mind. "So I guess that the fact Puddlmere put you on the reserves bench for this year kinda hurt, eh? That's really too bad," he drawled, a habit he must have unconsciously picked up from Draco. "I hear that changing brooms too often can have a real effect on your performance."

The biting words silenced Oliver and he saw the approving look in Draco's eyes. Oliver followed Harry's brief gaze before he sniggered. "Oh, this is priceless. I'd heard that you were gadding about town with Malfoy, but he _works_ here too?"

Harry opened his mouth in retort, but Dumbledore cleared his throat and the meeting came to order. Tension was high and Harry's eager excitement for the meeting was somewhat lost. Only the regular eye contact with Draco kept him from offering up another stream of bitter barbs aimed in Oliver's direction. Harry didn't need or want to revisit all the pain and horrid feelings that had plagued him for weeks after the betrayal. Why now?

He spent the session fidgeting with his quill and studiously avoiding glancing in Oliver's direction. It helped that Draco was doing his best to be supportive from the opposite side of the room. He tried to focus on the mundane details of Dumbledore's meeting, but it was difficult with the knowledge that Oliver was sitting right next to him.

He made a beeline for Draco the moment they took a quick break. "Are you all right?" Draco asked. "That bastard better have a fucking good reason for being here..." It seemed Draco was as incensed as he was. Harry knew he shouldn't be bothered by Oliver's presence, and one touch from Draco's hand coupled with the concern on his face made him realise that he was probably overreacting. Sucking in a deep breath, he looked over at where the new Quidditch master was holding audience.

"Don't worry, Draco, I'll be fine. It was just a shock seeing the git, that's all. If I had seen him on the street, or out in public... oh Merlin, he's going to be living here, isn't he?" Harry said with a sudden shock of realisation, all confidence in his voice gone.

"And that's going to be a problem because...?" Draco put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry knew he shouldn't be feeling that bad, and Draco's reassurance was exactly what he needed.

He took another deep breath. "I guess it's not. I'm just a little shaken up for seeing him. I didn't think I would react this way especially now after all this time. I'll be fine. Don't worry." He smiled and put his hand on Draco's, but he saw the lack of conviction in Draco's return smile.

Harry and Draco were the last to return to their seats. Harry sucked in a deep breath and totally ignored Oliver, turning towards Remus as he focused his attention on Dumbledore and his schedule of staff patrols for the first term.

Harry sniffed and realised that Oliver was wearing _that_ cologne – the one his ex loved so much – the one Harry had scoured dozens of markets to find. Its lingering smell was dredging up a few old and unwanted memories – some quite bittersweet. It didn't help when the cheating cur leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I thought the Malfoy thing was only a rumour drummed up by the _Prophet_. Who would have thought it was true? Still, you don't want to get too clingy – he's a snake, and they're liable to turn nasty," he said with a hint of disdain. There might have been a tinge of regret in Oliver's tone, but Harry didn't particularly care.

A headache was forming behind his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to reign in his temper. "Sorry to disappoint, but it's all true," he hissed back, not wanting to get into an argument. If Oliver was here for a chance at reconciliation, Harry needed to put him straight almost immediately. "You should be clear on this, Oliver. I'm with Draco now, we're both deliriously happy, and what I do with my life is none of your fucking business. You gave up the right to that quite a while ago."

He turned back to the meeting to notice the stares of numerous staff members. He had not seen Minerva McGonagall stare at him so firmly in many years, and Draco's glare was unreadable. "Sorry," he muttered sheepishly to everyone.

Oliver piped up. "It's my fault, I just asked Harry about the current state of affairs of the flying lessons. I guess I'll just wait for him to debrief me later."

Only Oliver could put a sexual connotation into that remark, and he wasn't the only one who gathered the double meaning. At this rate, his headache wasn't going to go away in a hurry. If suddenly felt as every last bit of his new confidence and self esteem had been banished the moment he heard the combination of that voice, that cologne, and the indelible image of Oliver's betrayal etched into the forefront of his memories. Why now?

He felt irrationally guilty and avoided Draco's gaze, even though he could feel it burning into his neck. However he did see the scowl on Charlie's face. It seemed that Oliver wasn't going to find too many friendly faces within the staff. What had Dumbledore been thinking when he employed that prat? The question begged to be asked, but at that moment, he just wanted to run and hide. Hogwarts felt like the last place he wanted to be, but running was not an option, not with his new responsibilities, and not now that he had Draco. He was just going to have to show Oliver that he would be a man about this, and not let the prat think for one moment that he had any control over him, even if he was slowly turning to a blubbering wreck inside.

--oo0oo--

Draco casually fingered his wand as he kept his hands carefully concealed under the table. _All it would take would be one tiny hex, and Wood would be running and screaming for his mother._ As much as he wanted to do it on the spot, he could be a very patient man. Now was not the right time to act, even if Wood was blatantly making Harry very uncomfortable. He noticed Charlie seemed equally unhappy about Oliver's presence, but he was probably the only other person at the table privy to the full extent of Oliver's betrayal. Remus showed a similar displeasure, and it made Draco feel good to know that all of Harry's friends felt the same way.

He was so caught up in giving Wood the evil death glare and creating fanciful scenarios that usually ended up with Wood having his bollocks hexed off, he paid little attention to the meeting. It came as a surprise, then, when they adjourned for lunch. Nearly everyone was gone, and Draco quickly saw Harry in deep conversation with Charlie, who seemed to be giving him plenty of reassurance. Wood was nowhere in sight.

Draco heard his name, and saw Severus beckoning from his conversation with Dumbledore. He stood and carefully made his way over to them. "...Which is why I find that I'll only be able to handle less than half my usual number of classes. I had hoped that my recovery would have progressed further by now, Albus, but it seems that it might have to wait until Christmas."

Dumbledore looked grave. "Are you sure you are up for that much, Severus?"

Severus nodded. "I know it's short notice, but I had hoped that we wouldn't need this at all. Madame Pomfrey will concur. I tried to locate Horace Slughorn, but he appears to be in poorer health than myself." Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

"I'd like to suggest perhaps that Mr Malfoy could be utilised more fully until the end of the year? I know it's not a part of his formal apprenticeship, but with classes starting in two days, I can't see any other alternative."

"What's this?" Draco asked, finally paying attention to the conversation.

Severus looked apologetic. "I had hoped to spare you, Draco. I did try to talk to you earlier about this, but I wasn't absolutely sure until this morning. I'm sorry, but it seems that I am not quite as fully recovered as I had hoped."

"You need me to assist – I understand, Severus," Draco finished. It must have pained Severus to have to admit to this weakness about his health. It was blatantly obvious to everyone that Severus was unwell. The tremors in his hands had barely stopped during the whole meeting. He had guessed for a while that Severus would not be brewing many of the potions that took up his time outside his teaching duties and he was fully prepared to take on that burden for Severus. Draco had wanted to discuss the problem with him discreetly, but it seemed they would be discussing it now.

"No, Draco. I need you to _teach._"

Draco just blinked and had nothing to say. _Teaching._

"I trust you with all my students, Draco. I have no qualms that you would undoubtedly be a more effective educator than myself. Look, I know this isn't how you expected to continue with your apprenticeship as it will cut considerably into your research time. My recovery is not progressing as quickly as I expected, but I expect to have recovered enough by the new year. I fully expect to return to my full duties by then."

Draco saw Dumbledore's intense gaze as he was still processing this news. He could sense the unspoken Legilimency directed his way, but the intrusion was gone before he could process any sort of block. "Do you think you could handle teaching the first through fourth year students, Draco? I wouldn't be asking this if Severus didn't trust in your abilities. It will only be for this term, of course."

He looked at Severus' shaking hands and felt a stab of guilt. It was his fault. Did he have any other choice? "Sure" Draco shrugged. He could teach for four months. It was only half a normal teaching timetable, and the small part of his brain that was questioning his sanity in accepting was very quickly drowned out by a heavy sense of responsibility.

"Very well, it's settled." Dumbledore nodded.

Harry seemed pleased when he gave him the news – even a little excited. Unfortunately, it meant that he didn't have a chance to spend any time at all with Harry that day. He wanted to lend his support about Oliver, but Harry was putting on a brave face and convinced him that he could certainly put the git in his place. Draco wasn't convinced, but only when Harry physically dragged him out of the room to head down to Severus' office did he feel confident that Harry would be all right. Harry felt he might be able to handle his ex, but Draco had a deeply rooted suspicion that Wood's motivation to come and work at Hogwarts wasn't entirely noble. He wanted to keep a very close eye on the prat.

Unfortunately, Severus had other plans. It seemed he wanted to cram the entire term's curriculum into Draco's head all at once, and he wasn't in any rush. By mid afternoon, his head was aching and his eyes were throbbing from staring at parchments.

He felt confident with the curriculum and content he needed to teach, but he was suddenly daunted by the actual responsibility of teaching. He was going to be responsible for their learning, their minds and their safety. A sense of apprehension overwhelmed him and a tension headache began to play at the back of his neck. He realised he would have to put in more time than he anticipated. He hoped Harry would understand. Now, if only he didn't have to keep an eye on Oliver Wood at the same time...

Draco's confidence that he could hold his own in front of a class came from his tutoring at _l'institut_, but at least those students had all managed to 'Exceed Expectations' at NEWT level potions, so they were all able to brew beyond the basic level. Severus had prepared detailed dossiers on each student going into second through fourth years, and apparently most of them were certified imbeciles. _Sweet Merlin, some of these kids make Longbottom look like a genius. _Draco quickly reprimanded himself for such a thought. _You have to stop being so uncharitable toward him – he's marrying Arianna. Still, He was rather clumsy around a cauldron. I hope for everyone's sake he's grown out of that._

Working through Severus' notes and plans made for a long day, but Draco knew it was necessary for both of them to go through things thoroughly. He spent a lot of time worrying about Harry, and tried to get back as soon as he could, but it was well after supper when he finally made it through the door of their rooms.

The fire was low and the only sound was the trill hooting of Melchett as he nested noisily atop the armoire. An answering hoot came from the high rafters, and he noticed that Harry's owl, Hedwig, was making herself comfortable. It seemed now he was not only inviting Harry in, but a menagerie. Noticing Draco's stare, Hedwig hooted dolefully and turned her back. He could have sworn Melchett sniggered, but he ignored them. Petite Amie greeted him with one open eye. It was cool in this late hour and she didn't plan on moving any time soon from her warm spot by the fire.

"Harry?" Draco called out in concern, but as he turned, he noticed the familiar mound in his bed, snoring quietly. He didn't realise he released a sigh of relief. _Where else would Harry be? _It was unusual for Harry to be asleep this early, but he let out his own deep yawn as he watched the subtle rise and fall of Harry's chest.

The earlier worry on Harry's face had not disappeared with sleep. That deep furrow in his brow was still there. He wanted to kiss away that worry and regretted his absence. He would have liked to talk about Wood, but responsibility came first - unfortunately. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, he cast a quick spell to quietly take off his shoes. Harry stirred, and he quickly found himself pulled down into a sleepy and sloppy kiss.

"Everything all right?" Draco asked a sleepy Harry.

"Mmm, tired... big day... What... Did Snape bore you to death with fine details, or were you scrubbing out cauldrons?" Harry smiled, but Draco could sense Harry's unspoken concern.

"Severus is fine, but he's very thorough. The students are all incompetents, of course."

Harry snuffled sleepily in a half laugh. "Of course they are..."

Draco smiled as he quickly stripped before ducking down under the covers. His feet were cold but he refused to believe that his knee was causing poor circulation in his right leg. He automatically put his feet up against Harry's warm legs. Harry protested for just a second, but quickly pulled Draco in for a cuddle.

Harry snorted sleepily. "Draco, 'Choo don't think I'm clingy, do you?"

"What on earth would make you ask such a question?" Draco watched Harry, not sure why he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Just wondered, s'all."

Harry was asleep again before Draco cast the last of the spells to extinguish the lights. His mind raced, and it took a long time to fall asleep. Listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of Harry's breathing was helping. He was just about to nod off when he realised that this was the first night they had fallen asleep before making love. He was too tired to think any further on it, but his subconscious vehemently denied it had anything to do with the fact that Oliver Wood was now sleeping within the castle.

If only Harry had been awake five minutes longer, they could have had that conversation about Wood, and things might have played out differently over subsequent weeks.

--oo0oo--

Harry had also kept himself busy during that afternoon. Most of it was spent with Remus sorting out which days Harry would be teaching alone, and which days they would teach together. Remus was happy for some of the practical classes each week to be split so that each took half the students and they could devote more attention to them. In the back of his mind he knew that he needed to do a proper hand over of student progress to Oliver, and this thought played on his mind for most of the afternoon. He would have liked nothing better than to have shoved a folder of parchments under the bastard's nose, but thinking that he was going to be handing the job back to Hooch, he didn't do as thorough a preparation as he should.

He was still in shock over the sudden appearance of Oliver, who had proceeded to annoy him in every way. Harry had no idea what he thought he was doing, but the double entendres and blatant innuendo reminded him more of a slutty version of Gilderoy Lockhart than the Oliver he once remembered. Harry couldn't help wondering if he had really changed that much (he'd never expressed a desire to teach or coach before, but Oliver never thought too far beyond the next game), or if this was the real Oliver and he'd just been living under an illusion for all those months. This new persona of Oliver's truly reinforced Harry's ideas that he didn't want to talk to him or spend any time around him if possible. However, as he was forced to spend time around him for work-related duties, he found himself wanting to ask all the questions that had been left unanswered after that Valentine's night when he threw Oliver out of their apartment and out of his life. He knew logically that there was no need for it, those answers would make no difference in his life now that he'd found Draco, but Oliver tended to bring out the worst in him – including all his old insecurities.

Charlie, bless him, managed to rescue Harry before he could hex the new Quidditch master, and before the git could try to wangle any more information out of him about his love life. Harry dined with Charlie that night whilst Severus and Draco were locked away with their potions and their parchments. They talked about inconsequential things – mostly Charlie's plans for the Magical Creatures classes, but neither brought up the topic of Oliver Wood, even if Charlie left plenty of openings in the conversation for Harry to do so. Harry was grateful for the consideration, but he just wanted to get to bed and curl up next to Draco and forget all about the day. Oliver's words from earlier kept replaying, and he wondered if he was a little too clingy with Draco.

Of all the things he latched onto – it was that throw away comment of Oliver's.

Thankfully, Draco put that to paid when he finally joined him in bed.

As he fell asleep, his fears alleviated, he realised that he and Draco had barely done more than kiss since early that morning. Neither seemed to have the energy to do more than just hug, which seemed to be all he needed right now.

* * *

**II. All that you build...**

**Monday September 1, 2003**

The first of September was always a busy day at Hogwarts. The students might not be arriving until late, but the teachers had worked all day in preparation. Harry woke with a headache, and Draco somehow tossed and turned all night. Neither of them got the solid sleep they needed, and they woke late – foregoing T'ai Chi. Draco barely had time for a cup of coffee, as Harry prepared toast lathered in lemon curd. A quick peck on the cheek and they were both out the door.

It was a long and physically tiring day for Harry. A second Defence classroom opposite the main one had been put aside for Harry, and he wanted it to mirror Remus' room in every way possible. He could have just used magic to rearrange the room, but he didn't mind the hard work. He also didn't want to admit that he was tired, and his wand arm was feeling a little off. He really didn't want to risk his magic becoming erratic. He would avoid casting any spells as long as he could, and get a good night's sleep. It was almost as if his magical stores were depleted and needed a day to recharge. He hated this lack of magical control and he was unused to it as he became healthier. Unfortunately, today was one of the bad days, and it was frustrating.

Of course it hadn't help that he wasted so much energy the previous day stressing about Oliver. He was angry at himself for letting the git get to him. Surely it wasn't pure coincidence the git took the job, but Harry knew he needed to be able to continue normally, even with Oliver around. Having Draco around was a blessing, for he knew he was going to need the support.

For his part, Draco spent the better part of the day surrounded by the remaining stores that needed bottling, labelling and storing. It was one of his least favourite and most thankless of tasks. Ever mindful of the date, he knew he would have to start some early preparations on the Wolfsbane within the next couple of days. Having two werewolves to work with was exciting, and he hoped the classes would not interfere with his research. The current formula seemed to be working well, but Draco wanted to decrease the amount of Belladonna in the base and replace it with Murtlap. It was something he suspected might make a difference.

He looked forward to seeing Maggie again. Draco had met the young lass during the summer when Remus had brought her to the school during the last full moon. Harry had also been eager to meet her and Draco was as surprised as everyone else to learn that Harry and Maggie had already met. Harry later told him that there was no way he could forget that child, as she had struck a chord within him when he met her on the street a few months earlier. She still seemed shy, but there was an inner strength that he could see slowly blossoming. Harry suspected there was something special about her, and had no inkling she carried such a curse, as she seemed to take it in her stride.

Unfortunately, she would barely have enough time to settle into school before her first transformation on September 10. Remus had a special room attached to his quarters that he used during the full moon. Over the summer he had worked to turn an abandoned storeroom near the kitchens into a room for Maggie's use.

The school board were fully aware of her situation, but new laws pass by the Minister, Arthur Weasley, prevented any discrimination against her being educated, provided the school had adequate safety measures in place. The secure room and the Wolfsbane potion certainly covered that aspect.

Remus had spent both summer transformations with Maggie, just so that her wolf became familiar with Remus in his wolf form, and she wouldn't spend the full moon howling and fretting over his smell or his presence in the castle. Draco never commented on this wolf pack behaviour, but it was so much more than Remus ever had as a student.

Even before her first day at Hogwarts, Little Maggie Gadbury had already developed the power to wrap grown men around her finger.

Harry managed to successfully avoid Oliver the whole day – or at least he thought he had. He had only just arrived in his room (he almost opened the door to Draco's room, but the wizard in the painting between the door whistled and cocked his head in the direction of Harry's room to remind him), when he heard a confident knock.

He thought it might have been Remus, but as he turned, he got a bittersweet whiff of cologne and all pretence of hospitality was driven away. Oliver was lolling around in the doorway, not even waiting to be invited in. Harry knew for a fact that Oliver's rooms were half way across the castle in another staff wing (he had made a discreet enquiry to Minerva about that. It seemed that Remus and Charlie had already advised the Deputy Headmistress of their awkward situation). It seemed that everyone decided that putting Oliver as physically far away from Harry as possible was a good move. He was extremely grateful for that consideration, although it couldn't prevent the git from loitering around his rooms.

"I don't remember saying that you could come in," he said with a sigh. "What are you doing here, Oliver?"

"Hello to you too, Harry. Must you keep up this hostility?" he asked in an apparently genuine tone. "You seemed to be quite proud to tell me yesterday that you were 'over us'. I'm beginning to wonder if that's really the case." Oliver gave the room an appraising glance. "Nice place, anyway. A little... sterile and cold, even by your obsessively clean standards." Harry wanted to protest. Yes, it looked fairly barren, but he spent most of his time now in Draco's rooms, which were lighter and airier. He spotted the scowling faces in the myriad of photo montages adorning the room and shook his head. He wasn't going to be affected by Oliver's assessment of his life. He had no right.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, whatever. I'll ask again. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to chat... to catch up." Harry's mouth fell to the floor. Oliver seemed oblivious as he wandered over to the sideboard and opened the decanter of Firewhisky, helping himself to a glass. "Despite what happened, Harry, I am concerned for your welfare. I had to see for myself."

"How... noble." Harry had not moved. He feared his temper as he saw Oliver standing there drinking his Firewhisky as if they had never broken up. "As you can see, my welfare is quite well taken care of, thanks for asking."

"You're _really_ with Malfoy?" Oliver asked, his tone changing somewhat to disbelief.

"You obviously are hard of hearing, Oliver. Of course we're together. Why would I say something like that? Are you disappointed that he's not available, or are you hoping that we might give you a free show as proof?"

"I just never thought... you... and _Malfoy_. Last I remember you were trading insults on the Quidditch pitch and you creamed his arse each game. Of course you're still creaming his arse..." Oliver couldn't help the crude innuendo.

"Yes, well I never thought I'd see you in bed with two other men when we were supposedly a couple." Harry was trying to reign in his temper. "At least I know he doesn't lie to me, or pretend to love me."

Oliver raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You seem so sure of that... He's a Slytherin, Harry, they can't be trusted."

"Funny," Harry replied in a monotone. "Only Gryffindors have ever betrayed me. You'll excuse me for giving him the benefit of the doubt."

Oliver said nothing as he stood there and rolled the whisky around in his mouth.

"Look, if you're just here to be a shit stirrer, Oliver, then you can just get out. If I find that you've just taken this job for shits and giggles, then I'll be making sure the school Board finds out."

"Far be it for me to tell you how to live your life, Harry. I know too well that you will always do whatever you damn well please anyway. I just hope that for your sake, Malfoy is willing to follow you in that direction." Oliver drained the dregs in his glass, and slammed it down on the table. He brushed past Harry and put a comforting hand on his cheek. "I actually _do _care about your welfare, Harry – we _were_ friends once. I know things didn't turn out between us, but do you really think Malfoy's changed that much? I mean, yeah, he's fit and all... quite fit, actually, apart from that gammy knee..."

"Why thanks for the assessment, Wood," Draco drawled from the doorway. Harry sighed in relief and Oliver turned in surprise, his eyes flashing. "As I hear it, Harry threw you out – with very good reason. Now, I believe he asked you a question. Exactly what do you want here?" He was leaning heavily on his cane, and he glanced reassuringly in Harry's direction before confronting Wood.

"Malfoy," Oliver nodded and offered a hand to shake. Draco looked at it as if he were being offered a wet fish, but made no move to accept it. Oliver seemed a little surprised and taken aback as he nodded casually. He stuck his neck out and adjusted his collar, turning back to Harry. "Actually, I was hoping we could still be friends."

Harry was incredulous. "Friends? What part of 'I kicked you out of my life' don't you understand, Oliver? We might have been friends back in school, Oliver, but I made some dumb decisions back then," he looked pointedly at Draco as he said that, "and we've all changed since then. I'm no longer a gullible first year, and as such I have no interest in your company in any way."

"In case that was too many big words for you, Wood, Harry's not interested. Neither am I, if that's what you're after." Draco spoke up, putting a supporting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Now, if I ever..."

"What Draco is trying to say, Oliver," Harry grabbed Draco's wand hand and held it firmly in his, "is just stay away. I'm over you, and you gave up all rights of salvaging any skerrick of friendship the moment I found out what you had really been doing behind my back. I'll be professionally civil to you in front of the other staff and the students when necessary, but don't ever expect anything more."

"Very well," the playful smirk at the corner of Oliver's face was gone. He rose to his full height, and somehow managed to turn his nose up at them. "Don't worry, I can take a hint. If that's the way you want to be. Seems Malfoy is rubbing off on you after all." He turned and walked away, his expression unreadable.

Harry couldn't stop staring as his ire rose. "The... _audacity_. How... who does he think he is?"

"He thinks he's Oliver Wood – sexiest thing to ever mount a broom..." Draco replied. He seemed bursting with questions, but Harry quickly cut him off.

"Before you ask, I didn't invite him in. He thought he could just barge in here and take over. Guess he's used to doing that. He didn't give me any warning... he was just here. Thanks for getting him out of here."

Draco nodded, staring at the now closed door. "I still don't trust him. He's up to something."

"Yes, I know he is. I don't trust him either," Harry added. They both looked toward the door and kept private thoughts on exactly what Oliver Wood might be up to.

--oo0oo--

Harry's mood was still sour by the time the first years were making their way to the front of the Great Hall. He was physically tired, and Oliver's presence threw a wet blanket over everything. He tried to forget about Oliver, and knew that despite his best efforts to get over the betrayal, having the git standing there as if nothing had ever happened really made it difficult for him to move on.

Draco wore a scowl as he scrutinised the room, no doubt mentally scheming as his gaze clamped firmly on Oliver when he arrived. Harry knew better than to ask, for he had a very good idea of what Draco might be wanting to do as he unconsciously stroked at his wand. Harry would like nothing better than to hex Oliver into oblivion, but he decided that he really wasn't worth the effort. Besides, with his magic a little erratic, there was no telling how much damage he could wreak.

Harry was bone tired, and he could see the tiredness also in Draco's eyes. The new and sudden responsibility must be quite daunting for him, but Draco seemed to take it in his stride. Harry knew Draco wasn't complaining because he felt a little guilty for Snape's condition, but he had every confidence Draco could cope.

The Sorting Hat's song had something to do with friendship and communication, but Harry wasn't listening to a word. He barely even blinked when it jumped down from the stool and started a jig in front of an unamused Professor McGonagall. His mood, however, was quickly brightened by the sight of young Maggie standing there in her school robes. The first years seemed to be getting smaller and smaller than what he remembered, but Maggie seemed even smaller by comparison. Despite her lack of stature, he could see the hidden strength in the way she carried herself. Such a courageous child. He noticed Draco was looking at her fondly, as was Remus.

Harry had no particular desire to look to his right, for he could still sense Oliver's presence in the room. He resigned himself to the fact that he was just going to have to get used to it. If he was going to lapse into memories every time he got a whiff of that cologne, then he was certainly going to have to build up his reserves. He made a note to reinforce his barriers by meditating more often. _I forgot my T'ai Chi this morning, and I'm bone tired. No wonder I'm letting Oliver get to me. I'll have to talk to Draco about it later. Perhaps we can work on a way to get over it together. I just want him to make me forget._

Seeing Maggie nearly swamped by her robes made Harry quite nostalgic for his own sorting. The ceremony was underway, with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff gaining the first students. As Maggie's name was called, a rising whisper started down at the student tables. It seemed that the rumour of a werewolf student had already reached their ears. They could not refuse her entry to the school, but they didn't have to like it. A few dared to look up in Remus' direction as the werewolf student rumour spread, but he was giving everyone his sternest stare.

All the teachers were focused on Maggie as she walked the few steps toward the Sorting Hat. She seemed oblivious to all the attention. Everyone gave her a warm smile, and she gave a small wave as she passed Remus. She showed no apprehension at sitting on the stool as the Sorting Hat nearly engulfed her whole head.

The hat seemed to take an inordinately long time in choosing her house. Harry was so anxious, he almost didn't hear it when the hat finally shouted "SLYTHERIN!"

He was struck dumb. How could such an innocent young thing end up in Slytherin? "It's not possible," he unconsciously said aloud – louder than the surrounding applause anyway. He found he hadn't clapped, and was stunned by the concerned look on Maggie's face as she watched him. She didn't seem at all bothered by the Hat's pronouncement. If anything, she seemed quite pleased. She slowly made her way down to the Slytherin table, and was greeted warmly by her fellow housemates, despite the catcalls and boos from the other houses.

Draco seemed almost proud that Maggie was in Slytherin. He had not failed to notice Harry's reaction (or hear his disbelief) and his subsequent behaviour at the feast was decidedly cool. Harry hoped it had as much to do with his regular stares in Oliver's direction as it did with his comment.

Before he knew it, the sorting was over and Dumbledore was filling everyone's heads with useless words before introducing the new teachers. The applause for Harry was thunderous, as it was for Oliver. Many clapped politely when Draco was introduced as the Potions Professor for the younger grades. Many suspected that he would be a soft touch after Snape. The applause died down as they began to tuck into the feast.

He really couldn't understand it. Maggie would be eaten alive in Slytherin. She seemed too innocent to truly belong there. He could only guess that the hat saw something in her dark curse that justified her sorting into that house. Draco's mouth was pursed and his mole quivered as he ate. Harry knew he was unhappy, judging from the firm line of his mouth. No doubt they would discuss this afterwards. What was there to say? That he didn't think she should be in that house? He was surprised and concerned. What was the problem with that?

Harry thought he would start the inevitable conversation. "I just don't understand that Sorting Hat..."

"We'll talk about this _later_, Harry," Draco said coolly, that reserved Malfoy mask suddenly raised. Harry just blinked and stared. Was he really _that _angry?

Draco said nothing as they eventually made their way back to their rooms after the feast. The first words out of his mouth were almost hissed as they reached the door of their rooms. "You're supposed to use _your_ door, remember?"

Harry nodded as he nearly forgot.

Draco was pouring himself a drink when Harry came into their rooms. Draco spoke before Harry had a chance to open his mouth. "I honestly thought you were over your house prejudice, Harry. Are you going to tell me why you think Slytherin isn't good enough for Maggie?" Draco sounded hurt and somewhat defensive.

Harry shrugged. "She just doesn't strike me as being the Slytherin type."

"The Slytherin _type_?" Draco was still on the defensive. Harry had a strange feeling that no matter what he said, he was only digging himself in deeper. This was a side of Draco he had not seen in years, and having it directed his way was not something he ever thought to see again. "What makes you so sure you know exactly what is the Slytherin type?"

"What do you want me to say, Draco? I won't pretend I wasn't surprised, I just can't see Maggie thriving in Slytherin. If anything, she seems too innocent to be in that house. I'm worried that her housemates will skin her alive in her sleep. I mean that metaphorically," he added hastily.

"So now you're saying all Slytherins are thugs?" Draco replied in an unreadable tone. Harry sighed heavily. He knew he should have been a little more tactful. Bringing up the subject had not been his best idea.

"Can't we talk about this in the morning? When I'm not so tired and you're not putting me on the spot?" Harry pleaded. "You have to admit that it's going to take generations for Slytherin to lose its tarnish. I won't be the only one making a snap judgement, no matter how wrong. I just don't know how well she'll cope in the future having to constantly battle that stigma of Slytherin – and don't try to deny it – you know better than anyone else what I'm talking about. That's going to be an extra burden on top of her curse."

Draco was fiercely proud of his house, but knew Harry had a point. He closed his mouth, conceding the point. "Perhaps the Sorting Hat saw her driving ambition – a constant need to prove herself against adversity. Perhaps it put her into Slytherin so that she could make friends with the people who could help best nurture that drive and encourage her," Draco said quietly.

Harry could see his point. Maggie could not have made it this far without great strength of character. He was about to open his mouth to agree, but Draco wasn't finished yet. "The last time I checked, Slytherin house wasn't just full of Dark Lords and Potions masters. Besides, you seem to forget that despite a few bad eggs, most Slytherins have managed to become normal working members of society. We didn't corner the market on Death Eaters and bullies either, as you well know."

Harry was feeling uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He regretted ever opening his mouth, and wished desperately for a Time Turner.

"Can we just forget I ever opened my mouth and said anything, Draco? I... I'm just tired, s'all." Harry's yawn wasn't just for effect, he really was exhausted.

Draco's expression was still cast in stone as he banished away the empty glass. "We'll talk about it later, then." He headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Harry seemed confused. It was late. He was ready for bed, yet Draco made to leave.

"I have to go down to the dungeons to meet the Slytherins. Severus wants me to get more involved that way, just so the students realise I'm actually a professor, not just an apprentice."

"Oh, I didn't know." _You probably would have told me if we didn't start arguing. _"When will you be back?" Harry couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice. He wanted to just snuggle up against Draco in bed, and forget this day, hopefully losing himself in a few moments of bliss.

Harry clamped him on the shoulder before he left, and gave him a quick kiss. "I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath.

Draco let out a breath as his mask fell somewhat. "That's okay. I'm just a little stressed too. I wasn't expecting all this. It's a different responsibility, one I don't know if I really want, but I have to do it for Severus. After Wood pissed me off earlier, little Maggie was the one bright spot about tonight, and you... well, I thought you would have been happy for her."

Harry knew better than to say anything, so he just nodded. Draco continued. "If anything," he almost whispered, "she does have a strength of character that reminds me of..." Draco shook his head. "No matter, I'm not going to dredge up more depressing shit."

"She reminds you of Daphne, doesn't she?" Harry replied quietly. Draco just nodded. Now Harry could see why Draco was so pissed off. Harry had just insulted the memory of his first love, and now he felt even more like shit.

He tried waiting up for Draco to return, wondering just how he could make everything better. It was hard to change a lifetime of thinking about Slytherins. Harry had started to change his opinions about Snape and Draco after he realised the work they did during the war, but that hadn't quite extended to everyone else in Slytherin house. He was going to have to work hard to try and overcome that. As he fell asleep, he noted that Draco hadn't once insulted Gryffindor, and it made him feel even worse.

He fell asleep before Draco came back. He vaguely remembered a kiss and a warm body pressed up to his, but when he woke up, the bed beside him was again empty. He could hear familiar sounds and knew that Draco was already in his lab. It seemed Draco was going to take this teaching gig quite seriously, which was commendable, but he worried if this was what Draco wanted. Harry pondered this as he did his T'ai Chi. He knew it was being done out of a sense of duty, but he guessed that Draco would take on more stress and worry than was absolutely necessary.

That worried him. He made apology by bringing in a cup of coffee for Draco, and they had a long kiss. He said no more on the topic of their disagreement, and Draco didn't bring it up either. He made his own apology for not being able to make it to T'ai Chi. He was busy, and Harry could sense the first day nerves. He was hiding them well, but Draco was mentally making lists and burying himself in this new work. If anything went wrong, he would be making a melodrama of it. It was endearing and made Harry smile.

They never mentioned Maggie's sorting again, but Harry knew that something unresolved was hanging over their heads. It felt like a leaking pipe that had been temporarily patched up with Spellotape. He knew it was only a temporary fix, but he wanted to hold out as long as possible before getting a permanent repair.

Oddly enough, he was halfway through a class when it struck him that they'd not made love since Oliver Wood stuck his great size 12 dragon-hide boots back in their lives. He dismissed that thought just as quickly, but it stayed – nagging and eating away at the very back of his mind.

* * *

**III. All that you break...**

A subtle shift in their lives occurred after that day. If Harry had to go back and pinpoint the cause, he would probably blame Oliver, but he was wary of saying anything about Maggie's sorting, which led him to avoiding other topics with Draco that might be contentious. This included the topic of Oliver. He hated fighting, and didn't want to trigger Draco's ire, which was close to the surface now that he had to deal with students on a daily basis. They were both so busy with work that the subtle nuances of their relationship fell by the wayside. They did, however, make time every morning for their T'ai Chi, causing a few glances in their direction by a few early rising students.

They did everything in their power to ignore Oliver, who seemed to be constantly hanging around the fringes. Unfortunately, it was always in public places, where he had every right to be, which annoyed the crap out of Harry.

Harry was revelling in his role as Remus' assistant. He never felt happier about his career as he threw himself into lesson planning and preparation. The actual teaching was a joy, and naturally, most of the students loved him. Many thought he would be a soft touch (particularly since he was so easy going as a Quidditch instructor), but they were sadly mistaken.

Some of his classes were verging on reckless, but Dumbledore and Remus had both seen the need for these lessons, and approved their delivery. Looks could be deceiving, and once he gained the students trust with his affable behaviour, he made a very poignant point. Most students warmed to him easily, and some trusted him implicitly. One day he began turning his wand on them and casting some rather painful (but certainly not dangerous) spells. Only a few of the students were prepared with shield charms, so the majority spent the day rubbing at sore spots on their bodies.

It might not have been delivered in the same 'in your face' style as Moody, but the message about constant vigilance was delivered just the same. If it meant that students thought twice before judging, or made them more on their guard when meeting strangers, then his job was done.

At the same time, many of the younger students thought they were going to have an easy time of Potions classes without crotchety old Snape. They could not have been more mistaken. Professor Malfoy's tolerance level seemed to be even lower than Snape's, which caused quite a number of mediocre students to leave class crying, or scrabbling and working twice as hard to get a satisfactory result. Draco was constantly frustrated by the students' lack of aptitude for the subject. It was a concept he was unwilling to accept, as it came so naturally to him and was such an important part of his life. He was not reticent in showing them his displeasure.

In his frustration, he might have seemed snappish and scowled often. That wasn't to say he was unfair in meting out justice. He only took off points for stupidity and incompetence, and that was spread evenly amongst the four houses. But the students who showed an aptitude for brewing were few and far between, and Draco found himself gravitating to those students. He would return to his rooms highly strung and often stressed. Having to clean up after several dangerous near misses a day was beginning to take its toll.

If he didn't appreciate Severus' fortitude before, he certainly did now. He unconsciously found himself counting down the days to Christmas, even if a part of him knew realistically that Severus wasn't going to be back to teaching classes by then. Harry certainly offered plenty of sympathy, even if he thought Draco might have been a little unreasonable with his hellishly high standards. He seemed to be of the opinion that the students had to make mistakes to be able to learn from them, and where else could they make those mistakes except at school. Draco didn't think philosophy worked well in a Potions classrooms surrounded by volatile ingredients, but he never corrected Harry's opinions. He really didn't want to fight.

It was a stressful time for the both of them, with their routines often getting in the way of their love life. Their summer of passionate lovemaking had turned into brief, yet intense sessions that seemed to be occurring all too infrequently for either of them. It played on both their minds, but neither of them seemed able to broach the topic in conversation.

_It's nothing really. I'm sure all relationships fizzle a bit in the physical department. We're connected on a deep spiritual level, and that's what's really important in a relationship, right?_ Harry knew, even as he tried to convince himself of this, that there was a sceptical voice deep within him worrying about their decrease in sexual activity, the nagging proximity of Oliver Wood and the toll of their busy schedules on their personal time.

**Friday 10 October**

The disagreement over Maggie seemed to be all but forgotten in Harry's opinion. But then again, he never brought it up and neither did Draco. Even so, she always seemed to be at the forefront of his thoughts. The students usually had varying reactions when first meeting Harry Potter, but most of them verged on awe of some degree. Maggie had none of that wide eyed awe, and she seemed rather proud of the fact she had met him before Hogwarts. She never seemed to gloat about it, but it helped her to carry an air of comfortable familiarity and she would always give him a wide smile.

He had kept a very watchful eye on her, and she appeared to be doing quite well, which pleased him no end. Her head was always held high and she seemed to have made a couple of young friends. What surprised him the most was the small band of first and second year boys who seemed to constantly follow her around. She seemed oblivious to their presence, which made Harry smirk even more. She was going to be quite a handful when she was a little older, and the hormones kicked in.

She proved to be an average student with no real outstanding skills in any particular area. She seemed very keen on Potions, but that was possibly mostly to do with necessity more than anything else. Her very close relationship with Draco, and a realisation she was going to need to take the Wolfsbane potion for the rest of her life might have also spurred her on.

Harry had to reassess his initial opinion of her. Far from the innocent gem he thought she would be, Maggie was also rather adept at getting herself caught out in trouble. Harry watched as yet again she was about to throw a hex at her bullying foster sister, Corrine, who was obviously just waiting for an opportunity to catch her alone. Harry stepped in before Maggie earned herself yet another detention. Young Corrine, however, had obviously not learned her lesson about bullying, and she wondered how she managed to land in detention when Maggie got off without any apparent punishment.

"You know, Maggie," Harry walked with her back to the Slytherin common room, "throwing hexes when you're angry isn't usually the best way to solve problems. It doesn't make the problem go away, it just only gets you into trouble."

"I know, sir, but she always tries to goad me just before the full moon, and I can't help but snap back." Harry nodded in understanding, and realised it might be more difficult to curb if it was a symptom of the lycanthropy. Remus was usually a little less patient on the days leading up to the full moon. He would just have to keep an eye on Corrine on those days. Maggie was still talking. "Did you ever get into trouble when you were at school, Professor Potter?"

Harry just smiled. "I might have had my fair share of detentions, Maggie, but I had to learn to control my temper. Hexing people doesn't really solve anything. A friend of mine once tried to hex Professor Malfoy, and it ended up rebounding. He was throwing up slugs for a day. It wasn't pleasant."

The story got the desired response and Maggie giggled. "Corrine thinks it's fun to tease me about my _condition_. She seems to turn up whenever I'm alone. I try to ignore her, but she is so persistent. I was hoping she might ignore me now that I'm not in her house, but at least I have friends who I didn't have to bully to get." Her smile was infectious and Harry couldn't help but grin too.

"I told you that you would make friends here, didn't I?" She nodded. Harry knew he could now easily broach the subject. "Is anyone in Slytherin giving you a hard time about your lycanthropy?"

"Oh no, nobody is, Professor. Just Corrine... and a few of the Gryffindors occasionally say stuff, but I just tell them that I'll be talking to Professor Lupin, and they keep quiet."

"Well then, you are very lucky." Harry seemed relieved and somewhat surprised about the other Slytherins, but he was very glad he was wrong about them.

"Where are we going, Professor?" Maggie asked as Harry began to take her to the corridor that lead down to the dungeons.

"Aren't you heading down to your common room? You should really be doing your homework before dinner."

Maggie blushed, and looked at him with eyes wide. "But sir! Have you forgotten already? It's a full moon... I was just on my way to see Drac... Professor Malfoy."

Harry realised his own mistake. He knew it was the full moon because he'd been planning to teach the Defence classes on his own the following day.

"Of course you are. Well, since I'm headed back that way, why don't we go and visit Professor Malfoy together?" Harry was feeling a little guilty for ever thinking Maggie could not cope in Slytherin, but he was glad her answers were positive. If any of the Slytherins had given her an ounce of trouble, he would have been down there so quickly...

"Promise me now that you will come to me if you ever have any trouble from your housemates, won't you."

She nodded. "Professor Malfoy's already made the same offer," she smiled. "He was a Slytherin too... oh, but you knew that, right?"

Harry smiled widely. "Yes, I know that."

"You know, I'm really glad I chose Slytherin," she admitted quietly.

Harry was completely surprised. "You _chose_... what do you mean?" Long forgotten memories of his own sorting was coming back, and he had a sense of déjà vu.

She shrugged, "Oh, well the hat said I could do well in either Gryffindor or Slytherin. I remember hearing that Drac... Professor Malfoy was a Slytherin, and he's been so nice to me when I came here this summer. I thought perhaps Slytherin might help me to be really clever like him."

Harry smirked and nodded. "Yes, Professor Malfoy has that effect on people when they are wearing the Sorting Hat," he mumbled. Now things were making sense.

"What do you mean, Sir?" Maggie asked. "Wasn't I supposed to do that?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"No, of course not. You had a choice to make, and that's always difficult. You made your choice for noble reasons, and so you must have done the right thing. Professor Dumbledore always says that it's our choices that make us who we are. I used to hear that all the time, then one day I realised he was quite correct!"

Maggie seemed to be absorbing every word with her eyes wide and a serious look on her face. She was starting to look weary, and Harry realised that it was getting closer to sunset.

"Where do you spend the night of the full moon?" he asked.

"Remus... Professor Lupin has a special room made up for me next to the kitchens."

Harry couldn't help but look worried. He knew the transformation would be painful, despite Draco's Wolfsbane potion. "That's okay, Maggie. You know, if you want to call us by our names when we're in private company, that's okay. Remus and Draco don't mind, and you can call me Harry, if you like. Will you be okay tonight?" he asked automatically.

"Don't worry about me, Harry," she whispered as they headed up the last corridor. "I've done this loads of times before. It hurts," she was reassuring him, "but Professor Ma... Draco's potion really just makes me tired, and after the transformation, I just feel like sleeping. I didn't wake up until I was transforming back last month. That made the time go faster, and because I didn't do anything to hurt myself, the pain didn't seem to stay around as long."

Harry could not believe this tiny girl was describing such a painful experience as the werewolf transformation. She made it sound no more painful than having to work on an unpleasant assignment. He quickly decided to change the subject.

"I hear from Professor Wood that you are quite talented on a broom," he offered in way of an apology. He ignored Oliver for the most part, but he couldn't help but listen when he overheard a conversation with Professor Flitwick about her innate talent.

She smiled broadly at the thought of her first broom lessons. "It was so much _fun_! The broom just came to me, and I flew!" Her whole demeanour changed for the better as she talked about flying. Harry could not help his own broad grin as she kept talking.

"So Professor Wood thinks you might be good enough to try out for your house Quidditch team?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, suddenly sullen, "but..."

"...But what?"

"But I've never played Quidditch. I love to fly, but I don't know if I would be any good with the game. I've never played before."

Harry sized her up in less than a fraction of a second. With her tiny frame and her apparent talent on a broom, Harry sensed his own record as the youngest Seeker in a Century might soon be broken.

"I'll let you in on a secret – I never learned about the game until the day _after _I was picked for my Quidditch team. Perhaps you just need some tuition – at least so you can show your talent when Slytherin has their team tryouts. I know they are looking for a Seeker this year."

Maggie's eyes lit up with excitement, but she was quickly subdued. "I thought about asking Professor Wood, but he's always too busy to help anyone after class."

Harry pursed his lips temporarily at Oliver's dismissal of the students. What sort of teacher was he if he didn't attempt to help them? He wondered for a moment exactly what possessed Oliver to come to Hogwarts. He had certainly never expressed a desire to teach before. No doubt the loss of status at Puddlemere hurt his ego. 'Quitting' the league to become a coach still left him with his dignity intact with his fans. Undoubtedly that was the sort of story he would spin when looking for others to share his bed. Harry shook his head. Why would he ever waste any time thinking on Oliver?

He turned back to Maggie. "Well I'm not too busy. I you like, I could take you out and show you how to play Quidditch..."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I can show you how to play, and what you need to do as a Seeker. You're just the right size for that position, but we can see if you might make a better Chaser or Keeper. But we should keep it a secret. We wouldn't want everyone to know what we're up to. We could surprise Professor Malfoy when you come to try out for his old team. He used to play Seeker for Slytherin, you know."

He knew from the immutable smile that she would have turned around on the spot to go to the pitch and start lessons, if not for the full moon. Planting the idea in her head seemed to be a very good diversionary tactic. Maggie quickly forgot her glumness at the impending transformation as she winked at Harry as he left her with Draco and Remus. His offer to help her had been genuine. If she was talented enough to be a Seeker, then she needed someone to guide her. That person should have been the Quidditch master, but he was obviously too busy polishing his broom to care.

His own reasons for offering help to Maggie were not entirely without benefit to him. Helping her get onto the Quidditch team might go a long way to balancing the scales and make things up to Draco for his slur against Slytherin at the Sorting feast. It would be a great surprise for Draco, and he couldn't wait to see the look on his face when she tried out.

* * *

**IV. All that you reason...**

The tutoring sessions for Maggie had become something of a secret thrill for Harry. He grudgingly admitted that Oliver could recognise raw talent on a broom, and he had not been mistaken about the girl's skill. Natural instinct combined with very quick reflexes proved that she was going to be hard to beat as a Seeker. There was no question the Slytherin team would select her, but Harry was enjoying the time on the broom, knowing that it was all he could do to apologise to Draco for ever having questioned Maggie's sorting.

Draco had been right about Slytherin being the right house for Maggie. Once she overcame her shyness, and her confidence had been boosted, she proved to be a determined young lady who needed to prove herself. Her assured determination to excel at learning Quidditch made her a perfect student. Harry reluctantly admitted that she was much faster and quicker to the Snitch than he ever was, but he conceded that age and size were both against him now. Teamed with his _Firebolt HP_, she was a joy to watch in the skies.

In all the time he spent down on the pitch and in the Quidditch sheds, he was fortunate to avoid running into Oliver. The git was rarely there after classes. He was so busy pandering to his 'fan club' to notice that they were regularly using the pitch. Harry was grateful for once for Oliver's over-inflated ego, but it made it easier for him to help Maggie without any interference.

Keeping it hidden from Draco was a little harder. He had been questioned more than once about the amount of time he was spending down at the Quidditch pitch. His sudden interest in getting back on a broom so often seemed a little suspicious to Draco, and Harry sensed what Draco might be really thinking. He could banish the sweat soaking his Quidditch robes, but even then he could barely hide the windburn on his face or the extra tangles in his hair. He knew it was hard enough for Draco to see him enjoying himself on a broom (when he had trouble just walking to the Great Hall), so he tried his best to say nothing and not rub his enjoyment in Draco's face. There was something bothering Draco, but he knew the surprise with Maggie would make his deception worthwhile.

After another session where Maggie was learning the finer points about dodging Bludgers, he headed back to their rooms. His timing was perfect for sneaking back in for a quick shower. Draco was quite the creature of habit, and with his new class responsibilities, his timetable had become predictable. He should be having his regular afternoon tea with Remus. Despite all the extra work with the teaching, he was still putting in a huge amount of time into his Wolfsbane research, which made Harry smile. His priorities were evident, and he knew that Maggie was quite enamoured with him, if her constant chatter of 'Draco this and Professor Malfoy that' was anything to go by. Of course Harry agreed with her on every point. Draco was so easy to fall in love with, but then again, Maggie had somehow managed to sneak past both their defences as they found themselves caring more for her welfare over that of all of the other students.

This was a night when they weren't expected to be in the Great Hall for dinner, which meant that they could spend an evening in their rooms with a quiet, home cooked meal. They usually could take one weeknight and one weekend night away from the constant stare of the students, and they tried to make the most of this staff privilege. Harry took over cooking duties, which didn't bother Draco in the least. After slaving over hot cauldrons and chopping up ingredients for most of the day, Draco was quite grateful. Besides, he knew he enjoyed cooking.

Draco would always choose a wine to go with Harry's chosen menu. Harry would always be fond of white wines, but Draco was slowly trying to develop his taste in good red wines. Even so, Harry would often try to swing the balance in his favour by cooking mostly Asian influenced dishes, or dishes with seafood, which always went best with a white wine.

Their good hearted debates about wine would usually end with the wine having been imbibed, then one trying to outdo the other in picking on the wine whilst they sat on the couch in front of the fire. Harry always found it very difficult to stomach a Merlot, but Draco continually insisted on making Harry drink it. He kept telling Draco he didn't care for it, but his reasoning was vague, and Draco continued to push it on him. He really didn't dislike it – it just reminded him of very bad memories. It wasn't Draco's fault that the only wine Oliver would drink was Merlot, and Harry couldn't look at a bottle without thinking of times that he was still trying desperately to forget. Draco would always scoff at his paltry excuses, but he really didn't want to bring up the topic of Oliver, so he kept making it up.

At least once a week they would try to get out of the castle altogether and eat out down at Hogsmeade with Emmaline, or with Remus and his new beau. Remus' mystery date turned out to be Jean-Paul, which amused Draco no end. Jean-Paul lived in one of the small flats above the shops down from _The Leaf and Bean_, and he opened up a small shopfront as an alternative healer.

Harry could not help but feel a little jealous that Draco could get on so well with Jean-Paul. For an ex lover, they seemed to have a fairly good rapport. Harry could only assume that it was because they never really 'broke up' when Draco realised he was in love with Harry. Jean-Paul seemed to have accepted that he and Draco weren't destined to be lovers forever, which was such a mature attitude. If only Harry could somehow see his way to forgiving Oliver. Perhaps one day he could – when Oliver found himself in love with someone who managed to rip his heart out through his throat in pain. Yes, he might be able to forgive him then.

Harry had plans to cook Atlantic Salmon in Dijon lemon sauce with wild wizarding mushroom risotto – a meal he found in a tattered old recipe book in the kitchen drawer at Grimmauld Place. It seemed to be one of the few books from the Black collection that didn't make mention of the Dark Arts. It had piqued Harry's interest in part because it contained some very special recipes that had been handed down in the Black family for generations. He almost threw the book away the first night he cooked something out of it for Draco. He was worried he might have poisoned him after Draco started to move in paroxysms of apparent pain as tears streamed from his eyes.

The Carpathian Moose Mousse with whipped Elvish winterberries was apparently a favourite dessert of Narcissa's, and one that Draco never thought he would see or taste again, for his mother said it was a secret family recipe. She had never passed it on to Draco, and he thought it was lost forever. It seemed he had found another little piece of Draco's history that was bringing them closer together. It was the little things like that that made Harry realise just how intertwined their lives and their souls were.

Lost in his musings, he looked at the time and saw he was now running late. Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced towards their rooms for a shower. He would be glad when the Quidditch trials were over and he could confess his role in training and helping Maggie. It was the least he could do to make up for what he now realised was a bunch of careless comments. He knew better than to think of all Slytherins as bad. He would continue to beat himself up over his careless comments, and he realised it had just been an automatic reaction that came from being caught up in the moment and the memories of his own sorting all those years earlier.

He could hear voices as he passed Remus' rooms. _Good, Draco's still there,_ he thought. He could hear their conversation clearly through the crack in the door as he crept past, stopping suddenly when he heard his parent's names.

"...You've got to understand, Draco, that James and Lily barely got around to growing up. They were still so young." Harry's ears perked up. _Why are they talking about them?_ He could not help but listen further as his insatiable curiosity took a hold.

"Yes, and then you and Sirius were broken apart in such tragic circumstances. I'm telling you, Remus, there's a curse." Draco sounded adamant, if somewhat distressed.

"What makes you so certain?" Remus asked, his own worry emanating from his voice.

"Well, it's obvious. Those journals brought Harry's parents together, and then when they discovered they were soul mates, the books somehow found their way to you and Sirius. Lily and James died young, long before their time, and in extreme tragedy. Then the cycle began again, you fell in love only to be led to think your soul mate betrayed you. Years pass and you finally discover each other again, yet just when you thought you had a second chance, Aunt Bellatrix kills Sirius. Now, you try to convince me that there isn't a curse on our journals." Draco was emphatic, and quite serious.

Harry just blinked. He didn't know what to think. _A curse?_ His first instinct was to deny it outright. _Don't be ridiculous._

"I think you're overreacting, Draco," Remus said, which made Harry breathe a sigh of relief.

"Everything's just so... perfect. How can I not dismiss the possibility? You said yourself that James and Lily were blissfully happy until a couple of weeks before they were murdered... and the same for you and Sirius."

"What does Harry think?" Remus asked calmly.

"I haven't said anything to Harry, and I don't want to worry him. He'll take it as a fact that we are destined to have some tragedy befall us and we'll end up dying in a blaze of glory. Our journals are cursed, Remus. Every couple they've brought together have had perfect bliss before tragedy struck. How am I supposed to tell him that we're doomed if he stays with me?"

"Are you saying you want to leave Harry?" Remus asked carefully.

Harry staggered away from the door, almost unsure if he truly heard what he did. _Cursed?_ He had never made the connection, but Draco's words seemed compelling and so blatantly obvious.

_It can't... it's not... don't be absurd. They're just journals. _Harry tried to convince himself that Draco was worrying Remus unnecessarily over some melodrama. _Yes, but you don't know that they aren't cursed... But Ginny checked... Ginny only checked your journal for the presence of any trapped souls. You didn't ask her to do any curse checking, did you? Draco wouldn't... couldn't leave..._

Harry felt numb as he played through every logical and illogical thought. Things were great. He had found his soul mate – the one man who complemented him in every way – the one man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Just when his life was making sense, and he was making solid plans for the future, he was presented with this. Was anything in his life going to be easy?

Part of him was desperate for Draco to be overreacting. Oft times Draco needed a melodrama to keep himself grounded (Harry would admit it was something of an endearing quality), but Harry hoped that the teaching would be enough to keep him distracted from getting involved in any dramatics. Unfortunately, he couldn't totally discount what Draco had said.

His earlier good mood was completely soured and his thoughts were completely taken over by the idea that a tragic curse was hovering over his head. Hadn't he had enough crap for one lifetime? Why should his life be any easier now, just when he thought everything was perfect? Draco seemed a little subdued when he eventually came home, but Harry made no mention of what he overheard. He forgot all cross words and devoted himself completely to his soul mate that evening. If the inevitable disaster was pending, he didn't want to be too far from it.

Harry spent most of the night watching Draco, and he noticed the extra furrow of worry in his expression, and the fact he was chewing his lip. A few times his resolved faltered, and he nearly mentioned the curse, but he found himself devoting his complete attention to their love making. He spent the night with his lips worshipping every square inch of Draco's body, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his slender fingers, and every measure of skin in between.

There was a quiet desperation to his ministrations. Who knew if this would be their last moment together? Harry didn't want to play their usual game of Tantric denial, bringing Draco to climax on his tongue, but before Draco could try to reciprocate, he was again starting his worship, this time taking him on a slow and sensual journey to orgasm that took all night, not once stopping for more than a few moments at a time.

Harry never intended to use his silk scarves in such a manner, but this night he didn't want Draco ruining anything by trying to gain any control. Harry was giving his complete attention over to pleasuring his lover. This night was for him, and by the time the sun was slowly lightening the sky, Harry finally relented and was coming, as was Draco again, and Harry knew that even if they had another one hundred years of life, this night's lovemaking would be difficult to surpass for raw passion and sheer emotion.

Sleep eventually overcame them, and they lay entwined and completely spent, neither wanting the night to end, nor the possibility of impending disaster to loom any closer.

* * *

**V. All that you sense...**

**Friday - 23 October 2003**

Harry resolved to press on and forget any impending disaster, putting on a brave and happy face. He had lived with the prophecy over his head for years, why not this curse? He knew he had a lot more to lose, but he wasn't going to let it rule and ruin his future. He decided not to tell Draco that he was aware of the curse. He was just going to keep smiling and make sure that he made the most of every single moment, in the event that any time could be their last. _Things could only look up from here_, he used as a positive mantra to help him through the day.

As he worked his way through his T'ai Chi and meditations, he made a mental note to contact Ginny to come back and check the journals for any curses. She was busy somewhere over in Europe, hopefully searching for Ron in between her own assignments, but he needed her to do it without Draco's knowledge.

He felt quite calm and centred, putting on a smile, which became quite genuine after a rather invigorating shower. Draco seemed to be in a rather languorous mood as he surprised Harry in the shower. Harry could still feel the twinge and tingle of his muscles as Draco had bailed him up against the wall. It had been over all too soon. He'd come quickly, splattering across the tiles just as Draco made sure he was going to feel those aftershocks well after lunch as he plunged deeply into Harry before coming also.

Draco mood was jovial, as he joked that Harry would be wearing waffle pattern on his face from the bath tiles. That wretchedly cheeky mirror of Draco's (after making several lewd but blatantly obvious comments) showed him that he looked fine – apart from appearing completely flushed and debauched. As much as he wanted to head straight down to breakfast, he had to take another shower just to calm down, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

Draco needed to visit Snape before breakfast, so Harry headed down alone. The Potions master appeared to be suffering a bit of a relapse and Draco had brewed a Polyneuritis Philtre to help ease the degeneration of his inflamed nerves. Draco wasn't fooling himself that Severus would be ready to return to full time classes by the start of the new year, and he was slowly resigning himself to teaching the remainder of the school year. Dumbledore was always reticent to replace teachers mid year, and he knew Severus would refuse to give up any time before then. He knew how hard it had been for Severus to admit that he needed Draco's help, but he only did it because he trusted Draco to do the job to his own standards.

Despite Snape's assertion that Draco was the best person for the job, Draco would still complain bitterly and incessantly about the classes. Even so, he seemed to have found his stride, even if he worked harder than any other Professor in planning and grading his classes. It seemed his level of excellence was even higher than Snape's, which made Harry all the more pleased he was no longer taking Potions class.

Needing to grab some books from his room, he wandered through the door and picked up his class notes from his desk. He noticed the corner of his journal under a pile of parchments on the desk, and the thought of a curse again crossed his mind. He shook it away. His eyes fell on his I-Ching coins, and just for a lark, he tossed them, coming up with hexagram number 49 – _Unmask the truth. _

_Oh great,_ he thought, but continued to consult the reference book. '_An opportunity for ideological change is rife. Outside influences will affect you, despite your reluctance. Pull back from your current direction to take stock. Remove the façade and look for repetitive cycles and patterns to reveal the truth.'_

_Well, that was a complete waste of time, _he thought, putting the book down and heading out to breakfast. If only he had paid more attention in Divination class, he knew he was not going to be in for one of his better days.

--oo0oo--

Even Oliver's presence at breakfast failed to dampen Harry's spirits. Avoiding his ex was often difficult at meal times, but most of the time Draco or one of the other staff members would seek him out for conversation. He silently thanked all his friends for that. Undoubtedly Draco, Remus or Charlie had been talking to the other staff. It seemed even Filch and Mrs Norris were aware of the situation – the unpleasant old cat (how old was she anyway?) seemed to hiss and spit more at Oliver than any other staff member.

Unfortunately he was alone this morning, and Oliver had dodged the gauntlet. "Well, Harry. Nobody needs to guess why you're so happy this morning. Get a bit last night, eh?" Oliver came right up and sat next to him, leaning over and putting a hand on his shoulder as he grabbed a piece of toast before the rack levitated away.

He tried not to flinch from Oliver's invasive touch. "Not that it's any of your business, Oliver, but why would you even care?" he said as he Accioed the pepper grinder from under Oliver's nose. "What could possibly make you think that's the reason for my good mood?"

Oliver tried not to laugh. "C'mon, Harry. I lived with you. I know _that_ look." He leaned in to whisper, "Hell, I think I made you wear that look for a good few days in a row, and I know _exactly_ what makes you grin like that." Harry had the decency to look away as he chewed on his now tasteless eggs. "I never imagined it in a million years that you would end up with that blond git. Who would have thought that all that animosity back in your school days was just unresolved sexual ten..."

Harry tried to keep his voice down as he interrupted. "There's a lot you don't know about Draco, Oliver, and there's even more that you couldn't even begin to comprehend." Harry's appetite for breakfast was quickly waning, just like his happy mood. He really didn't want to be having this conversation with anyone – especially not Oliver – but he continued to chew and stabbed a little too hard at his bacon. He tried not to let Oliver get to him, but he wasn't having much luck. He would give anything for Draco to walk into the Great Hall right at that moment.

"Still," Oliver sipped casually at his tea, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort he was causing Harry, "I wouldn't be complacent if I were you. Wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea and get too comfortable or clingy."

Harry snorted in mock laughter. "Right, and you would be an expert on that topic, wouldn't you?" he finally managed to look directly at Oliver, who didn't seem the least bit perturbed by this. Rather, he seemed... amused. Was he just fishing for details of their sex life? "Despite what you might think, Oliver, Draco and I don't have an open relationship. We're an exclusive couple. It means we don't see anyone else or fuck around, and we don't plan to, not in the short or long term – but I guess that you just don't understand the concept of monogamy."

Oliver continued to smirk as he listened. "Whatever rocks your socks, Harry," he said, seemingly finishing the conversation as he salted his own eggs. Harry looked up and was relieve to see Draco had finally arrived in the Great Hall. He was talking to Maggie and a few of the other Slytherin first year girls. Harry smiled as he realised the students were looking up to Draco as an authority figure, and he seemed to be taking it in stride. The smile on Harry's face widened as Draco looked up and gave him a knowing look.

It seemed Oliver had also noticed the traded smiles. "I suppose he's not half bad. I can just imagine what those lips could do..."

Harry just raised an eyebrow at this comment, but chose not to dignify it with an answer. Draco was the last teacher to arrive at the table and the only seat was on the opposite side. It afforded Harry a rare opportunity to watch him from afar – anything to not have to listen to Oliver's drivel. He quickly threw out any thoughts about curses that played along the edge of his mind, and he just simply enjoyed the opportunity to soak in every detail as he watched his soul mate.

Draco might have loathed his apprentice robes, but Harry found a quiet sexiness in them. The unrelieved black offset that fair hair and those long, pale hands that had always been a fascination to him. Draco threw him a sultry look and he knew that he had been caught out staring.

Ever the exhibitionist, Draco seemed to make every move of his hands more sensual than usual, and Harry had to work hard not to let it affect him too much. Their early morning activities were still fresh in his mind, but he was thinking that a very quick snog in a dark corner of a hall would be needed within the hour. _Perhaps something a little more hands on... I always liked that alcove behind Frederic the Fearless..._

"Well, those hands don't leave much to the imagination, do they?" Oliver said, his mouth half full of food.

_How can he dare to think the same thing? Annoying bastard. _Harry didn't answer as he tried to chew the last of his breakfast. His anger was close to flaring, but biting back wasn't going to help. He had to quell the trickle of magic that rose with his anger.

"Yeah, those hands are certainly talented," Oliver continued. "Not a half bad shag either – I can see the attraction – you always were the tactile sort, Harry. But now I'm curious... who gets to be on top? Wait - don't tell me – you 'share the love equally'." Oliver's tone was completely dripping with what could only be described as jealousy, and Harry dropped his fork with a loud clatter. Harry couldn't contain his magic any longer, and the teacups nearby shattered or cracked.

Harry breathed deeply to calm down, but he just glared at Oliver. He was unable to even articulate an answer that was speakable in front of the students. Oliver didn't seem intimidated or fearful of Harry's little outburst, but as Harry regained control of his magic, something Oliver said played at the back of his mind, and he could see the smirk on Oliver's face widen as he turned back to look at Draco.

Draco seemed oblivious to what Oliver was doing, as he appeared to be deep in conversation with Severus, sharing a heart-warming laugh with the Potions master.

"Never matter," Oliver relented. Harry was too furious to notice Oliver leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Still, he's got a great mouth, hasn't he? The way that tongue wraps around you, and the way that mole quivers as he bites his lower lip during sex... He's got the prettiest face – those lashes are too beautiful and they hide that usual screwed up look most guys get during sex... No – I don't blame you at all, Harry. Who could resist that? Yep, he certainly makes you feel more of a man, doesn't he?"

Harry stood sharply, knocking over his chair. He stared at Oliver in disbelief. Oliver backed away now that he had achieved his goal of riling up Harry. The self-satisfying smirk told Harry it had been his intention all along, and he walked away from the table. He just stood, dumbfounded, not noticing the pair of concerned pale blue eyes that watched the scene before following Oliver Wood's path out the door.

All thoughts of his glorious morning were gone and he fought the bile rising in his throat. His breakfast threatened to come back up as he rushed out of the hall and down to the courtyard. _Oliver is so infuriating. I can't believe what he just said. I refuse to acknowledge that he claims to have slept with Draco... Don't be ridiculous, Harry, he was just trying to get a reaction out of you... But how did he know about that look on Draco's face when he comes? Surely not..._ He shook a ghastly image from his head. Draco had _never_ slept with Oliver. He knew that because Draco told him so. _Draco would never..._

Harry shook his head violently. It was plain ridiculous, and he wasn't going to entertain the notion at all. Oliver had succeeded in ruining his good mood, and he _had _to calm down. He took a deep breath in... then out... repeat... Nothing. Meditation was useless when he was so worked up. The longer it took to become centred, the more frustrated he became. He could only calm down once he continued to tell himself that Oliver had proven himself to be a consummate liar - Harry had no reason to believe anything he said.

Why then, could he not get the idea that Draco had slept with Oliver out of his mind?

Logic was telling him that he had to talk to Draco and ask him, even though he knew it to be a lie. Draco would hound him out for even considering it for a moment, and he needed that reassurance. He raced back towards the Great Hall to see Draco, but a distant bell tolled to warn that classes were due to start. A group of pedantic Ravenclaws stopped him in his tracks long before he reached the hall. Any other time Harry would have been happy to have his brain picked about the finer points of casting non-verbal spells, but right then he wasn't listening to any of their questions.

As it were, these students were in his first class, and they managed to drag him along to the classroom instead of the direction he needed to go. He had no time now – Remus was there and class was starting. Had he thought about it, he would have said that chance was conspiring against him, preventing him from seeking out Draco and an answer.

Harry constantly glanced at the clock, but it seemed to tease him, barely moving as the morning seemed endless. He would need to hurry if he were to make it to Draco's classroom during the lunch hour and have enough time to talk to him. When Draco agreed to take over the younger Potions classes, it was quickly ascertained that the Dungeon classroom would not be suitable with Draco's limited knee motility. A new Potions lab was set up in a disused classroom in the same corridor as the infirmary. It must have once housed Potions classes, for it was set up in a laboratory style, which seemed quite fortuitous.

Unfortunately for Harry, it was the one day of the week when Draco had solid back to back classes of lower year students. Even with magic, it took a very long time in clean up and preparation, and in his usual manner, he wanted to make sure that everything was just right for each class. Draco wanted to actually lead by example – to show that a tidy lab was not just an affectation, but a necessity. This left him with no time to eat lunch on these days, but Harry ensured that Dobby or Gaggy took him something hearty to eat.

Harry knew better than to just wander down there for idle chat, but this was important, and he knew Draco would understand. As fate would have it, he never made it to the lab as he rounded on a group of third years Gryffindors having a not so friendly discussion. He was too late to stop Raji Malik's Hurling Hex from hitting its intended target in Hattie Digglesworth, who began vomiting profusely within seconds.

Gryffindor found themselves fifty points poorer and young Mr Malik found he would be getting up close and personal with the dusty items in the Trophy room for the next few evenings whilst Harry found himself accompanying Miss Digglesworth to the infirmary. He only left once Pomfrey declared that Hattie would suffer no permanent side effects. He looked at his watch and found the he might just have enough time to run down the hall to talk to Draco. He would get an answer from him before the start of afternoon classes.

As he turned the corner, he noticed movement from the alcove behind the statue of Brunhilda the Bold. Halfway along the hall he could see familiar faces, but the sudden ringing of the school bells drowned out any voices. He stopped – surprised to see Draco there. He was about to call out to him, but he faltered when he saw who he was with, blinking several times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Why on earth was Draco half hiding in an alcove with Oliver? Why would he be smiling up at Oliver, who brushed a thumb longingly across Draco's cheek? He was dumbfounded and he stood there for what seemed an eternity as he watched his soul mate and his ex lover sharing what appeared to be a very intimate moment.

Harry tore his eyes away as his heart hammered in his chest. His only instinct was to run. He didn't stop – not even when he ploughed into a horde of students heading to the Potions classroom. _It wasn't... that isn't... I didn't just see... _An awful feeling rose in the pit of his stomach, and he felt sick for the second time that day. This time, he did throw up.

_But why would Draco... I don't... _It was then that he remembered the curse. The damn cursed journals. He couldn't imagine why, but the feeling that something awful struck him at that moment. _Surely Draco wouldn't just... but... is he trying to prevent something from happening to us? By fucking running around behind my back and cheating?_ That morning's I Ching reading came to the front of his mind. _Uncover the truth – I... it can't be._

"Harry!" Remus called out, but Harry didn't hear. "Harry, are you all right?" Remus caught up with him, putting a hand on his back. "Oh... you've been sick."

"I... Remus?" Harry's glazed look finally focussed on Remus.

"You look like shit," he exclaimed as he quickly cleaned up the mess Harry just made. "Came on rather suddenly, did it? You should pop up to see Poppy. You might have eaten something a bit off at lunch. Don't worry about rushing back – even if Poppy fixes you right up. I think I'm pretty sure I can handle the first and second years on my own."

Harry didn't answer, just nodded his head as he blindly walked away. He didn't know where he was going – but it wasn't anywhere near Poppy – not unless she had a cure for seeing hallucinations. He felt numb for the longest time as he wandered the halls back towards his rooms. _Why the hell would he cheat with Oliver? Was it just the fact that there isn't any other competition around? Why the fuck am I trying to justify this?_ The only logical conclusion that came to mind was that Draco was somehow doing it to help come to terms with the journal's curse. _Maybe he's tricking the journals into thinking he's not with me, and the curse won't trigger... No, that's rubbish, Harry, and you know it. He's sneaking around behind your back with fucking Oliver. Oh, Merlin... he is fucking Oliver... But he couldn't lie to me... He was a damn spy during the war – he's a skilled liar... _

Harry had no answer as his thoughts ran every ghastly scenario, but no logical answers came to him and he became desperate to find one. Had he been full of indignant anger, he might have stormed down to the Potions classroom and demanded an answer, but he was just plain... numb.

He never realised the vision replayed and festered in his thoughts all afternoon as he sat in his chair by the fire – plucking absently at a crack in the leather on the armrest. The only coherent thought that passed through his mind was that this could not be a coincidence – Oliver didn't just show up, then Draco didn't just start to become busy. Was he really working during those lunch hours, or had it always been a cover for a secret assignation with Oliver?

It was well past supper and Draco still wasn't home, but by then Harry had run the full gamut of emotions, and was thoroughly convinced that Draco was cheating behind his back with Oliver. He couldn't believe it, and it made no sense, but then nothing in Harry's life ever did. However, that awful feeling in his gut never went away. It was so late, Harry had gone to bed, not even concerned for Draco's whereabouts. He had a pretty good idea, and he really didn't want to know.

But as sleep claimed him, a small part of his mind wanted to believe that Draco _was_ busy down in the classroom, marking papers and preparing bases for tomorrow's classes - alone. He had thoughts of confronting Draco with it all, but was quickly to sleep.

He roused as Draco slid into their bed. Part of his foggy brain tried to wake as he remembered his hurt and pain and fury.

"Sweet Merlin," Draco whispered in his ear. "I am so tired. You would not believe what those fourth year Slytherins were up to. They thought they could get away with brewing Amortentia right under my nose. Not only had they stolen ingredients from my stores, but they were using class time to brew it. I knew they were doing it, but Severus wanted me to make sure I caught them in the act. There was a rumour down in the Slytherin dorms that someone was making a profit selling the stuff to unsuspecting students from the other houses... It seems young Rufus Swickers was the ringleader. If only he could put his talent and effort into brewing what he's supposed to." Draco sighed, not once noticing Harry's silence. "Still, he might get the message after Dumbledore found out and suggested that he spend every night until Christmas scrubbing out cauldrons and cleaning both potions classrooms without magic. I know it means that I'll have to supervise so many bloody detentions, but at least it gave me an excuse to leave all my papers at my desk... leaving nothing for me to bring home... Harry?"

Draco finally noticed Harry was sleeping, and he gave Harry a long kiss on the mouth. "Missed you so much today. Remus told me you weren't well. I should let you sleep."

Just as Draco curled up against him (it felt so good and so right and so perfect – why was he angry?) a light bulb went off in his sleep addled brain. "'Choo were with Dumbledore and Snape?" he asked hopefully.

"Mmm, for most of the afternoon. I tried to floo you, but you had blocked the fire. I figured you were sleeping off whatever was wrong and didn't want to be disturbed."

"Yeah," Harry suddenly felt stupid as he realised that if Draco had been with Dumbledore, he wasn't sneaking around with Oliver. How glad was he that he never confronted Draco with his accusation? Even so, a large part of him wanted to ask what the hell had been going on with Oliver at lunch time, but he was quite befuddled with sleep.

"You feeling any better?" Draco asked, the concern in his voice clearly evident as he ran a concerned hand across Harry's forehead and face. "You do feel kinda warm. Was it only a bug? I can get you a Pepper Up Potion... but that might be best in the morning."

"Yeah, feeling much better," Harry rolled onto his back, his earlier concerns immediately gone at the realisation he'd been foolishly wallowing in a gigantic flight of fancy. How stupid did he feel? He forgot all doubts and all worries about curses and ex lovers as he realised Draco's penchant for melodrama was starting to rub off on him.

He heard Draco's soft snoring on the pillow beside him, as that warm and comforting glow of love suffused him as he hugged Draco tightly. Sleep returned quickly, but even so, that awful gut feeling didn't leave completely, as there were questions still left unanswered.

By the following morning he was feeling much better. He remembered his concern from the day before, but seeing Draco lying next to him, it seemed so foolish. Why should he trust anything Oliver ever said? He pondered asking Draco about what he saw in the hallway near the potions classroom, but he thought better of it. Didn't want Draco to see how foolish he really was.

Even so, that tiny niggle of doubt refused to go away. He could not discount the idea that Draco was hiding something from him. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he felt that way – Draco seemed possibly a little more attentive than usual – or was Harry just imagining it? Was he just trying to make the most of every moment, a bit like he was, because of this great unspoken curse that loomed over them?

Harry couldn't answer his own questions, but he could feel the quiet sense of desperation in the air and knew it was foolish to contemplate anything bad in Draco's intentions. He just had to make the most of every moment – every day – at least until he was certain that Draco was completely wrong about them being doomed if they stay together.

--oo0oo--

By the week of Samhain, Harry had still kept his silence on the matter. It turned out to be a very wise decision, as Draco seemed more irritable than usual. Harry was grateful he said nothing, for Draco was liable to turn around and bite his head off for thinking such stupid thoughts. Some worry was eating away at Draco, and more than once Harry's offers of assistance were met with a snappish growl. Draco would immediately apologise, blaming his mood on the incessant teaching workload and their lack of quality time together. They had not been in Hogsmeade for a couple of weeks, and Draco was often too tired or too wired to work his way through a complete T'ai Chi session. Every time Harry tried to explain that he should be doing more, not less meditation to calm himself down, his words were met with a piercing glare.

They were looking forward to a quiet weekend completely away from everyone. The Sabbat was on the Friday night, and after the Halloween feast, they had made grand plans to go down to Hogsmeade to celebrate with Emmaline, Jean-Paul and Remus, amongst others. Harry was planning a few other surprises for Draco – including a nice romantic dinner and a night of complete seduction. If he had his way, Draco wouldn't go anywhere near a cauldron for the entire weekend.

The last thing he needed now was for something to happen to ruin his plans. Naturally, that's when he got the call about Ron.

--oo0oo--

Harry had waited at the door of Draco's lab as he watched him fend off a swarm of Billywigs. He was obviously having a dreadful time catching the bugs as he tried to pull off the stingers. Draco had all but stormed out of their rooms when Hermione Flooed. Draco looked tired, and Harry knew he was overworking himself. He thought it was time he went and had a talk to Snape. If he couldn't talk some sense into Draco, then perhaps the greasy git could. Harry recalled a mention of fresh stingers being needed for something, but he didn't realise Draco needed to pull them off himself - without the use of magic. He would have offered a hand, but Draco had that determined scowl on his face.

"Damn Merlin," he swore as he was nearly stung. "You know, Harry, you could help instead of just standing there and distracting me," he said, barely glancing in his direction.

"Sorry," Harry said as he came over. Within minutes, Harry had managed to round up the errant Billywigs and collect the stingers. Draco seemed a little put out by this, but Harry could see the weariness in his eyes. Draco took the bowl but nearly dropped it as a Billywig flew into his face, rubbing its bottom as it scowled and squealed and pounded its tiny fists in the air in front of Draco's face. Draco raised his wand threateningly and it quickly scurried into the tank with the other squealing bugs. He closed the lid and flicked his wand, immediately silencing the complaining creatures.

"Well?" Draco asked in a huff as he quickly snatched up the bowl of stingers and turned to the table, seemingly angry that Harry interrupted him. Harry sighed – Draco might be in a snit, and he knew the blond's mood was only going to get worse. He had been avoiding the topic of Ron for weeks, but he couldn't any longer.

"Ow," Draco shook his hand and brought his thumb up to his mouth. The bowl of stingers clattered hard on the bench. Draco turned quickly and had to sit down.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked in concern. "Your knee..." He assumed that Draco's knee had buckled under him. That was another thing worrying Harry. With Draco devoting so much time to his work, he was spending inordinately long hours standing. Harry noticed the new stiffness, but Draco would just glare whenever he suspected Harry was channelling his magic into the degenerative joint.

"... is fine. I'm just a little giddy. I just pricked myself on one of those blasted stingers." He didn't sound fine as he continued to curse colourfully under his breath. Harry offered a helping hand, and it was gladly taken as Draco took a while to get his equilibrium back. Unfortunately he was even snappier than ever after that. "So, were you going to give me an update on the Weasel?" he snarked.

Harry shook his head. He knew this would happen. Every time he spent time talking to Hermione in the Floo, Draco would leave the room in a petulant sulk, and they would end up arguing afterwards. Usually they could make it up later, but that seemed to be happening less and less often.

"You could show some compassion towards her situation, you know," Harry replied, instantly regretting his words.

Draco looked directly at Harry, and stood, his thumb throbbing angrily as he wobbled in giddiness. "_Compassion?_" he whispered. "You want me to show compassion for the fact that Weasel is still missing? I haven't gone soft in the head, Harry."

Harry sighed as he took of his glasses and pushed the palm of his hand into his tired eyes. "You know what I mean," he replied. "Don't put words in my mouth." Harry had purposely avoided any discussion about Ron for this very reason. Draco took great pleasure at cutting Ron down at every opportunity, even after all these weeks. Harry wasn't sure about his feelings for Ron, but the more time that passed after his disappearance, the more concerned he became, and the more he felt he needed to help in some way.

Hermione was sure he wasn't dead - his hand on the Weasley family clock only said he was 'lost'. His disappearance had still managed to stay out of the papers, avoiding any scandal for Arthur. Harry knew that a few Aurors were supposedly looking for Ron, but in his own experience, there would be little leg work being done to search for Ron. He doubted Arthur Weasley was the sort to bribe officials to make them work harder. Unfortunately, the Auror division was still corrupt to a point. He could only shake his head in disgust. The situation made him want to head into Gordon Bridgewater's office and slap him hard around the head for being a complete idiot.

Had anyone kicked up a fuss, then the whole issue would have to go public, so the Weasleys did their own investigating, with all of Ron's family taking turns to search for clues and follow up the few leads that came the way of the Aurors. Unfortunately, these were coming less frequently, increasing everyone's desperation. Only the lingering hope from the Weasley clock kept their flagging hopes alive.

They were taking it one step at a time. None of them wanted to think about what would definitely happen once he was found. Draco's statement about the bank records had Ron pegged as Neo Death Eater sympathiser, and this alone would ensure the Aurors would question him thoroughly. Harry couldn't begin to imagine what the Goblins at Gringotts would do to him as well.

"You obviously have something you want to tell me." Draco murmured. "Have they found the Weasel? Is he in Azkaban?" Harry didn't fail to notice the bitterness in Draco's voice.

Harry just shook his head. "They think they've found him – or at least a lead. Hermione's been following a fairly reliable lead. They want someone to go and get him before the Aurors can get him. They asked me if I'd like to join in the search... Draco was in an argumentative mood, and Harry was tired of beating around the bush. "I said yes."

"Not that I care what happens to that traitorous bastard, Harry, but why you? You're not an Auror any more. Besides, Pomfrey said you should be taking it easy still."

"No, I'm not, but I just... I need to do this, Draco. Something is compelling me to go. I can't ignore my instincts like that. They've been rather helpful before. Besides, you know my magic is back to normal now – there's no reason I can't join in the search now."

Draco snorted, but became suddenly very silent as he concentrated even more on sorting the stingers on the table. Silence from Draco was sometimes worse than argument, or cutting barbs.

Harry scratched behind his ear – a habit that showed his unease, as he took a deep breath. "I'm going with Fred to find him. They seem to think he's hiding somewhere in Cardiff - Wales."

"I do know where Cardiff is, Harry." Draco looked up and finally looked Harry in the eye. "Surely he's got enough brothers to go after his sorry arse. I know Charlie has wasted an inordinate amount of time on this wild goose chase." Harry tried not to become irritated, but Draco seemed frustrated more than angry. "Ron Weasley lost all rights to your friendship the minute he turned his rampant homophobia on you. Come to think of it, Charlie and George shouldn't be out there looking for him either. You owe him no loyalty, Harry."

On some level, he could see Draco's point, but he knew he just had to look. Anything was better than sitting around and just waiting for news. Besides, he didn't honestly believe Ron would willingly do what he had done. There had to be a logical answer, and he was going to find it.

"Listen to you," Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing from Draco. "I didn't think you could still be so arrogant. I need to know what's happened to him, Draco. I can't believe you can't see how I feel..."

"Falling in love with you doesn't mean I have to instantly like your friends. You forget that my dislike of the Weasleys goes back even further..."

"...yes but that was Lucius' influence..."

"I'll pretend you didn't mention his name. Have you forgotten that Weasley's managed to destroy a large portion of my inheritance, and the family Manor in the process..."

"...You never liked the Manor..."

"...Doesn't mean I wanted it to burn to the ground." Draco's nostrils were flaring in anger. "I'm surprised you're still defending him after all those hurtful things he said to you. You punched him, not me."

Harry knew this bickering was pointless, and they would continue to argue in circles until one of them said something that they would regret.

"For what it's worth, I've been thinking it over, and I don't think he did it willingly, Draco. I honestly don't know if he's innocent, but even you admitted that Parkinson might have done something to him..." Harry replied.

"There was never any proof, Harry. Besides, even if he did, there is no way he could have made Weasley fake his behaviour, unless he was under the Imperius Curse. If he were under the influence of a coercive potion, it would have only enhanced his existing feelings and emotions, particularly if they have been repressed. I'm willing to bet Weasley was always homophobic – he just never had enough backbone to say anything to your face. His attitude towards me certainly never changed. I can't understand how you could just forget how much he hurt you, Harry. I know it's upset you, and I know you want to find him. I just don't want to have to pick you up after he turns his back and knocks you down again. How many times do you need to see that he's not worth it, Harry?"

Harry could see a point somewhere in Draco's words, but he wasn't listening. "It's not right, whatever it is. There's something more – something we don't know. If it makes you feel better, I'm doing it for Hermione, not for myself. She needs some sort of answer – how can she live not knowing if her husband is alive or dead?"

"He would have taken great pleasure in taking me down, Harry. I doubt he could have refused the Neo Death Eaters when they offered my downfall as bait during their recruitment speech..."

"That was uncalled for, Draco. You're being so childish. Do you even have any idea how Hermione is feeling about this? What about Molly? How would your mother have felt if it were you?"

"That's a low blow, Harry." Harry nodded, admitting he should never have said that, but Draco's stubbornness was making him bite back.

"Look," Harry sighed, rubbing again at the bridge of his nose. "I'm going with Fred this weekend. I don't need your permission, but I thought I could at least do you the courtesy."

"Don't know why you had to bother me with all this if your mind was already made up," Draco muttered as he flicked his wand at a shelf. A box of small bottles flew into his hand and he turned back to his Billywig stings. "So I guess this cancels our romantic weekend away?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He almost completely forgot about it. "You could come with me... or we can reschedule," Harry knew it was lame, but it was an olive branch – of a sort. He suspected he already knew the answer, but a small ray of hope lived on, and they could then spend the weekend together. They had the rest of their lives for romantic weekends, didn't they?

Draco laughed softly. "Do you really expect me to come along and look for the Weasel?"

Harry shook his head. He had nothing to say to that, and Draco took a deep breath. "Just go and do what you have to do. Just don't expect any sympathy from me if you find the Weasel's rotting corpse." With that final pronouncement, Draco turned his back to Harry as he carefully picked up the stingers and began to bottle them. He knew Draco was capable of compassion – why was it so hard in this instance?

Harry faltered, wanting to say more, but he knew it was time to leave it. He would have to be content that Draco had not stopped him from going. He didn't feel any better for the argument, but he knew there was so much left unsaid. It would have to remain that way tonight. He doubted he would get any reasonable answers out of Draco, and he knew he was more emotional than usual. It didn't help that it ruined their long awaited romantic weekend.

Harry's shoulders were slumped as he left without another word and closed the door, lest he raise Draco's ire for upsetting a potion. He never noticed the worried expression on Draco's face, as they followed him out the door.

--oo0oo--

Harry would have liked a night of sound sleep before heading out, but sleep was a long time in coming. It had as much to do with his concerns for Ron as it did with the fact that Draco never came to bed. Harry found that he was now so used to sleeping next to him, that he couldn't sleep when he was alone. How quickly he came to rely on Draco's warmth in his arms, or his head on his chest as they slept. Draco very quickly got into the habit of using Harry as a pillow – something Harry always found endearing. He found himself searching out for a warm, lithe body for most of the night, and he woke fully before dawn to discover the bedclothes in a ball at the foot of the bed, and the candle on Draco's bedside table almost burned out.

All his concerns and questions and worries could usually be quelled as he slept beside his soul mate, but he found his night punctuated with all manner of strange dreams and worry. In those dark hours, Harry could forget the looming threat of an unspecified curse. He could forget Oliver's words, and that tiny sense of doubt that Draco could ever cheat on him. With Draco lying across his chest, he could forget they had spoken harsh words during the day. But this night there had been no Draco, and he did little else but focus on such gruesome thoughts.

As the light began to creep through the window, he quietly got up. He dressed quietly and tiptoed out of the room, but shook his head as he realised Draco wasn't there. With a quick summons through the Floo, he got Dobby started on packing a bag whilst he continued to search for Draco. Harry eventually found him where he left him – in the Potions classroom. He'd obviously not had a good night with the Billywig stingers, for his thumbs resembled pincushions and the effects of the sting were obvious as he seemed to be levitating a couple of inches above his seat.

Harry was in half a mind to wake Draco and let him know he was heading off, but he knew they would only argue again. He chose a compromise. Part of the work already done, he quietly cast a _Mobilicorpus_ to drag Draco out of his chair and back up into their bed. The moment he landed on the bed, he quickly snuggled down into the pillows, picking up one and throwing an arm over it. A cheap substitute for Harry, but Harry saw the look of contentment on Draco's face.

He hesitated about waking Draco. He knew the blond would be angry for waking up alone, but Harry couldn't wait any longer. Fred had arranged a Portkey from Stoatshead Hill at half five, so he had to get to Ottery St Catchpole quickly.

He dropped a kiss on Draco's brow, and he saw lashes flutter open briefly before he snuggled further into the pillow. Harry had already picked up a scoop of Floo powder when a sleepy voice spoke from the bed.

"When will you be back?" Draco mumbled sleepily. Harry turned, and for a moment was very tempted to stay. But something forced him to remember that Ron might only have once chance at help. Draco was going to be there when he got back. He'd find Ron and then he and Draco could work past this feud. When he got back.

"With any luck, tonight, but I'll probably miss the feast and we'd be too late to celebrate Samhain down at Hogsmeade. But I'll definitely be back by Sunday afternoon to prepare for Monday's classes. Dumbledore's letting me have today off, but I don't want to take too much time off this early. He's always been so understanding, and I don't want to take advantage of that. I've got to go... You go back to sleep."

He thought he heard a mumbled "Love you," as he tumbled through the Floo, but he couldn't be sure.

--oo0oo--

The entire trip turned out to be a complete waste of time, which left Harry feeling gutted and a little guilty. There was no sign of Ron, or any wizards remotely resembling him anywhere in Cardiff, let alone Wales. The trail went completely cold fairly quickly after they realised that the lanky redhead Hermione had heard about was just a Muggle junkie who had made the mistake of wearing fake orange hair dye.

Fred was more than upset that it was a fruitless trip, but he was becoming more desperate, more determined. He never thought it possible, but Harry had noticed all the Weasleys had banded together even more closely since Ron's disappearance. They refused to believe the worst about Ron – they all assumed he was coerced in some way, and they were determined to find out where he was. The idea that he was abandoned and obliviated was not a pleasant outcome, but it was something they hoped for. Harry was inclined to agree with their assessment, and for the sake of everyone involved, he hoped that when they found Ron (for he didn't doubt they would), that would be the case.

Harry _knew_ Ron, and he knew he would never willingly join with Neo Death Eaters. He always loathed everything to do with the Malfoys, so why would he become the one thing he worked so hard to fight? Still, he didn't want to be around for Draco's reaction. Harry knew he grew up with a great many misconceptions about Draco, and his lover had managed to surprise him with so many things – his understanding of Muggle culture, for one. Why couldn't he just try to apply that to Ron? It would make things so much easier.

Their trip cut short by the false lead, Harry was looking forward to a warm shower and hopefully some time to make up with Draco. It was only Saturday afternoon, and he looked forward to salvaging some of the weekend they had planned. He regretted missing the Samhain celebrations, but to be honest, it was the one time of year Harry rarely felt like celebrating.

He was grateful that Fred would be the one to tell Hermione that their trip was a waste of time. Fred's new wife, Lavender, was staying with Hermione. Despite Hermione's dislike of Lavender during their school years, they seem to have grown closer since they became sisters-in-law. Her new-born daughter was proving to be a blessed distraction for Hermione during this stressful time.

It was a wonderfully sunny afternoon, a little warm for October, and Harry wasn't going to miss an opportunity for some fresh air as he decided to walk back to the school from the Three Broomsticks. Seeing Hermione and Lavender getting along made him ponder the changing face of friendship. They had never been the best of friends, but now seemed quite inseparable. Harry knew some people had friends and acquaintances that came in and out of each other's lives, but Harry never imagined that would happen with him, Hermione and Ron.

They had been so worried when they got together – they worried Harry would feel like a third wheel. They were clever to announce their engagement when he was in (an apparently) solid relationship with Oliver. How times had changed. He could not believe that only a year earlier, he thought he was happy with Oliver, and content to keep working in his dead end Auror's job.

Had anyone told him were he would be now, he probably would have laughed at them, and the complete absurdity of their assertions. But then again, if anyone had told him a year ago that Ron had been homophobic and had aided and abetted known Neo Death Eaters, he would have had them admitted to St Mungo's. He knew he would not be as close to Ron and Hermione after they married, but he never thought he would be questioning his loyalty to his oldest friend. Could Draco be right? Was he just still wanting to be loyal out of habit?

His slow walk back to the school was partly to help clear his mind, and partly to steel himself to talk with Draco, who would probably be quite smug about the fact they didn't find Ron. He needed this time to centre himself and make sure they didn't start arguing again. He hated all the arguing and he wanted to finish it, one way or another.

This trend of sniping and tenseness was not what Harry wanted, and he couldn't think of how their relationship had degenerated over the past few weeks. The disagreements were minor, yet they never seemed to have any apparent closure. They just needed to get away from it all, and he even toyed with the idea of leaving Hogwarts all together. He refused to give voice to the thought that the further away Oliver was, the better their lives would be - which could only be a good thing.

He felt guilty that he'd barely said goodbye to Draco (a kiss on the head and a sleepy question hardly counted), and he regretted not patching up their argument. It didn't help that Oliver's fanciful lies periodically came back to ring in Harry's ears. To make matters worse, they were often accompanied by rotating visions of Ollie in bed with those two men and Ollie standing in a dark alcove with Draco. As he reached the school gates, his thoughts turned to these conflicts, Draco's curse theory, and – strangely enough – how this could involve Maggie Gadbury.

Before he'd truly had the time to consider where that last question came from, he had reached the big craggy rocks by the bridge. Racing quietly along the bridge, he was now eager to get back and see Draco. He would sort this out once and for all. As he reached the entrance to the courtyard, he was distracted by the familiar sight of Draco's hair. He was in the courtyard talking to Charlie. He was just about to wave to get their attention when he held back. _No, not again. _He was struck dumb as he noticed what suspiciously looked like flirting. He stopped short as Draco appeared to be blatantly coming on to Charlie.

Harry blinked, then blinked again. No, he wasn't imagining this, and it wasn't a figment of his imagination as he watched Draco cup Charlie's face warmly. _No no no no, this can't be happening. He couldn't... he wouldn't do that. Why would he do that?_ He tried to ignore that doubting voice pointing out that this wasn't the first instance worth questioning, and his gloomy I Ching reading came back to the fore. He tried to ignore the churning feeling deep in his gut. He even tried to ignore the tears that burned in the corners of his eyes as a part of him became convinced that there was now a distinct pattern of behaviour that he couldn't ignore. Was this yet another love gone completely wrong?

Harry didn't notice the swirl of angry magic forming around him as he quickly stalked back across the bridge. He was very lucky that most of the students were down at the Quidditch pitch for the Gryffindor tryouts, for he couldn't guarantee the student's safety in his current mood. He wasn't even thinking rationally enough to consider calming down, but he knew he needed answers – now.

He passed nobody in the halls as he made his way to their rooms, and he ignored all the paintings who vied for his attention. He was beyond caring when the painting beside their door admonished him for using the wrong entrance, but he just needed to close the door and breathe. The solitude of the walls around him felt safe, secure as he continued to breathe deeply.

A delicious smell emanating from the kitchen piqued his curiosity. Following his nose, he wandered over to the kitchen where there was often a cauldron of some potion or other simmering over a low heat. He was surprised to find a slow boiling pot on the stove. It appeared to be some sort of tomato based pasta sauce filled with lashings of fresh vegetables. There was evidence of a great deal of hard work having gone into that sauce and it looked and smelled as if it had been simmering for hours. Glancing around further, Harry found ingredients that suggested pasta primavera with a shallow dish of veal cutlets slowly marinating as they regularly turned themselves over in the marinade. A bottle of some obviously expensive wine was sitting on the table under a very slight cooling charm, along with glasses and a corkscrew. He picked it up. It was a bottle of Merlot – Harry's least favourite wine. His knuckles whitened around the neck of the bottle as he looked around the room.

_Hmmm, fancy dinner... candles out... and I bet..._ He pointed his wand at the wireless and verified a music charm was set, just waiting for a trigger. _Yes, romantic music... red wine that he knows I don't drink... he's planning to seduce someone in here... in OUR quarters!_ Harry was somewhat amazed at the speed with which he went from feeling confused to dejected to enraged.

_How dare he! How could I be so bloody foolish? Here I've been giving him the benefit of the doubt, and he's obviously been fooling around behind my back. Merlin knows how long he's been sleeping with Oliver. All that sympathy he gave me when he found out who 'Ollie' was. No wonder he's been so upset ever since Oliver showed up here. Cursed journals my arse. He was probably trying to think of some excuse or back story in case I ever found out. He knew it would be harder to keep up their affair right under my nose, and now for whatever reason, he's decided to move on and he's going to bring Charlie here to seduce him. No matter that he's Snape's lover and he claims to have great respect for him. He really has been playing me for a fool. That bloody I Ching reading was right. I've been a blind fool. No matter that this is our home and he claims to love me as a soul mate. Just because I go away to look for Ron, he gets all petulant and sulky. That spoilt rotten little bastard just has to have everything or he's not happy. Well, he can't have it all, and if he's going to act this way, he can't have me! _

_I promised myself I was never going to be fooled again. At least I can do this and get out now – before it's too late. _

Harry flicked his wand so hard at the door to his room that it flung open with force, as he wordlessly summoned a pile of essentials to fill his overnight bag. _I wish I could just forget about this._ He was tired of the constant replay of Draco and Oliver in his head. He was tired of Oliver's innuendo filling his thoughts. He didn't want to see and image of a flirtatious Draco smiling up at Charlie and terrorising his memories.

He stopped for just a moment as he remembered something. He ignored the tantalising smell of the pasta sauce (it was making him ill to the stomach), and he stopped in front of a tray of Draco's cleaned and sorted potions vials and bottles. He suppressed the urge to throw the whole tray against the stone wall in fury as he picked up a pure crystal bottle with a cork. _If I could just get rid of those memories..._ Harry thought back and remembered pulling memories out of similar bottles to view in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He grasped the bottle firmly, knowing now exactly what he needed to do.

It wasn't hard to concentrate on the memories – they were there at the forefront of his mind as he pulled the wispy silver strands of memory, forcefully stuffing them into the bottles (he quickly realised he needed more than one). Complete with stoppers, they lay on the table once he was finished. It took a couple of minutes to get back his equilibrium as he had yanked the memories out more forcefully than was necessary.

As he came back to his senses, he realised he could still vividly remember everything. _Why?_ Didn't taking the memory out make him forget? He grew frustrated, realising he never actually knew if the memory was forgotten or not. He had just assumed that the memory would be forgotten.

He cursed himself for his own stupidity as he remembered. _Of course you didn't forget the memory once bottled, you fool._ You only got to look at it from a different perspective. How else could he have pulled those true memories out of those convicted Death Eaters during the trials after the war? They had produced dozens of tampered memories to prove their innocence, but Dumbledore had shown him how to search for the truth, and he had been successful.

He was so frustrated now from the fruitless exercise, he wanted to scream. He had wasted enough time here and he just needed to go. In his disgust, he banished the newly filled bottles to a back shelf in the kitchen. The whole point had been to forget about the memories, but perhaps Draco might stumble across them and realise just how much hurt he had caused Harry.

He made ready to leave, not wanting to stay a moment longer. He turned so quickly that he didn't even hear the loathed bottle of wine crashing to the floor. He Accioed his bag into one hand as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder with the other.

He hesitated for a split second – worrying about his classes and the students and Maggie's Quidditch training, but for the first time in his life, he was feeling sick and tired of being the helpful one. He felt utterly selfish, but he really could not see to care beyond the bitterness rolling around in his mind. Dumbledore had practically given him carte blanche to take off as much time as he needed to find Ron, and for once he was not going to dismiss such an opportunity.

He just had to get away and sort through this alone as the epiphany that had been on the edge of his thoughts finally coalesced. _There's only one person I can rely on in this world, and that's me. I have to get away and sort myself out. I don't care where. I'll make myself Unplottable and just go... Somewhere nobody would think to look... Somewhere I can salvage what's left of my pride and learn to trust again – the Wizarding world owes me that much, at least._

With his magic escaping erratically in his rage, he didn't find it difficult to cast the spells to make himself Unplottable. Hedwig gave a mild hoot of distress after it was over, but he didn't even have a care for her right at that moment.

He knew now the exact place to go, and was in the Floo to the Three Broomsticks, then on to his final destination without a second thought.

* * *

**VI. All that you sense...**

_Harry rolled over in his sleep, hoping to snuggle up against Draco. This was one thing he thoroughly enjoyed – the warmth of Draco's back against his chest as he slept. His sleep was so much more restful now that he had found his soul mate. The constant tossing and turning and waking up with the sheets bundled at the foot of the bed was, thankfully, a thing of the past. Something felt out of place, and he wondered if he was still dreaming._

_But as he turned, his arm fell on the empty space beside him. He half opened one eye and frowned as his mind tried to work out where Draco could be. The sheets were cold, which meant he had been gone for a while. He pouted unconsciously; disappointed that Draco was probably off stirring some potion. He hoped he would come back to bed soon, as he was feeling somewhat bereft – not to mention dreadfully horny._

_He sensed from the angle of the sun that it was perhaps later than he first realised. He didn't care. It was Sunday, and he would sleep in. His T'ai Chi could wait until a more civilised hour. Draco was such a bad influence – making him loll around in bed for hours on end, although usually he wasn't alone, and rarely was he left to just sleep._

_He arched his back in a deep stretch that helped him to slowly wake up. The sheet slipped down to reveal his chest and the feel of the soft fabric rubbing against his arousal made him groan in a semi whimper. Draco's sheets were always so soft and they glided smoothly against his skin as he rolled completely over onto his back. He extended the stretch and let it run all the way to his toes. A familiar whirring and clicking sound interrupted his stretch, and he opened one eye fully._

_"Merlin, you are so sexy when you do that," Draco's voice growled lazily as he watched Harry's unconscious show of flesh. _

_A sleepy smirk crossed Harry's face – that voice spoke directly to his desire and he allowed himself to reach down and run his hand across the sheet, outlining an evident bulge. A small gasp escaped Draco's lips and Harry wasn't surprised to find that his voyeur lover appeared to be enjoying his unconscious movements. A deep blush coloured his cheeks as he thought about what else he wanted to do whilst Draco watched. "Haven't you got enough photos?" he asked sulkily, running his hand lazily ran down his chest. "Somehow I think I conjured some sort of monster the moment I showed you how to use that bloody thing."_

_Draco put aside the camera, and even though he wasn't wearing his glasses, Harry could easily see what lay under Draco's loosely tied dressing gown. "The only time I get to take pictures of you being totally natural is when you're sleeping. Those damn media hounds have certainly spoiled it for those of us who want to take your picture." His eyes wandered down as Harry's hand now moved beneath the sheet. "What's this? Starting without me?" he said petulantly. _

_He looked up at Draco, his eyes now fully open and darkened with lust. He could see the desire filtering across Draco's face as he unconsciously licked his lips. "You know the problem with waking up from a thoroughly erotic dream is that I usually want to dive straight back in and feel it all over again." _

_It was an invitation that Draco didn't refuse as he doffed his dressing gown and crawled across the bed in one predatory movement. "So tell me, was this the usual dream, or were we doing something a little ... different?" Draco asked with a seductive pout as he crawled over to join Harry. He swatted away Harry's hand as a wide grin crossed Harry's face. _

_"Who says _you _were in my dream?" he asked cheekily, grinding his hips up into Draco's hand._

_Draco threw his head back in laughter, exposing the inviting flesh of his neck as he did so. He sat up to kiss that expanse of smooth skin (Draco was always thoughtful enough to go to the trouble of doing an early morning Depilio charm), and his hand sought to reach for any part of Draco's flesh, but the blond was too quick, moving down and away from Harry's reach. _

_"Dreaming about someone else, Hmmm?" Draco asked as he watched Harry's eyes widened in the pleasurable pain. He slid down, his tongue bathing a path down Harry's chest, his lips stopping short. The deep groan that escaped Harry's lips turned into a whimper as he unconsciously thrust upward. Draco certainly knew all the tricks when it came to torturing him. _

_"Perhaps I should just pleasure myself alone," he suggested in a teasing tone. "Maybe then you'll think twice before dreaming about someone else." He sat up, leaning against the bedpost. Harry was still a little stunned by the deft movement as he was mesmerised by the sight of Draco, eyelids fluttering as he began to pleasure himself in front of Harry._

_Not one to put up with such behaviour, Harry attempted to move, only to discover that his hands were now bound to the bed head – one with a silk scarf, the other with his old Gryffindor school tie. He couldn't remember seeing Draco pull out his wand, but then again, Draco's mastery of non-verbal spells was quite extensive, particularly when it came to their bed sports. Draco would always have some other spell in his arsenal to surprise him. _

_Whatever, it certainly gave Harry something to look forward to each time they made love. Or fucked. Harry didn't really know what to call it. Some days it felt warm and fuzzy and he felt all emotional, and other days he wanted it hard and rough and gritty. He might feel shagged out beyond belief, but he was never, ever bored. The connection of their lovemaking was only one of the joys of having finally found his soul mate, and it was something he wanted to share over and over again. Forever. _

_Lost in his musings, he almost forgot Draco was intent on pleasuring himself, and had totally forgotten about Harry. The blond leaned against the bedpost, completely absorbed in putting on a show. Exhibitionist. Harry ached for attention as he watched one of Draco's hands working himself for his own pleasure. _

_Even without his glasses, he could see the bead of sweat trickling down Draco's face, as he adjusted position. Harry now had a perfect view of everything as Draco put on quite a display. Harry couldn't get enough of watching that. He writhed and desperately wanted Draco to touch him. He nearly managed it, bringing Draco's foot close enough for his toes to touch. _

_They touched for only a brief moment. Draco moved further away as he realised what Harry was doing, and he stopped his ministrations for a mere second to grab his wand and cast another non-verbal spell at Harry's feet. Within seconds he felt the smooth fabric around his ankles as his feet were spread and bound to the bedposts. _

_This was more than torture. He could do nothing but watch, and began to unconsciously pant like a dog. His complete focus was on Draco, but his own desire was aching. _

_"Still dreaming about him?" Draco asked with a hint of jealousy in his voice._

_"Huh?" Harry had no idea where Draco's question came from._

_"Your erotic dream. Still think it's better than the real thing?"_

_Harry could barely think, let alone answer such a question. He finally remembered what this was all about, and shook his head. "No, I was only kidding. There's nobody else but you."_

_The smirk on Draco's face as he answered was familiar, yet a little cruel. Harry thought Draco might relent and give him some relief, but he seemed satisfied by Harry's answer as he went back to fulfilling his own pleasure. Harry groaned in disappointment._

_Harry didn't blink as he watched Draco reach his completion. He wanted to share in that moment, but was denied by his bonds. Harry always loved that look of self satisfied delight on Draco's face at that point, but this time, he didn't see that look – the one he had always known to be there. _

_Why was it missing? Harry frowned as Draco slumped back against the bedpost. Normally by this time Draco would have undone his bonds, but Draco sat back as if Harry wasn't even there._

_Harry struggled against his bonds, but found that the more he pulled against them, the tighter they wound. He looked up to ask Draco to take them off, but the blond was gone. He was surprised to find that he was fully dressed in his best robes. _

_"Draco?" he asked in complete confusion._

_"I'm sorry, Potter. Did you honestly think this would last?" _

_Harry seemed confused by Draco's hurtful words. What in the hell was happening? Why...?_

_"Don't you get it, Potter? It's over. Sure, it was fun, but I'm with Oliver now. He's right. You really have to stop being so clingy. Besides, we're doomed if we stay together."_

_Draco's hand was on the door, and Harry was still tied to the bed. "I don't understand... we're soul mates..." he had no idea what was happening and his heart hammered in his chest in dread._

_Draco scoffed, the cruelty in the smile on his face was well-remembered. "You seriously can't believe all that soul mate rubbish, Potter. Besides, those journals are cursed. Now, I think it best that I leave, don't you?"_

_"See you around, Potter." The words vibrated through his head as he heard the door banging shut. Again, then again. The door slammed yet again, and Harry didn't know if it was the door or the beating of his broken heart, but within the next moment, he couldn't move at all, and he found that he couldn't breathe either._

_The more he struggled the harder he found it to take a breath and his distress was mounting by the second..._

...Until he finally sat up in bed, taking the deepest lungful of breath as the sweat poured from him. His heart thundered painfully in his chest, and the shutter on the window was banging loudly in the strong breeze. He wasn't tied to the bed, and the bedclothes were bundled into a ball at his feet. The sheets were damp with sweat and his pyjama bottoms were twisted uncomfortably.

It took Harry all of a few minutes to realise that it had been only a dream. Only the same ghastly nightmare repeated night after night. He didn't need that, not when the reality was much worse.

He didn't want to think about it, not whilst he was awake. Why his dreams continued to taunt him, he had no idea. The purpose of running away was to forget about his humiliation at the hands of Draco – and that's exactly what he needed to do. How else could he move on? He didn't need for his subconscious to keep reminding him of what he lost. He knew exactly what was gone, and Draco was now just another foolish mistake that he could certainly add to his other list of failures.

So why couldn't he just forget?

Harry's hand went automatically to the bedside table, but it didn't close over his glasses. Instead, he grabbed the bottle of rice wine, dragging it across the table, knocking his glasses to the floor in the process. He squinted and tried to focus as he saw the dregs weren't enough to even wet his lips. He tossed it away in disgust when he remembered it was the last bottle he found in the cupboard in Lao Kuai's hideaway in the remote part of Fujian Province, China. It shattered in a most satisfying way against the wall as Harry fell back onto the cold and uninviting futon.

His head throbbed. Whether it was from the hangover or the pent up anger or the fact that he couldn't get Draco out of his dreams, he couldn't tell. He didn't particularly care. More than once he considered Obliviating the memory of the past few months, but he decided against it when he realised he'd probably just foolishly make the same mistakes again, and he really did need to learn the lesson. Drowning and pickling himself in alcohol was much less complicated and much easier to achieve.

If he could forget, then he could stop having to constantly justify running away, when part of him kept suggesting he return home. But he couldn't stop hearing Oliver's words in his head, and he couldn't stop seeing that flirtatious blond smirk aimed at someone else. No, he had done the right thing. It was better that he left when he did than to make a bigger fool out of himself than he already had. He might be miserable as shit, but at least he had pre-empted the impending tragedy had they stayed together. _We're doomed if he stays with me. _Draco's words to Remus rang over and over in his mind, and he was inclined to agree that there had to be some sort of magical curse that turned his world upside down.

No, leaving had been the right thing to do. It wasn't difficult to remain Unplottable, and he was happy to stay that way. He would stay hidden until they all forgot about him. Perhaps then Draco could move on and find happiness with someone else. It was cold solace, but at least he knew one of them would be happy. Everything he ever wanted was always ruined because of damn prophecies or Dark wizards or curses. Why did he ever think that Draco would be any different? He obviously wanted more than Harry could give – why else would he go after Oliver... and Charlie?

Perhaps it was best that he left when he did. If Draco had been so inclined to stray, then it was best that he leave before it was too late. He still has the memories of their few wonderful months together, and that would just have to do. He didn't want to think about his future, but was solitude really so bad? If Lao Kuai could make a life out of solitude and contemplation, then he could certainly try. The life of a monk seemed quite appealing.

He slammed his eyes shut as he tried to stop the flood of memories. They would only result in more tears, and that was something he couldn't bear right now. If he thought he was all cried out, then he was completely wrong. Closing his eyes really didn't help, for he could see nothing but Draco, and the wonderful weeks they shared together. Everything _had_ been wonderful but he could plainly see that Oliver's arrival was the start of all the trouble.

Against his better judgement, Harry once again allowed himself to relive the memories of both the best and worst time of his young life. What else was there for him to do now that he couldn't even drown his sorrows in drink?

* * *

**VII. All that you speak...**

Draco's life had taken a distinct turn for the better over the past few months, despite the major setbacks orchestrated by the Neo Death Eaters. If he were truly honest, they were actually instrumental in helping bring him together with Harry. Well, no, that wasn't completely true – it was the journals that did that – but without Harry risking his life for him during that showdown with the Neo Death Eaters, he would never really have admitted how much he loved his soul mate.

But Draco had experienced enough disappointment in his life to know that his idyllic life couldn't be maintained forever. The cynic in him just knew that there was still some hurdle around the corner. Of course, he was not prepared and was in shock when it did happen.

Draco ran his hand through his hair yet again, blinking rapidly and opening his eyes wider to stave off his weariness. The heavy bags under his eyes belied the fact he hadn't slept as he took another drag off the cigarette. He'd given up for Harry's sake, but in the past few days he had needed to keep his hands busy, and instinct made him reach for the packet. Anyone wanting to question his habit was highly likely to have their head bitten off, and everyone was giving Draco a very wide berth.

Grim despair was etched on his face as he tried yet again to focus on the crystal dowsing stone swinging wildly from the cord wrapped tightly around his fingers. It was testament to his desperation that he was resorting to this imprecise method of Divination. He growled in frustration as the stone was showing no signs of cooperating, and he stood, snatching his coffee cup as he strode over to the window. Cup in one hand and cigarette in the other, he looked down into the courtyard. Disappointment crossed his face as he didn't find Harry down there doing his T'ai Chi forms, but then again, he knew that was a far fetched hope.

The rational part of his mind was telling him not to be stupid – that Harry wasn't just suddenly going to appear in the courtyard, yet the small but ever so optimistic part of his brain never lost hope that the past few days were just a horrid nightmare and that Harry wasn't gone.

Gone.

Harry never came home from his trip to find Weasley, and since then Draco had experienced five of the worst days of his life. The uncertainty and despair felt worse than when Harry's life hung in the balance after being struck with the _Aboleo Adesum_ curse. Five days now, and Draco was determined not to let it turn into six. The dowsing stone was the last in a very long line of methods to try and locate his soul mate, and like everything else, it was proving just as ineffective. He didn't want to think about what would happen when he had exhausted all magical and Muggle means to locate Harry, but he knew he would never give up. He couldn't, not when he knew the whole thing hinged just one huge misunderstanding.

Just how do you explain that to one of the world's most powerful wizards when he's angry enough to make himself Unplottable?

Draco wore a pained smile as he thought back on the comedy of miscommunications that escalated to the point where Harry was ready to give up on everything. A very small part of Draco was upset that Harry questioned his fidelity and trust, yet not once did he ask Draco to justify his suspicions.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt his sanity slowly slipping through his fingers, and he took yet another long drag off the cigarette. He had thought the worst after initially discovering Harry was missing. A part of him felt enormous relief that Harry had run away instead. At least he was not lying dead in some Muggle back alley, but then again, he couldn't contact Harry, so he _could_ now be dead in a Muggle back alley. The thought made him sick to the stomach.

That sick feeling had not abated since he Flooed Hermione very late on Sunday night – long after Harry promised he would be home. He'd tasted nothing but bile in the back of his throat when she told him Fred returned on Saturday afternoon and that Harry had apparently done the same...

He instantly thought the worst. He suspected everything from the Neo Death Eaters capturing him to Harry being hit by a Muggle vehicle, but he never suspected Harry's own lack of self-esteem or their own poor communications would cause him to just up and leave.

Hindsight was always a wonderful thing, and Draco had wished for a Time Turner more than once since he'd stumbled across the real reason why Harry had not returned.

In the immediate hours after discovering Harry's disappearance, Draco had tried every way possible to locate him. He'd exhausted nearly every owl in the school with letters to try and pinpoint his location. They all came back unopened. He tried every location spell he knew, every tracking spell in his repertoire, even sifting through Muggle hospitals and police stations to locate him, but there was no sign of his soul mate. He tried to follow Harry's last known steps in Cardiff, but there was nothing suspicious, not even a tingle of residual magic in the air.

He'd known things between them had been strained since the start of term, and he regretted ever accepting the offer to take over some of Severus' classes until Christmas, but he would never have connected the pieces in the puzzle if he had not stumbled upon a parting gift from Harry – his rather confusing and painful memories.

After searching through every shelf and draw in his and Harry's rooms, he'd stumbled across the crystal bottle in his own cupboard. Having no recollection of putting anything there, he quickly took the clues to Severus, who advised they were memories, and that he should seek out the Headmaster to view them in a Pensieve.

The Headmaster seemed quite unconcerned by Harry's disappearance, citing his previous 'time outs' as being common enough, and that Harry would return in his own good time. Apart from thinking that really wasn't a good attitude to have about one of your members of staff, Draco sensed the Headmaster's lopsided grin was the first visible sign of senility. Still, he got what he needed when the old man let him use his Pensieve to view the memories.

Harry had been gone for two days by this stage, so Draco was feeling quite highly strung when he entered the basin filled with Harry's memories. His own fatigue from weeks of stressful classes added to the stress of Harry's disappearance, and he could barely think of anything other than bringing Harry home. He didn't give a toss about his classes, or his research, which showed him exactly where his priorities lay.

He was the first to admit he had not given Harry enough of his time and attention, and that he had been more focussed on work than anything else. Of course now he could see his mistake, but it seemed that as he stepped into Harry's memories, he had been correct in his unspoken suspicions. He had known Harry had become a little more reserved since school started, but now he knew for certain that things had started to change the day the day that Oliver Wood dared to show his smug mug at Hogwarts.

The first memory replayed that day of the term's first staff meeting. He saw the surprised yet confronting tone Harry showed towards Wood the moment that he first arrived. Harry's hostility towards his ex lover was so tangible, Draco could feel it in the memory. He watched everyone in the memory carefully, and he could see that Charlie had a similar reaction to his own hostile one.

It seemed that Wood didn't have a clue just how uncomfortable his presence was making Harry feel, but from what Draco recalled of Flash's conversations about 'Ollie', the git had the emotional range of a brick, and rarely thought with more than his penis. Draco could see himself in the memory, and his own hostile glare as his hand fondled the hilt of his wand. Draco so desperately wanted to hex Wood at that moment, but had refrained in deference to Harry.

Seeing the memory through Harry's eyes, he could see that Harry wanted him to deal with Wood, and he regretted never taking the chance. He overheard the greasy tone in Wood's well chosen words, but as it was Harry's memory, he could also sense just how uncomfortable Harry had felt. Wood's cologne was distracting Harry. Undoubtedly it had a lot of memories attached to that, as Draco knew how much Harry appreciated scent.

Harry said he was okay with Oliver's presence at Hogwarts, yet that memory contradicted his words. It had been evident from Harry's nervous energy around Wood, and it had been obvious that his presence unnerved Harry, despite what he said. It was obvious that Wood had been a crucial player in this whole debacle, and when Draco saw him again, it would be quite a while before he would be blocking any Quaffles.

Harry had been mollified somewhat when Draco spoke to him during their break that day, but he sensed Harry's disappointment when he needed to spend most of the afternoon with Severus. But Draco had seen the immediate change in Harry's demeanour at the sight of his ex lover. Draco should have gone to him immediately – should have offered the type of support that Harry desperately needed. He knew he had been remiss in his obligation to his soul mate, all because of his lingering guilt over Severus' condition.

He leapt out of the Pensieve as he gathered his bearings. Draco now regretted his eagerness to take up the offer to teach Severus' classes, but how could he have said no? It was bad enough that he felt guilty for letting Severus become injured, and now it was at the expense of helping his soul mate, and he felt an even greater guilt for not being there for Harry.

Draco knew he was not cut out to be a teacher – he realised that now. He was a researcher at heart. He could not must any sympathy for ungrateful students with no care for Potions, and he could completely understand Severus' very short temper.

He pulled out another of the silvery memories and allowed it to float down into the Pensieve. This seemed to be a much more jovial memory than the last as Harry made his way up the stairs in his sweaty Quidditch robes. Draco had always been suspicious of the amount of time he was spending on his broom, but the Harry in this memory was eager to get back to their rooms. Harry stopped, and Draco realised he was listening to a conversation through a partially open door.

His heart beat heavily in his chest as he heard his own voice. He remembered this conversation, and he now fervently wished he had never gone to Remus with his unfounded concerns. It had been one of his regular afternoon teas with Remus, where they discussed his health in relation to the Wolfsbane potion. Their friendly banter now included plenty of teasing from Draco about Remus' new beau – Jean-Paul. Remus' seemed much happier than Draco could remember, and if his memory served, Jean-Paul would certainly make sure Remus was never left wanting.

He remembered how he had come to the conclusion that there had to be a curse on the _Journal Intime Partagé_. He had been thinking about Remus, and his soul mate, Sirius, and how as soul mates, they had some time of joy before tragedy befell their love. It didn't take him long to think back to Lily and James Potter and the tragedy that befell them as they fell in love – after discovering they were soul mates through the journals...

From there, it wasn't a very large leap of logic to conclude that those magical journals did more than just help soul mates come together. They were cursed. Just when everything was going along smoothly, things would suddenly go horribly wrong, and everyone would end up dead, or someone was bound to live in distress as his soul mate was gone. Whatever, the joy the soul mates experienced was ripped out from under them.

That thought had burned in Draco's chest. He didn't want to think about it, yet like an earworm, he couldn't get the thought out of his head. The longer he let it fester in his mind, the more convinced he became that something tragic was going to happen to him or to Harry.

It was unfair to keep his concern from Harry, but he didn't know how he was going to broach the subject with him. _Yeah, you know how we're soul mates and we discovered it through the journals, well guess what, Voldemort might not have managed to get you, but we're doomed. Bummer, wot?_

He never mentioned it to Harry, but it seemed now that Harry had overheard the conversation as he spilled his concerns to Remus.

"I think you're overreacting, Draco," he heard Remus said quite convincingly as they shared afternoon tea. Harry was standing right up behind the door, and there was no way he could mistake the wordsDraco kept an eagle eye on the memory Harry, watching the painful play of emotions on his face.

The entire conversation played out exactly as Draco remembered, but this time he could see the crestfallen and confused look on Harry's face as he realised the implication of the cursed journals. He wondered why this memory bothered Harry so much, when Remus managed to quell his own concerns, but a moment later, he saw that Harry never heard the end of the conversation.

"Are you saying you want to leave Harry?" Remus asked the memory Draco. It was at that very moment that the memory Harry turned away from the door, sneaking away carefully, but with a pasty look on his face. Harry overheard only part of the conversation. He never heard the whole thing...

The memory faded away to nothing as Harry ran back to their quarters and he staggered out of the Pensieve. _So Harry knew, and he left before he heard I'd never leave him. No wonder he cooked that fabulous meal and we made love until the sun came up._ Draco didn't want to think about that now – he couldn't get bogged down in reminiscing about their good times. He had every intention of a long future with many more of those memories. _Would he really think I would leave him? _

For Harry had missed the most crucial part of the conversation – Draco's response to the question. He closed his eyes as he thought about what Remus said.

_"Are you saying you want to leave Harry?" Remus asked._

_"No... no, not at all... How could you think that I'd ever want to leave Harry? But if it stopped a tragedy..." _

_"Draco," Remus said, "Those incidents were just a tragic coincidence. James and Lily were marked by Voldemort, and unfortunately Sirius was thrown into the deep end because of Pettigrew. I'm not trying to make light of these events, they were life shattering, but we know nothing of the books before that time. What's to say that the previous couples didn't live long and happy lives together?" Remus pleaded._

_"I guess you're right," Draco said, but deep in his heart he was still convinced that there was an external force out to get them._

He'd not given the curse much thought between that day and the day Harry disappeared, but now he could see that Harry overheard, and for some reason he began to close himself off. Draco couldn't understand why Harry just never asked him about the curse, or for that matter why he never told the truth about how Wood made him feel. It was as if he was closing himself off and turning in on himself when he began to worry.

It made him think that perhaps his own inaccessibility was to blame. When did he and Harry get a chance to talk? All they seemed to do was bicker and disagree and argue when they weren't sleeping or making love. Looking back now, the arguments seemed so petty, so childish, but between his and Harry's stubborn natures, neither wanted to give an inch. Throwing himself into his work at the expense of private time with Harry was not the best idea, but he only had himself to blame. He was surprised at his own reaction when Harry blurted out his disappointment at Maggie's sorting.

Harry's thoughts on Slytherin really weren't that far removed from his own bias about Gryffindors. If Draco were truly honest with himself, he would admit that he too was surprised when Maggie landed in Slytherin. He was concerned at first (for all the reasons Harry mentioned), but within a couple of weeks, she overcame her shyness and he could see the girl's grim determination and thirst to prove herself come to the fore. Traits that were inherently Slytherin. This could possibly be a side effect of her curse, but she was one strong young girl who left a lasting impression on everyone she met. He felt such a hypocrite, and swore to do what he could to fix that.

Draco never wanted to publicly admit the concerns that plagued his conscience once Wood arrived at the school. Harry seemed more keen than ever to get on a broom, and more often than not he came home trying to hide his sweaty Quidditch robes, or having showered quickly, but still smelling of brooms and broom polish. That fresh flush on his face could have come from a dizzying flight in the breeze, but Draco knew all too well what else caused Harry's cheeks to glow like that.

He realised now that the chance of anything happening between Wood and Harry was as unlikely as he and Severus ever sleeping together, and that thought was ghastly enough.

He could still see a number of memories to be viewed, and he pulled another out of the bottle. Just minutes later he ripped himself away from the Pensieve, ashen faced and shaking his head furiously. He needed to sit down. Right then he was grateful the Headmaster left him alone in his office as he used the Pensieve, for he didn't want the old man prying, but as he sad down, Fawkes trilled loudly, bringing him back to the present.

_No, _he thought as he shook his head. _That's not what happened at all, Harry. Oh how I wish you had been there a moment earlier, or even a moment later, and you would have seen the whole thing. _He conjured a glass of water as he sat back and relived the memory from his own perspective.

--oo0oo--

_Draco was flat out in his classroom. He hated Fridays, when he couldn't even get away and have lunch. A quick sandwich and a double shot espresso was enough to fuel him through the afternoon, but he was always hungry. He realised that he was now short of Armadillo bile for the afternoon class (it appeared that Ermina de Wittington-Smythe was even less capable than he suspected, as she managed to not only blow up her cauldron, but coat most of the front of the classroom with a rather insidious goo that bore absolutely no resemblance to a wart removing brew. Unfortunately, it was quite toxic to the Armadillo bile sitting on the bench ready for the afternoon classes)._

_He needed to make a quick dash back up to his workroom so he could grab some more bile from his own stores. A quick dash for Draco, of course meant that if he went as fast as possible, he would be there and back in time for the start of class. As he left the classroom, he was rather surprised to see Wood lurking around the hallway._

_"Ah, Malfoy, there you are," he said with a charming grin._

_"Wood," Draco nodded but didn't stop. He quickly found a strong hand grab him by the arm and drag him into the alcove behind some hideous statue – Brunhilda the Batty, or something like that – he never really paid any attention to bad sculpture. Wood stepped back when he found a pale wand pointed directly at his chest. _

_"Come now, there's no need for that," he smiled warily. _

_"On the contrary, Wood, I'm not used to being manhandled like that."_

_"Yeah, it's a pity Harry never really took my lessons in manhandling to heart," Oliver said with a sly wink. "I take it you'd like to be manhandled."_

_"You're not endearing yourself in any way, shape or form, Wood. Now, was there a purpose to this or can I go? I am rather busy." Draco could barely tolerate this pretentious berk's presence, and his wand hand was getting very itchy._

_"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Malfoy. There's no need to be hostile. I just thought we should... chat. I doubt you'll need to hex me, unless you're planning something else nefarious with your wand. I'm actually surprised you haven't tried to hex me by now. I'm gathering Harry's painted me as a vile cad..."_

_"Oh, I don't think vile cad quite cuts it..." Draco could think of a dozen worse names to call Oliver, but he doubted he could get away with any of them right then. Knowing his luck, a bunch of students would be walking past and would overhear them. _

_"You never heard my side of the story, Malfoy. Perhaps I should enlighten you about a few of Harry's less admirable qualities..."_

_"I'm fully aware of Harry's more... endearing qualities and I'm quite happy to have him just as he is, thank you very much."_

_"He's not perfect, you know," Wood somehow managed to move so that Draco was backed up against the wall of the alcove. He put his hand up on the wall, effectively trapping Draco. "You know, you seem to be quite fit, and I doubt you're as puritanical as Harry... I'm sure that we could come to some... arrangement... something that would be beneficial to the both of us."_

_Draco just blinked – completely stunned by what utter garbage was coming out of Wood's mouth. Was he honestly propositioning him? Wood took his silence as acquiescence as he brought a hand up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Draco's ear. Wood leaned in closer and breathed across his ear. "Of course, Harry need not ever know." He let out a snort of laughter as his hand came up to cup Draco's chin._

_Draco smiled – a smarmy and sneaky smile, but a smile just the same. Wood seemed to relax at Draco's apparent acceptance of his offer, as he grazed a thumb lovingly along Draco's cheekbone..._

_...Draco sat with his head in his hands as he relived this memory. Harry ran off just as the witnessed this part of Oliver's vile proposition, and he never got the chance to see Draco's rejection. Why was he always running away from the middle of a conversation?_

_...Wood stepped away with a stunned look of surprise as he found Draco's wand sticking directly into his scrotum. Draco stepped closer, poking the wand in even further. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, Wood, but if you value your virility, I would suggest that you forget you ever thought it was a good idea to proposition me. Harry intimated you were lacking in morals, and he was right. I don't know if you thought it was a good idea just because you're horny and desperate for a shag, but I'm sure there are some boys down in Des Spirit Alley in Hogsmeade who might oblige a fallen Quidditch star..."_

_"But..." Wood started to protest as he backed away. Draco didn't move his wand at all._

_"Now, I'm going to say this only once. I know exactly how much you hurt Harry, and your presence here is not only disturbing him, it's pissing me off no end. I suggest you stay as far away from us as possible, and perhaps then I'll forget that this ever happened. Put one foot out of line, and you'll be in so much pain, it will make the agony of being bludgered in the balls feel like a gentle massage." A tick in Draco's cheek betraying the fury he was keeping bottled inside, but Wood noticed, and winced at the imagery._

_Wood blanched, but quickly stood taller, making a great show of adjusting his Quidditch gear. Draco could tell Wood had been getting off on trying to seduce him, but his ardour definitely flagged at Draco's threatening tone. "You know," he spat, "I'd watch that possessive streak you have going there. If there's one thing Harry can't stand, it's someone trying to own him."_

_Draco just shook his head, "It just goes to show you don't have the foggiest notion about Harry at all. If I had the time and the inclination, I'd try to explain the difference between being possessive and caring for someone exclusively. I'd try, but obviously your brain is only wired to understand Quidditch and your own self absorbed ego."_

_Wood just stood there, stunned at Draco's reaction and unable to make a witty comeback as Draco pushed his way past and fled down the corridor as fast as dignity and his knee would allow._

--oo0oo--

Draco was horrified that Harry had to see that scene. Even he flinched at the very thought of it, and he didn't blame Harry for the openly pained look of emotion on his face, Draco didn't need to guess what Harry had suspected he saw – Merlin, if he had seen Harry in the same place, and run off at that specific moment, he would have thought the same. His own stomach churned, and he was getting a horrid feeling that Harry's disappearance wasn't quite so unplanned.

_Has he left these specific memories as a message to me? Why did he not trust me? Why would he even question my fidelity?_ That hurt Draco more than anything, but he was beginning to realise that Harry's disappearance was more than likely planned, and that he was in perfectly good health, but somewhere that nobody would find him.

There were still a couple of memories left in the bottles, and he knew he had to see this through to the end – there could still be more clues as to why Harry chose to leave – for he was in no doubt that Harry left voluntarily. He pulled a memory out of the jar – the strands strong and bright as he practically threw it into the basin. He was keen to get to the bottom of this, and now that his suspicions were leaning in a distinctly unpleasant direction, he needed to confirm them.

It was the same day as the last memory, only the Great Hall was in the throes of breakfast. He remembered coming in late to the hall and seeing Wood leaning over Harry as he mumbled in Harry's ear.

_He was late to breakfast because he had been interrupted by a group of first year Slytherins, including Maggie, as they questioned him incessantly about an upcoming test in Potions class._

_"So if we pay you, you'll give us the answers to the test beforehand?" Eloise Boorman asked hopefully._

_"Sure," Draco was in high spirits and was having a little bit of fun. "If you pay me enough, I might even give you the right answers." This had startled the girls momentarily, but he could still see their scheming minds at work. _

_"Right, so if we pay you enough Galleons, you'll give us the right answers. What's the catch?" Maggie caught on fast, ruining his little game._

_Draco couldn't help but smile as they made their way into the Great Hall. "Ah, you caught me out, Miss Gadbury," Draco tried not to call her Maggie during class time or around her class mates. "I can only tell you that the fee for the correct answers to the test that you will be taking is a sum that is well out of your reach, or anyone's for that matter. I suggest that you study the notes from all your classes so far. That should give you some insight into what questions will be on your test." Their immediate groans could not help hide his grin as they parted company. _

_There were a few moments where he could appreciate teaching, but they were few and far between. He knew the girls had only asked because it was a common tradition in Slytherin for the older students to trick the youngsters into thinking that bribery and corruption could work with all their professors. Draco knew the sad truth that bribery only worked on the weakest of staff, and this was as much a test of his mettle as it was theirs._

_He looked up at the table and saw the only spare seat was next to Severus. Harry was sitting next to Wood, who seemed to be talking – although Harry was doing his level best to ignore him. Draco kept an eagle eye on his soul mate throughout the meal as he regaled the story of the first years to Severus, who laughed and seemed very pleased that Draco used the very same story that Severus used on him when he was a bold and brash first year looking to impress the likes of Marcus Flint._

_Draco knew that Harry was watching him – he could feel those eyes practically undressing him at the table. Still in a somewhat cheeky mood, he decided to do some not-so-subtle flirting. He threw a completely unsubtle look in Harry's direction and knew that he would be as lewd as possible with his hands. It wasn't hard to turn Harry on that way as he made exaggerated gestures with his hands as he ate – playing with the shell of his ear, breathing in deeply and savouring his coffee with eyes closed as he fondled his cup most suggestively. _

_He was planning on doing the seductive banana peel, but he heard Harry drop his fork quite loudly, and he turned back to look. Something obviously was wrong as Wood smirked and Harry just went pale. He tried to look away, asking Severus about something, but all the while he kept an eagle eye on what was going on. He would have desperately loved to set an overhearing charm, but Harry quickly stood, knocking over his chair before stalking out of the Great Hall._

Draco watched the memory now from Harry's perspective, taken from the moment Wood first spoke to him. He was speechless at Wood's manipulation and blatant disregard for propriety. Either the man was deluded or under the influence of badly brewed Felix Felicis. It partially explained Wood's blatant come-on over lunch, but he was as equally infuriated as Harry by what he heard.

_"Still, he's got a great mouth, hasn't he? The way that tongue wraps around you, and the way that mole quivers as he bites his lower lip during sex... He's got the prettiest face – those lashes are too beautiful and they hide that usual screwed up look most guys get... No – I don't blame you at all, Harry. Who could resist that? Yep, he certainly makes you feel more of a man, doesn't he?"_

Wood was delusional. Delusional and so very, very dead. Draco was shaking in fury as he could sense Harry's emotions coming through the memory. He could already interpret the look on Harry's face. It was the same face coupled with the one he saw when Harry oversaw Wood's proposition... Wood was definitely a dead man, and Harry had completely misread the signals, but he only had Wood to blame.

Draco threw himself out of the Pensieve as he realised he couldn't strangle the memory version of Wood that stood before him. He realised his hands were shaking with fury and he had to hold both sides of the Pensieve to keep his balance. _Wood coerced Harry into thinking I was unfaithful? How could Harry question my fidelity? Why didn't he say something?_ Draco was both upset and confused by this, but realised his own hypocrisy when he remembered how he had been questioning Harry's loyalty. He very quickly overcame his own doubts about Harry, but it was obvious now that Harry had completely misconstrued numerous half-conversations.

_Why didn't he say something – anything? It's not like him to just sit back and not say a word... Right, and you wouldn't do the same? Who didn't want to burden Harry with the likelihood the journals were cursed. Be honest, when did you ever get a chance to talk? You have been so self absorbed in your work and your guilt to Severus. Admit it – you've been neglecting Harry. You could practically count on one hand the number of times you've made love since school started, when before the holidays you were aiming for that many times a day sometimes..._

He ran a hand through his hair, his hands shaking at the revelation that he was an utter fool. _Every time you did manage to be able to talk to Harry you were always so argumentative. You utter fool. Did he even think to ask someone else? Remus, Charlie..._

Draco needed to sit down to absorb all this information, but there was still one more memory in the jar. He was almost frightened to think what it might be, for he had no idea, but if it followed the pattern of the previous memories, then no doubt Harry would have seen or heard part of something that would make his again question Draco's fidelity or trust. Whatever the memory, it must have confirmed Harry's suspicions.

Within seconds he realised he had been quite correct, but Harry yet again only saw one frame of a much larger tableau, and he had jumped to the most incorrect of conclusions. Again he relived the memory from his own perspective, but this time he put his memory of the event into the Pensieve to see how Harry could have misconstrued it.

_It was the previous Saturday and Harry was still looking for the Weasel. He had not felt like joining in any Sabbat celebrations without Harry, and if he were totally honest, he was a little put out by the fact he was chasing after the Weasel after the promise of a weekend together. He had pushed aside all work – his marking was up to date and the preparation for classes was ready. He only had to start working on this month's Wolfsbane potion, but that could wait until Monday. The full moon wasn't until the following Sunday – the ninth, so they could have had a wonderful weekend together._

_After spending all of Friday evening moping around, he felt a little guilty for having argued before Harry left. Draco always knew the topic of Harry's oldest friend would get messy, he also knew Harry had made up his mind to search for him – that's what Harry always did. Draco didn't have to like it, and he didn't, but he was powerless to stop him. He vaguely remembered saying goodbye, but he was half asleep and he didn't really know if Harry was still cross. Harry must have known that Draco wouldn't just willingly accept that Harry would go and search for the Weasel git; Draco couldn't forget what he had done to him and his estate, and he doubted he would be very forgiving if and when he was found. Weasley had never liked him – loathed would be a more appropriate term, so Draco was quite inclined to think that the git was working under his own steam and no coerced by anyone else._

_But that was beside the point, Harry was gone, and Draco would be ready for when he came back. He needed to wine and dine Harry. That seemed to be a compromise that should please Harry. He started to cook up a fine meal that he left under preservation charms for when Harry returned. It was as much an apology as it was for being neglectful. He prepared the fresh vegetable pasta sauce and left it on a slow simmer – with the right charm it could simmer for days and not overcook. The meat was fresh and marinating in a sauce that would only enhance the tenderness of the meal. He also chose an Australian Cabernet-Merlot blend red wine – a perfect accompaniment to the chosen meal. He knew Harry detested Merlot, but he figured a fine blend from Australia's Margaret River would help his palate adjust to the taste of such a wine. _

_He slept dreadfully on Friday night, mostly because, he realised, that Harry wasn't in their bed. He smiled when he realised he was now referring to it as their bed. Their rooms, their bed... _

_Severus Flooed and asked if Draco would like lunch with him and Charlie. The meal was a pleasant distraction, and Draco's worries turned to Severus. He said nothing but it appeared he was no closer to losing the involuntary tremors in his hands, Draco began to suspect his teaching duties would extend well beyond the Christmas break._

_Charlie walked Draco back to his rooms afterwards as Draco sensing he wanted to discuss Severus' health alone. Charlie admitted that Severus was showing no signs of improvement, which was frustrating to the Potions master more than anyone else. Somehow their conversation turned to Harry, and Charlie's concerns with the presence of Oliver Wood._

_"So, what does Harry have to say about Wood being here? It's pretty obvious he's not totally comfortable," Charlie said as they wandered through the courtyard._

_Draco shrugged. "Harry's not really said a word, Charlie. I haven't pushed the subject at all because I don't want Harry to dwell on the subject."_

_"I'm surprised Harry hasn't said anything." Charlie had the decency to look a little uncomfortable around Draco. "I know exactly how he felt at the time. He, er... might have done a few wild things to help cope at the time."_

_"Don't worry, Charlie, he told me all about what happened with you. Thank goodness he turned to someone who didn't take advantage."_

_"Wood is the greatest prick I've ever met," Charlie said, and Charlie rarely said bad things about anyone. ""What I wouldn't do to just spend five minutes alone with him. I just need a wand, or my fists might suffice."_

_Draco snorted. "Well, get in the queue. Unfortunately Wood is doing more than just making Harry uncomfortable, the great loping prat. He tried to proposition me the other day."_

_"Really?" Charlie swivelled on his foot and looked directly at Draco. "Are you sure it was a proposition?"_

_Draco just rolled his eyes. "I don't know... Perhaps I should show you – you decide for yourself."_

_Draco then proceeded to show Charlie exactly what Wood had said to him, right down to the soft touch on his cheek. Charlie's mouth hung open during most of the retelling, and the perfect tone in which Draco retold it._

_As Draco was talking, he sensed an energetic magical disturbance. He turned towards the bridge and spotted the edge of someone's robes as they moved out of sight. As quickly as it arrived, the magical outburst was gone. Nothing untoward seemed to have happened, so he turned his attention back to Charlie and his gobsmacked reaction to Wood's bold attempt to proposition Draco._

There it was again – the strange occurrence that he thought nothing of. This time, Draco was ready and kept his eye on the entrance to the bridge. He knew what he expected to see this time, and wasn't surprised when Harry came blustering along, all smiles. His face dropped suddenly and that pale, ghostly look crossed his face again. It quickly turned to anger and fury, and Draco could see the power surrounding and infusing Harry. He clenched and unclenched his arm and his nostrils flared.

Draco dared to follow Harry's line of sight. Just as he thought – it was right at the moment when he was retelling Oliver's proposition, and he just happened to be touching Charlie's face.

Could Harry have thought anything else? Merlin, if Draco had been in Harry's shoes, he most likely would have felt the same.

He leapt out of the pensieve, not thinking about any more memories. He apparently had his answer. It would also explain why the bottle of wine was smashed on the floor of their rooms and the music charm had been tripped. He initially suspected Petite Amie had knocked over the bottle of wine and left the mess of clothes and knocked over books in Harry's room. That certainly explained that mystery.

Draco had wasted days worrying about the most life threatening scenarios – Harry losing his magic and lying in a gutter somewhere; Harry being tortured by Weasley and a band of free Neo Death Eaters; Harry having Apparated and splinched himself – unable to get home; Harry just lying... dead. His emotions had run the full gamut, but now he knew Harry's fate was in his own control. He just refused to take it lying down.

Overwhelmed with confusion about Harry's reluctance to discuss his concerns, his guilt for not being more attentive and his vile anger at Oliver Wood, he stalked from the Pensieve and tried to think of a way to get to Harry – to talk to him. His own gut was churning and he barely noticed his limp was becoming more pronounced.

This was all a misunderstanding. Surely once he told Harry the truth, he would come back. _That's if this isn't just the journal curse starting already. Perhaps it really is true. We're apart at the moment, and if Harry gets angry, his magic could get out of control, and who knows what might happen. He could hurt himself, or he could endanger others... _

Even now he was worried more for Harry than himself. Just why he never had that sort of concern when it mattered most would haunt Draco to the rest of his days.

* * *

**VIII. All that you scheme...**

The longer the revelation took to sink in, the more sense it made to Draco. Even so, his emotions were all over the place, and he found that his first reaction was anger – anger towards Harry. _Why the fuck didn't he trust me? Does he expect to own me and stop me from having any friends – is that it? _Draco knew what he was thinking made no sense, but that overwhelming anger wouldn't go away. He was so tired – he hadn't rested properly in days, and now he was no longer thinking clearly.

Despite his anger, he knew this whole mess could be fixed, and he wasn't going to give up without a fight. If only he could just get Harry's location so that he could talk to him. They had already wasted five days – days in which Harry was probably hating him more with each passing minute.

But the real mystery was why Harry had stayed tight lipped about his concerns. That was the most pressing question. He knew Harry's demeanour changed almost overnight as he became more closed off, and now Draco knew he had been right in his initial paranoia about Harry's ex lover. He'd asked every one of Harry's friends if he had spoken to them about anything, and it appeared he opened up to nobody. What sort of person keeps such feelings bottled up inside? No wonder he blew everything out of proportion. Still, it stung that his trust had been questioned so severely, and for that he truly wanted an answer from Harry.

Draco shook himself out of his thoughts, not realising he was wandering aimlessly through the castle. He managed to avoid the few students who passed by, and the few paintings that felt like a chat quickly closed their mouths when they saw the ever growing feral hunger and determined look in his eyes.

"Draco!" he heard his name called, but didn't pay any attention.

"Draco, wait up!" There it was again, but he quickly felt a hand on his shoulder. Instinctive reflexes combined with his startlement made him spin hard and he had half raised his wand before he felt Remus pushing it away. It seemed the Defence master's reflexes were just as quick as Draco's. "Hey, is everything all right Draco?" Remus' face suddenly fell. "It's not Harry..."

"No, Harry's fine... I hope." Draco let out a huge sigh. "He's not missing, Remus. He's just gone... He's left me... us..."

"Why don't you come and tell me what you have found out." Remus saw the deep despair in Draco's eyes, and convinced him to sit and share tea in his office.

Draco didn't know where to start – he was trying to come to terms with everything himself, but once he started telling what he discovered, he could barely stop babbling. Remus sat and just listened, nodding his head and warming up the teacup in Draco's hands as it kept getting cold.

"It was strange – he never once questioned me or confronted me about his suspicions, Remus. Why? Why couldn't he just voice his concerns? Why would he just run away and make himself Unplottable?"

Remus put down his cup. "The one thing you have to understand about Harry is that he's never truly learned how to properly interact with people. He had absolutely nobody to share anything with until he met Ron and Hermione, and even then he never opened up to his friends easily."

Draco nodded, seeing the sense of Remus' words. "If something was bothering him, he would always try to work it out himself rather than talk to others – it was just never in his nature. After the war, he could finally relax, and the very first time he falls in love and he sees those feelings reciprocated, it's with Oliver. Just when he finally relaxes and opens his heart, he's burned."

"Why would he doubt me? What could possibly make him think I would ever cheat on him, Remus? You don't know how much it hurts to know he doesn't even trust me that much."

"Harry never properly learned to trust, you know that, Draco. Any time he put his trust in a person, they either used him, or they died on him. He had a massive falling out with Dumbledore once, and it took him a whole year to regain that trust, all over a misunderstanding, I believe." Draco just nodded.

Remus continued. "Oliver sure did a job on Harry – he obviously hurt him more than anyone really knew, and he probably reverted to his old habits to help cope with him around. The great news is that Harry's opened up more than ever with you because of your journals, Draco, but his reflex action is still to bottle things up and then run before the pressure explodes. I guess he's forgotten that he doesn't have to run any more. I just wish he could have asked you to help with his baggage about Oliver."

Draco was silent as he realised Remus was right. He finally noticed the cold tea in his hands and put it on the table. "Yeah, I guess it's my fault he never did. I should have been less focussed on teaching and more forceful in asking if Wood's presence was bothering him. So now I'm facing the dilemma of having to find Harry and talk to him when he specifically doesn't want to be found."

"Don't apologise for your work, Draco. I admit you've been placed under a lot of pressure, but Harry understood that. You can't change the past. The real question is what do you plan to do to fix this?"

"I'll just have to keep looking. It's not too late, and I'm not planning on giving up just yet, Remus. He needs to see the truth and know I'm not going to let him run away – not without a bloody good reason."

"Good."

_But first, _Draco thought, _I need to deal with a certain Quidditch obsessed wizard._

--oo0oo--

Dinner in the Great Hall was winding down as Draco sidled into the spare seat next to Wood.

"Hello, _Ollie_," Draco said with a very smooth smile. He seemed calmer and much more collected than he had in days, putting up his oldest and best charming Pureblood Malfoy mask. It could still come in handy on occasions.

"Malfoy," Wood turned and stared before smiling. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Still trying to find your errant boyfriend?"

Draco poured a glass of water and casually began to drink, seeming to pay no mind to Wood's words. "Oh, there's no need for you to feign interest in Harry's welfare - if you ever cared for it in the first place."

Wood squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, but continued to eat his pudding. "So what brings you to my end of the table?" He did not fail to notice Draco's keen gaze and how his fingers suggestively circled the rim of his glass. Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Have you, er, changed your mind about my... proposition?" he whispered quietly.

Draco let out a deep, sultry chuckle. "On the contrary," Draco replied. "I haven't changed my mind at all. I merely thought we could chat. I'm extremely interested in your exact motivations for coming to Hogwarts." Draco was subtle, and kept his tone quieter than the surrounding conversations – so as not to cause a scene.

"What on earth do you mean? I simply applied for Hooch's position..."

"Strange how you would rather be here than in a lucrative contract with Puddlemere..."

"Oh, you know, I wasn't happy with their contract negotiations..." Oliver looked a little uncomfortable.

Draco just smirked. "My sources tell me that your contract negotiations with the club were non existent. I hear they dropped you quicker than a flaming Bludger once your form dropped off. Nobody likes to go through a performance slump, do they?"

Oliver went white in the face, but gave up on his innuendo. "What exactly are you after, Malfoy?"

"That's funny – I was going to ask you the same question." Draco spoke calmly through his teeth, not dropping the congenial mask from his face. "I can tell you now that you certainly didn't come here claiming that teaching was your true vocation, and that the welfare of the younger generation was your greatest concern." Draco nudged in closer, whispering in his ear. "I know what you've been up to. Coming here for shits and giggles is one thing, Wood, but deliberately stirring up Harry is just plain cruel. We might both know Harry's weaknesses, but the difference is that I have no intention of ever exploiting them, unlike you. If your goal was to try and ruin Harry's future, it isn't going to work."

Oliver opened his mouth to protest, but Draco wasn't finished. "I know what you said to Harry, and I know you did it deliberately."

Wood didn't seem at all cowed by Draco's revelation. "You've got no proof I've done anything. You can't threaten me," he said snidely.

"One doesn't need proof, Oliver, when one isn't planning on any form of retribution. I am merely advising you that Harry has quite a few friends on staff who know exactly what you did to him all those months ago. Don't think anyone is going to stroke your ego, or anything else whilst you're here. I'm merely letting you know you should be more careful – constant vigilance and all that – wot?"

"You know, we could forget all this unpleasantness. What say you to a nightcap... up in my rooms?"

Draco could not believe Wood's audacity. Was he deaf as well as stupid? He obviously wouldn't know a set of morals if he tripped over them and broke his wand. He spoke in disbelief. "You really have no idea how morally wrong you are, do you, Wood? Harry had every right to kick you out on the street."

"Don't believe _everything_ you hear, Malfoy. Harry has been known to overreact in the past, but I'm sure you're aware of that. It's more than mere coincidence that my form slump occurred right after Harry kicked me out. I'm just here to balance the scorecard."

Draco nodded, the truth was finally out, and it was as he suspected. Wood was bitter that he was dumped by Harry, and now blamed him for the slump in his Quidditch performance. Perhaps if Wood had focussed more on his game and not his bed sport, he might still be Keeper for the premiere League team.

"Just where do you get off telling Harry that you slept with me?"

"Is that what he said?"

"I know what I hear, and I know what I see inside Pensieve memories, Wood." Oliver's face lost all confidence.

"Think what you like, Wood, but there's nobody on staff who is interested in what you have to offer." Oliver turned and noticed that Charlie, Remus and even Snape were watching him very carefully. Filch was too, but he watched everyone carefully. He let out a nervous little laugh and felt quite uncomfortable as Draco's charming smile returned. He stood, patting Oliver on the shoulder as he made to walk away. "Just forget whatever little games you plan on playing with Harry, or anyone else for that matter. Just stick to Quidditch. It would be a shame to see your performance... flag... in other areas."

Oliver tried desperately to regain his composure, sipping his now tasteless pumpkin juice as he watched Draco disappear from the hall.

Malfoy's threats were pitiful, and he gave them no second thought. He had done enough to rattle Malfoy's cage and upset Harry, which was certainly enough for now. His luck had descended rapidly after Harry kicked him out, and he wanted to make sure that it wasn't as a result of a hex or a curse. Knowing Harry was with Malfoy made it all the more probable.

He only wanted to rattle Harry enough to make him recant the hex that was causing him to go through the worst form slump in his life, but he never counted on any form of further retaliation.

--oo0oo--

Draco had done some horrible things in his past, but he felt no guilt or remorse despite having just dosed Oliver Wood with a mild poison. It wasn't a fatal toxin, merely a common Muggle herb that Wizards didn't react too well to. Wood wasn't going to die, but there was enough toxin there to give him a scare. A few weeks of erectile dysfunction might just affect Wood more than anything else. It certainly wasn't permanent, but if the egotistical git didn't learn his lesson this time, Draco's hand might just slip again over his drink once again.

Draco's anger was rife. He was angry and hurt that Harry could not trust him, but taking out his anger on the cause of it all left him with a clear conscience. It was unpleasant business, but he had done worse in his time as a Death Eater, and for much less justifiable reasons. He didn't want to dwell on that unpleasantness any longer, and now he could get back to the task at hand. How was he going to locate Harry if he was Unplottable? The stronger the wizard, the harder it was to locate them, so he knew it was an enormous task. Unfortunately, it wasn't as enormous as trying to explain everything to him – that would be the real challenge.

--oo0oo--

He was still no closer to finding Harry on Saturday morning, and every day they were apart was only going to make Harry feel more bitter. There was literally no sign of Harry anywhere within the UK, and Draco was seriously considering Apparating over to the Continent. His restlessness was increasing with his inability to contact Harry, and he couldn't just sit around any longer.

What surprised him the most was Harry's friends. He was blaming himself entirely for this situation, for not taking the time and consideration to care enough for his soul mate's well-being, yet Harry's friends were extremely forgiving. Remus helped where he could – writing letters and talking to his sources – but Draco could understand his concern because the full moon was coming up, and he needed Harry back to take over his classes. Remus and the Headmaster knew most of Harry's usual hiding places, but apparently he wasn't in China. Lao Kuai wrote back to say he had not seen Harry either. That put pay to one of Draco's hopes – that Harry had fled to the place of solitude he often spoke about.

Hermione had gone spare when she learned Harry was missing, but she was already strung out enough because of her husband's unknown whereabouts. He didn't quibble or argue with her in any way about her husband, yet she always had time to research and give Draco any obscure spells or ways to try and locate Harry. He was still convinced that the cursed journals were to blame for all this, and he had a gut wrenching feeling that it was all going to end in even more tears. He didn't want to dwell on that possibility, however.

Charlie was helping as well, but with the search for his brother still on, he was just grateful for the offer of assistance. Incredible. So many people helping him look for Harry, but in his deepest thoughts, he sensed that Harry didn't want to come home, and that hurt more than anything. He found his thoughts wandering to that impish grin and those sparkling green eyes, and at that moment he thought of a future without ever seeing them again. He pushed the twisted feeling in his gut aside as he tried to focus on the dowsing stone again.

His frustration won out at the complete lack of progress he was making, and he threw the stone into the fireplace. This was useless. He needed to be out there – looking.

He had no idea where he was going to start, but a rap at the door came just as he was reaching for his coat.

"Severus! You just caught me... I have to go."

"Ah, good, you're on your way then?" The Potions master seemed pleased. "Shall we walk together?"

"What? You... you can't come. You... how did you know I was going? I only just decided I have to go and find him." Draco suddenly seemed confused.

"Where else did you think we were going? It's Slytherin's Quidditch trials – I asked you last week and you said you would come down. They're after a new Seeker and Keeper today, and apart from Potter, you're about the best qualified person on staff now to choose a Seeker. I know that you're... preoccupied, Draco, but you need to get out."

"Oh Merlin, I forgot. I can't... I've got to find him, Severus..." Draco sounded quite desperate.

"You haven't stopped looking for him all week. You should just take a bit of a break for a while." Severus looked sympathetic, and the bags under his eyes rivalled Draco's.

"I know... but if I'm out there, I've got a better chance of finding him. I just can't sit around here any longer."

Severus could see the grim determination in those pale eyes, and he realised he was talking to a stone wall. He sighed. "You told me yesterday you think he's made himself Unplottable. Where would you think to start looking for him?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but he really had no idea where to start. They had spent so much time talking, yet they never really got to the important things about their future. How could they even consider a future together if they never talked about it? _Why not? I just assumed we had plenty of time to talk about such stuff... How foolish could I be? I've got absolutely no idea where he could have gone, other than China, and Dumbledore's old friend hasn't seen Harry..._

"I thought I'd go to China – he's often talked about how much he loved it there..."

"Draco, you can't just go. Are you forgetting that you can't just up and leave the country without filling in three dozen Ministry forms and having mine and the Headmaster's explicit permission? Besides, China is a very large place with millions of Wizards and billions of Muggles. How do you expect to find one Unplottable wizard there?"

Draco had conveniently forgotten about the Ministry restrictions, but he was beyond caring. He shook his head. "You can't stop me, Severus."

"Very well," Severus sighed. "You're willing to give up your apprenticeship and everything? I doubt if you leave now the Ministry will look upon it lightly – they still aren't convinced that you are squeaky clean, but I think it's because they haven't located young Weasley. It was a condition of your apprenticeship that you remain here unless accompanied by myself, or the Headmaster."

"DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES, SEVERUS!" he shouted, but quickly reigned himself in. "I'm beyond caring right now. I just have to get to Harry and explain everything."

The silence dragged on as Severus searched for... something in Draco's face. "Is Potter really worth that much to you?"

"Yes... He's everything."

Severus nodded. "I can't work out who is more stubborn – you or him. Very well. If you wait a day, I can write the necessary letters and you can leave British soil _with_ my permission. At least let me do that much for you."

Draco nodded, granting him that much. "I just... I want to find him – now. This not knowing is driving me insane. I don't suppose you have any idea where he might go whilst being Unplottable? Remus has ruled out quite a few of his old haunts."

"You're asking _me_?" Severus scoffed. "Undoubtedly Potter thinks his pride has been wounded. Like most lions, he's off licking his wounds. He'll be harder in his resolve, and not so easily led – or misled. Are you up to facing that?"

"What choice do I have?"

--oo0oo--

Draco knew he was tired and overwrought, but Severus was right. Had he just left without thinking, he would have a hell of a time getting back to Hogwarts, especially if he came back without Harry. He didn't need any more complications in his life.

The Quidditch trials were a good diversion. He normally would have avoided the pitch, but he had made a promise to Severus for the sake of Slytherin, and as a 'Professor', he needed to become more involved with the house activities. "You love Quidditch so much, Draco. Don't let the war and your knee rule every aspect of your life." Severus had been right. It felt good to be near the pitch – the familiar smells and sights, but he tried not to think of picking up a broom. He wasn't ready for that... yet. He was grateful not to have to walk all the way up to the top of the stands, merely taking a seat on the bench at ground level.

Fortunately Wood was too indisposed to be available for the trials. _What sort of Quidditch teacher is he anyway if he's not available for house trials?_ Draco didn't want to waste good brain cells thinking about Wood any more.

Nearly all of Slytherin were out in force. Team pride was high, and there were dozens looking for the opportunity to join the team. At the thought of a new Seeker, he momentarily remembered Damien Michaels. A distinct chill ran down his back. If only things had been different. A half brother... He shook the thoughts away and concentrated on the hopefuls for the vacant position.

"Maggie?" he said aloud, to nobody in particular, but he was completely surprised to see the petite girl standing there in oversized robes and a borrowed Nimbus 2001 broom. _What's she doing here? She's so small – will she be able to handle that broom? We haven't seen a first year since Harry was on the Gryffindor team. And her curse... _Draco had so many worries, and he was reluctant to let her have a go.

She could see the doubt in his eyes, but her own determined glare made him realise that she was not planning on giving up. Surely he couldn't begrudge her a tryout? Everyone else in the team seemed keen to let her try, particularly when they realised she wanted to be a Seeker.

In all, Maggie seemed to be the star of the whole afternoon. She was a natural on a broom – so fast and light. She out manoeuvred every other player and eyed the snitch easily, her small hand coming up to snatch it out of the hands of a fifth year. Her moves seemed familiar. _I've only ever seen one other person fly like that... but, no. Everyone probably does it now – not like I've been following the game for these past couple of years, is it?_

"She flies like Potter," Severus said. "She's about as small as he was when he was in his first year. No wonder Minerva put him on the Gryffindor team. I think it's high time I had a talk to Albus. If Minerva can bend the rules to manipulate the Gryffindor team to her advantage, we can do the same."

"I doubt McGonagall will be getting the Quidditch cup back in her office any time soon," Draco gave a genuine smile. Nobody doubted Maggie was the right choice for Seeker, and her smile beamed from ear to ear when Severus, Draco and the team captain confirmed it.

Draco could do no more this day to look for Harry – he would have to wait until Severus' letters were received by the Ministry. He could either go back to his rooms and wallow and try to find some way to locate Harry, but he realised he was bone tired. Bone tired and in need of decent coffee. He should have thought to visit Emmaline sooner. She always seemed to know the right answers, even if he didn't quite know what question to ask .

"Um, Draco?" A small voice pulled him out of his reverie as he headed out of the stadium.

"Maggie, congratulations!" he smiled, but her face suddenly turned quite grave. "What's wrong."

"I was wondering if my curse would affect my ability to play?" She chewed her bottom lip in concern. "What if there is a game on the day after the full moon?"

"I wouldn't worry, Maggie. I'm sure that Professor Snape has taken that into consideration. He's already gone up to see Professor McGonagall and the others to announce our team so that the schedule can be set. You'll be fine. Better than fine, actually. You did so well."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Her smile was back. How he wished to be eleven again with so few cares in the world. Still, Maggie had more cares than most her age, yet she still maintained that childish innocence. "I guess I have Professor Potter to thank."

Draco's head whipped around. "Pardon?"

"Professor Potter... Harry..." she whispered. "He was the one helping me. He's been with me most afternoons training me up. He wanted desperately for me to get on this team. He really believed I could do it... and I did!"

"Harry was helping you?" Draco was speechless. "You were practicing down here on the pitch?"

Maggie nodded. "Nearly every afternoon," she offered. "He even let me ride _his_ broom. It was so _fast_. But I only got to use this broom out of the shed today. It's great and all, but it's nowhere near as fast as Harry's. Still, it's just right for me and the guys said I could keep it now that I'm on the team. It's still better than most of the Ravenclaws' and Hufflepuff's brooms too!"

Draco just blinked. Harry had been down here helping Maggie. He hadn't been down in the sheds doing anything nefarious. He opened his mouth to speak, but oddly enough he focussed on the broom she was holding. He remembered it well – it was his own old broom that had ended up in the pile of school brooms. He recognised it by the extra gilt bands that ran around the handle – a mark put there by Lucius. Somehow that seemed somewhat fitting. How, he couldn't really say, but she was now the Slytherin Seeker, and his old broom played a part in getting her onto the team.

"But oh!" she put her hand over her mouth. "Harry told me not to tell you. He said it was supposed to be a surprise for you!"

"It was?" he asked, still stunned that he was so misled by Harry's actions.

"Yeah, he said something about proving he could help Slytherin. Do you know what he's talking about?"

Draco suddenly realised. Harry was trying to apologise for his remarks about Maggies sorting. The puzzle pieces were finally coming together. "Yes Maggie, I think I do."

"Do you know where he is? We've missed him all week." She sounded upset. Draco would have given anything to be able to give her an answer.

"I don't know, Maggie." His voice choked in his throat. "I don't know when he'll be back, but I'm hopefully going to see him tomorrow." Draco had to believe it.

"Good. I miss him, you know. I had hoped he would be here today."

"Yeah, me too." Draco was still reeling from what Maggie told him. By this time they had reached the gates, and he was ready to go into Hogsmeade. "Now, you should head back to the common room. I bet there are a few people who want to congratulate you. We're all very proud – you've done your family proud."

"Do you have any family, Draco?" Maggie asked quietly, wondering if she had overstepped her boundaries, but Draco stood quietly for a moment as he thought about his parents... and Harry.

"My parent's aren't alive any more," he said with mixed feelings, "but I have some very close friends who keep wanting to act like my parents." He immediately thought of Severus and Emmaline. In their own way, they had acted as parents, friends, confidants.

"Do you think that friends could become family? I mean I don't have any living relatives, but when I'm with some people, I feel the same way I remember feeling around my parents. It's even harder when they aren't here and I miss them." Draco was surprised by the maturity of the words coming out of her mouth. They were so simplistic, yet the expressed everything he wanted to say.

"When you don't have any family, you have to rely on your friends anyway, Maggie." _And lovers,_ he added, guilt building about Harry. "Good friends will always be there for you anyway, you should remember that."

"Archibald Hebblethwaite in third year is always whinging and complaining about his family. He says he loves coming to school to get away from them. I think that your family isn't who you're born with – it's the people you are going to miss the most."

Maggie's words were the most profound thing he had ever heard, and he closed his eyes, knowing more than anything that she was absolutely right. Still too stunned by this, he just nodded in agreement. It should have been no surprise, then to find that she gave him a great big hug. "Like I said before, I miss Harry so much. I... I think I'd be upset too, if you were not here." She added the last as an afterthought, but Draco just smiled.

Who was this child, and why did she say exactly what Draco needed to hear at that moment?

His instinct was to say something, but knew that anything else he said would be trite in comparison. What caused her to have such a mature outlook on life? Returning the hug in a fatherly fashion, he pondered her words and knew that she was more right than even she knew. Harry was his family, his life and his future.

--oo0oo--

Draco was so completely distracted by Maggie's astute philosophy, he barely realised he had Apparated directly into Emmaline's cosy living room just above the store rather than the store itself. He quickly found himself wrapped in another warming hug as he apologised profusely for the rude interruption. Apparating into someone's house was the height of bad manners, but Emmaline didn't seem to care.

"What is this, môn chéri? You look dreadful! What does 'Arry have to say about this?" Emmaline cast a critical eye over Draco's appearance, but she knew much more was wrong as Draco blanched at the mention of Harry's name. Her mood became less jovial and more serious.

"Emmaline... I... He... We..." This was harder than he thought as a huge lump rose in his chest. How could he tell Emmaline? He sat heavily on the chair, lost for words.

"Why don't you start at the beginning whilst I get you something to eat?" Emmaline lay a comforting hand on his shoulder and he opened his mouth. Expecting nothing to come out, he was surprised to find that he was telling her the whole story – everything from his own neglectful stupidity, the arrival of Oliver, their silly arguments and the rift that was slowly widening between them.

"It all seems so petty now – work - that is. I was so focussed on that, I was so _tired_ and I think Harry wasn't willing to talk to me. I should have been there to listen to him. I shouldn't have been making up my own crazy suspicions. All the while he was questioning my fidelity because he overheard half conversations." He took a deep breath when he finally finished, realising Emmaline had not interrupted him or led him to talk about anything in particular. "Of course," he continued, "I was dreading this happening, of course, but what else could it be but the curse?"

"What curse?" she asked.

"Oh," Draco waved his hand around. "The curse on the _Journal Intime Partagé_. They might have brought us together, but it seems everyone it connects is doomed to a miserable life either dead or apart from their soul mate."

Emmaline blinked and looked confused. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Draco explained everything he had realised about the journals and how the death of Lily and James, and the separation of Sirius and Remus was just too coincidental to not think that there was a curse on the journals. He was so convinced of this curse, he almost had Emmaline believing it.

"No, Draco, that's not at all possible. There is no curse on your journals," Emmaline said in reassurance.

"How can you be so sure? I..."

Emmaline held a finger to his lips, stopping his protests. "I have known of these journals nearly all my life, Draco. I have seen their effect on those who they connect with, and I can safely say that there is no such curse as you describe. James and Lily Potter were, unfortunately, the victims of prophecy and a maniacal madman. It was just a tragic coincidence that Sirius Black and Remus were dragged into the events surrounding that. _That's_ the true tragedy here. No, there's no curse between you and 'Arry." Her words sounded so reassuring, Draco found himself finding that he believed her. He so desperately wanted to.

"Then why has everything gone wrong between myself and Harry? I don't want it to be this way, Emmaline. I'm a wreck when he's not around... I want to fix this, but I can't even find Harry to talk to him. I'm fairly certain he's not interested in listening anyway. He questioned my fidelity, so he won't believe anything I have to say. I'm not afraid of what he'll do to me, or what he thinks of me – I'm afraid for him, and I want to be there for him in any way he wants me. I can see that now."

"I think that with all the stress you've both been under – your work, his work, then 'Arry's old lover showing up and trying to put a wedge between you. Perhaps you've just forgotten how to talk. Did you keep writing to each other in the journals over the summer?" she asked.

"No, we didn't," Draco said with a raised eyebrow. "We spent a lot of time retracing what we wrote and discovering so many things..."

"So what did you do when you ran out of things to talk about?" Emmaline's eyes sparkled as she saw realisation on Draco's face.

"Are you suggesting that we should continued to write in the journals?"

"What harm could have come from that? You told me that you found it so much easier to tell things to 'Flash' when you wrote them down. Why would you think that would suddenly change?"

Draco's mouth hung opened as he came to the realisation of her words. "We didn't feel the need considering we were able to talk to each other..."

"But you didn't," Emmaline poked Draco in the chest with her finger to emphasise her point.

Draco just blinked and nodded his head for the longest time. The wheels of thought were churning through his head, and as he ran a hand through his unwashed hair, he laughed cynically.

"You know, if I hadn't thought there was a curse, and voiced my concerns to Remus, then this might have been avoided. But it's still not going to help me," he exhaled deeply. "Harry's Unplottable, and I highly doubt he took his journal with him. The last thing he probably wanted to do was talk to me. Anyway, he wasn't planning on being away more than a couple of days. He wouldn't have packed the journal."

"How do you know?" Emmaline asked cryptically.

"I thought about it earlier – when I was trying to locate Harry, but he never mentioned he was taking it."

"Have you seen his journal lying around?" she asked.

"No, but I haven't been into his rooms..."

"You won't find it there. It's with 'Arry," Emmaline said as she sat back, a smug smile on her face.

Draco looked at her with an accusatory stare. "How can you be so certain?"

Emmaline tried to avoid his gaze. She seemed to be in some sort of internal conflict, but she eventually nodded her head. "Draco, as I said before, I have been around those journals for a large part of my life. I may not have been entirely honest with you all along, but I have my reasons for that. Trust me when I tell you that 'Arry's journal is with him. It won't let him go far before it will follow him. It's part of the book's inherent magic. You won't be rid of them so easily."

"So you're saying Harry has his journal?" Draco was hopeful for the first time in days.

"There's only one way for you to find out, isn't there?"

Draco stood, knowing now what he had to do. He turned to look at Emmaline. "I... thank you, Emmaline. I don't know why I didn't come down here and talk to you sooner."

"You had to come to the realisation eventually, Draco. You would not have believed what I had to say until you were ready anyway."

The old witch was so damn infuriating yet so wise. No doubt she was hiding so many secrets, she would need her own secret keeper. "Just _who _are you... really?" he asked curiously.

She nodded sagely, smiling with a knowing grin. "Just go and find your 'Arry, and perhaps then I'll tell you, môn chéri."

--oo0oo--

Draco Apparated back to the school gates and wondered why everything seemed so still and quiet. Looking up at the clock tower, he noted that it was now past student curfew. He had been with Emmaline all evening. It was a week, now. A whole week without Harry, and that thought spurred his steps back to his room. _The journals. Everything revolves around them. If I never laid eyes on it... If Harry never picked it up from Sirius' things... _He was beginning to realise those journals were more important than either of them thought possible.

He found his journal lying under a huge pile of scrolls on his desk. He felt a little bad that he had left the book for so long – long enough for dust to collect on the front cover. He was about to open the front cover, when he paused, quickly looking up. He hesitated, not sure if he should, but he eventually walked over and opened the door to Harry's room. _At least the door is still there. That's something._

Stepping into those rooms gave Draco a sense of Harry that almost overwhelmed him. The neatness. The orderly clutter of Muggle books and DVD's on the shelves, the montage of photos adorning the mantle of the fireplace and the spaces on the side tables. He couldn't look at those photos – all he would see is a frowning Harry who would try to look away.

"_Accio Harry's journal_," he whispered almost under his breath. Nothing happened. He walked over to the disorderly stack of papers scattered on Harry's desk. "_Accio Harry's journal_," he said again, still with no response.

The book was nowhere to be found in the room, and that gave Draco that spark of hope he had been looking for. He raced back out to his own desk. _He took it with him... that can only mean he's been hoping I would contact him..._

Buoyed by the thread of hope, Draco opened his journal to the first blank page. He looked over their last aborted entry and realised it was way back on Lammas. They had not written anything since then. It all seemed so long ago, and the guilt of that was overwhelming.

He wondered just what he wanted to say – he knew he couldn't lie, and he couldn't erase anything he wrote, so he wanted to say it perfectly...

And within moments of putting quill to page, the words just formed and flowed from his emotions. He realised now that he didn't need to think – he just had to feel, and the words would come. It suddenly became perfectly clear. All these months – the words got in the way of their feelings. Both of them admitted they were crap at saying what they really meant, yet neither seemed to have any trouble opening up to their journal confidant.

For the first time in ages he felt compelled to say exactly how he was feeling – guilt and all.

He just hoped against hope that Harry would read it, and believe. The alternative – well, it just didn't bear contemplation.

* * *

**IX. All this you can leave behind...**

Across the other side of the planet, Harry woke, but not from a drunken stupor. This time it was his bladder and not nightmares that roused him awake. There was no real bathroom in this isolated ramshackle hut, so Harry just relieved himself out the window. He could see a sliver of dawn through the window and he tried to think of how many days it had now been. He had lost count, and was now only counting how many empty alcohol bottles were strewn around the rooms.

He knew there was no more – he'd savoured the dregs of the last bottle the night before. He sighed deeply, knowing that he was either going to have to make the effort to buy some more, or just lie here in more abject sober misery. The choice was too difficult, and he didn't want to have to think. The responsibility was just too great. If he started to think, his thoughts would invariably turn back to the one topic he had already exhausted.

He cursed as he tucked himself away and returned to the bed. Convincing himself not to think about Draco was the wrong thing to do. Now it was all he could think about. _I really should find something more productive to do. Something new. Shit, I'm not awake yet. Perhaps I should go back to sleep._

Satisfied with his decision, he closed his eyes and lay back on the pillows. A strange rattling sound came from the opposite end of the room. He was used to strange sounds. Part of making himself Unplottable was the constant stream of enquiries in the fireplace and the sound of owls confused that he couldn't be found. The problem with this sound was that it was coming from within the room.

He thought he might be imagining it, but putting on his glasses, he confirmed that his bag was indeed leaping about. _That's strange. I emptied it._ Staggering over, he found a zippered compartment on the side of the bag that appeared to be bursting at the seams. Still too sleepy to employ any form of vigilance, Harry opened the side of his bag, only to find something large and heavy spring out into his arms.

It too a couple of minutes to realise what it was. The journal. His fucking journal. _How did that... never mind. I know I certainly didn't call for it when I pulled my extra stuff into the bag. I only cast a spell for my necessities._

He carried it over closer to the mantle so he could see more clearly. Yes, it was his journal, and it began to wriggle and squirm again. Harry was about to open it, when it flew open, pages fanning out furiously until they came to a stop at copious pages of green text. He went to touch it as he realised Draco was writing, but something made him pause just before he put his hand on the parchment.

_"They are cursed, Remus. Something tragic is going to happen, and I don't know what to do."_

The memories flooded through him as he relived every one of Draco's betrayals. He knew at that moment the truth of them. The curse had left him the fool who fell in love with a consummate actor – there was no other way to describe Draco. _Of course he was acting with you, Harry you git. He was a bloody Death Eater spy – of course he had to be believable. Now he's been playing around behind your back. Don't fall for it a second time._

He can feel the magic of the journal coercing him to read, and for the first time in days he has perfect clarity. The journal brought him to this point. The _cursed_ journal. _Surely you can't believe what Draco is writing – he's the most accomplished liar you know. Just be done with it._

_Just be done with it._

It made perfect sense. It would solve all his problems and allow him to get over this and get on with his life. Why didn't he think of this earlier?

Before he could feel the journal coercing him any further, he tossed it aside aimlessly, not caring that it landed directly on the burning embers in the fireplace. Fanned by the new fuel, the flames suddenly burst to life as the book ignited and was quickly engulfed.

The sight was mesmerising, and he found he couldn't look away. So he waited...

...Waited and watched until he could see no more through the blur of tears.

* * *

**--To be concluded in Chapter 20: Wish You Were Here --**

* * *

Review Thank You's: So many people to thank. Apologies again for the long wait. Please remember that writing is a hobby, and fanfiction doesn't pay the bills. Real life does have to come first, as much as we wish it didn't. We appreciate your patience. Thank you to the following people for leaving a review:

**..., All-knowing Alien, Angel-Wings6, AquilusRosae, ashmoon, Bean, beserkergoddess, Bezzie, Bongo MonkeysXP, C.F.Evangel, ceriaroman, CompleteGeek, Damien Malfoy, DarkWingedTenshi, Death Kitty, DemonRogue, Diamond Angel, Dnic5, Dr. Colleen, Dreaming-Sensations, DuSantiago, Dyslexic Angel, essence malfoy, fading-hologram, Faery Goddyss, Faith Maguire , Feather Moon, fifespice, Fiona, FlamencoPenguin, HalandLeg4ever, HD4Aubrey, ILLK, It'sJustMe, JadeKipping, Jane Gray , Jess , Kaaera , kappak , katsuyakaibaobsessed, KAWAIIwolf-luvr , Lelimo, Lily Evans Potter Black Lup..., Lin0a , Ludra, Lux et Veritas, Magick, Me, Menecarkawan, Michelle , Morivanim, Nanashi Tsurunaji, Omnimalevolent, PaDfOoT Da GrEaT, Pete , possible-chobit, Rayne-Jelly, Rhiwan, Rizka, Ruby Love, saheel, Sandalino Silvio Leif, Sarah , Senoritatito, Serenity Miral, Shena , Sheyda, Shinosu, Shoujo Kitsune, SilverDragon1610, Skylar Goth, SporkadelicAsh, suckers love, sugarpixie02, TatsuKitty, tearlesereph, The Chaotic Ones, TheVender, Trista Louise, truthxinxshadow, ura-hd, vytiri, Wannaseemymoon, Xanadrine, Xandria Nirvana, Yuen-chan.**

But to answer a few specific questions...

_Dr. Colleen..._ Patience, child... good things come to those who wait! Sorry to hear about the boyfriend. Hope this isn't too hard to read... Have another glass of fine wine as you enjoy this. As long as it's not a Merlot, everything will be just fine. The boys recommend a fine Cab Sav...  
_Damien Malfoy _- Thanks for your kind words, they are a sure incentive to keep writing.  
_All-Knowing Alien_ - You'll have to wait until next chapter to find out Ron's fate...sorry...  
_Sheyda _- Yes, you were right, Jean-Paul is the man for Remus...  
_truthxinxshadow_ - Thanks for your kind review. Yeah, we really wish that the journals existed, but in the next chapter you'll find out exactly how/who created them and their intended purpose...  
_Nanashi Tsurunaji _- You don't sound at all like a deranged teapot on meth... lol... We like long involved novels with lots of plot and backstory as well so we have obviously shown that influence here. Yes, it does take a while to get through this story (you try having to go back and remember what you wrote in your own story... I have a much greater appreciation now for the fact that JKR can forget little things... it's hard, and if you go back and reread the entire thing just before a new chapter, it would be years before the next chapter goes out!)  
_DuSantiago_ - glad we could offer you a nice birthday present! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.  
_Faery Goddyss_ - Thanks for letting us know about the editing error. Things sometimes go screwy in the upload, and we often catch things after posting that didn't seem to be there in the 3,000 times it was read before posting!  
_TheVender -_ Yes, the boys have finally come together, but unfortunately, there's a little bit of baggage there that needs to be dealt with, and circumstances haven't been the best in this chapter, but they had one more lesson to learn... Draco's realised what needed to be done, but now he has to convice Harry... gulp!  
_Xandria Nirvana_ - hope you don't get into too much trouble reading this whilst babysitting...  
_Essence Malfoy_ - yes, this is an emotional rollercoaster, and we hope you aren't too seasick from this chapter of angst and more angst...  
_Kaaera_ - We never really said what Emmaline has been up to, just that she knows more about these journals than she's ever let on. She let a little bit slip in this chapter, but you're going to find everything out in the next chapter...

Cheers, and thanks again for reading!  
Azhure & Wintermoon


	20. Wish You Were Here

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
Chapter 20: Wish You Were Here  
Authors: Azhure & Wintermoon2**

**_Notes:_** _Thank you to **JediMijan, Separatrix** and **C Dumbledore **for their wonderful beta skills._

**Notes:**  
Text in **_Bold, Italics:_** Diary entries from Flash.  
Text in _Italics_: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams or Diary entries from Luc.

* * *

_We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,  
year after year, running over the same old ground.  
What have we found?  
The same old fears.  
Wish you were here._

_**Pink Floyd **_

* * *

The sun streaked through the small gaps in the bamboo screen that covered Harry's bedroom window. A bird's cheerful chirrup woke him, and he rolled over to see the daylight. I don't even remember coming to bed last night. He stretched and sat up, brushing the blankets aside as he climbed out of the bed. The woven bamboo created a chequered pattern of light in the room, reminding him of a chessboard. This, unfortunately made him think of Ron and the fact that he was beginning to lose hope they'd ever have the chance to play a simple game of chess again. It really did seem as if he were doomed to be unhappy. He had never known how miserable he could be until he had lost his best friend and both found and lost his soul mate.

This defeatist attitude isn't going to get me anywhere, he thought. I've lost touch with myself, and dwelling on my losses won't help at all. I need to get out of here.

Far above him, in the remote mountains of China's Fujian Province, he found the perfect meditation spot. He'd spent hours, and sometimes even days there during his earlier tutelage with Lao Kuai and knew it was just where he needed to be now. Since this magical region of China was familiar with wizards, there was no problem with Harry Apparating directly to the cliff on the edge of Mount Wuyi. The red earth jutted out below his feet and rose up vertically behind his back. All around him were lush green trees and plants, the further ones slightly obscured by the morning mist that still hadn't burned off. Far below, under the misty clouds, he knew there lay a sparkling emerald green lake, which was fed continuously by the zigzagging stream that flowed down the mountain. At its was one of the dongtian, the caves that connect all the sacred mountains of the region. The Taoists knew that particular one as the Grotto Heaven of Ascending Perfection and Original Transformation, and Harry could feel the healing and transforming energy rising up from it as soon as he arrived there. Even during his beginning training, he had never questioned Lao Kuai's reasoning for choosing that spot as his central meditation place. Finally settling himself into his slightly altered version of the lotus position, Harry began the familiar steps of adjusting his breathing and tapping into his centre.

Later on, he arrived back at the hidden hut, feeling refreshed and with clearer thoughts than he'd had in days. There was no point in drowning himself in his sorrows again, and besides, there was no alcohol to be had. He went directly to the kitchen to make himself a cup of Oolong tea. The delicate tea was more flavourful than he could get in England, since it was grown there in Fujian. As he sipped it, Harry thought about his choices and what consequences would come from them. _Was I right to leave like that? Perhaps I should have waited, confronted him._ Before he could berate himself any further, the front door opened and Lao Kuai walked in, his pale grey robes trailing the ground, blending almost perfectly with his long grey hair.

"Ni hao, Lao Kuai, You know, I'm not surprised that you would sense my presence and show up here."

"Yes, Harry. Your discord and turmoil was strong and felt from far away, although I admit surprise that you would be so hostile in trying to keep others away. You seem... a little more open and willing to talk now, but perhaps discussing it over tea would be nice?"

Harry nodded and _Accioed_ another cup and the delicate porcelain teapot. He proceeded to explain the whole story, which actually took enough time for a few cups of tea, even with the details he glossed over at times. As he spoke, there were moments when he realised his own rashness, and how he could have handled the situation differently. Finally, when he finished and explained why he had come to the hut and how he had burned the journal, he stopped, expecting admonishment from his teacher. Instead he merely got a single question.

"How do you feel now?"

Harry hung his head in his hands. "Empty... Confused... I wonder if I should have tried harder, if I did something wrong, if I was mistaken about anything. I wonder if Draco was right about the curse on the journals and I've managed to make sure it comes to fruition, or if I ended it by burning mine. In fact, as I think about it, I remember more and more of these incidents and wonder if I've been too rash all along. I should have talked to him. I thought he was my soul mate, but now I'm not sure there's any such thing. Why didn't I say something to him?"

"Your heart knows who your soul mate is. There is no fooling it. If you feel it in your heart to be true, then he is the one. Your heart knows well what your head denies. You must believe it in your head as you do in your heart. Perhaps this is your conflict."

"Xie xie, Lao Kuai. You know me so well." Harry twirled a spoon in his tea, trying to deny he was feeling a bit restless and unsure of himself, yet knowing Lao Kuai's words made perfect sense.

"Perhaps returning to old habits is necessary here, Harry." Lao Kuai rose and gestured for Harry to follow him toward the fireplace. The fire from the previous evening had long since died out, but to Harry's surprise the journal was still there, smudged in places by the soot, but otherwise looking none the worse for wear.

"But how…." Harry began to question, his mouth still open in incredulous wonder.

"Great magics are at work, Harry, and magical objects are not easily destroyed," Lao Kuai waved his hand over a small writing table with a large, lush cushion behind it. Two glasses of wine appeared on the table: one a deep purple plum wine, the other a clear white rice wine. "Some wine, and your journal, Harry. Old habits. Drink them both; as Li Po said, 'I hear clear wine called enlightenment, they say murky wine is like wisdom.' I believe, Harry, that you are in need of some of each, hmmm? Perhaps an appreciation of both clear and murky wine is needed for a certain type of balance."

"What are you suggesting?" Harry asked, not sure exactly what Lao Kuai wanted.

"Just think on it. Think about the two different wines. Think about the differences with your soul mate. Listen to your heart. Read what you see. _Trust_ in your feelings, not what your mind tells you _should_ be right. Only when you appreciate the murky depths will you come to truly see enlightenment.

Harry studied the two glasses, still not certain what Lao Kuai wanted him to do. He eventually relented and took a sip of the rice wine. It was dry and crisp with a flavour that sat long on his tongue. The plum wine still sat there, and after staring at it for a time he took a sip from that glass.

The flavour was bolder, richer, and sweet with a hint of spice. It felt soft on his tongue and left a strong burn down his throat that lingered. He could still taste that one sip many minutes afterwards. Apart from the obviously different taste, he was still at a loss to see what Lao Kuai wanted him to see.

He shrugged, one hand unconsciously opening the cover of the journal. He was still amazed by the fact it had survived the burning, but he realised that yet again he was thinking like a Muggle. Whenever the stress got too much, he often reverted to the simplest of Muggle ways to get out of things - like assuming that fire could destroy something this precious. It was a wonder that he managed at all in the wizarding world.

Harry sat back as he realised just how much he relied on Draco in that respect. He thought nothing of informing Harry of his gaps in Wizarding etiquette and knowledge, and Harry could fill in the gaps when Draco seemed confused by Muggle customs or culture.

He realised he never gave Draco a fair chance. He assumed the very worst and just ran off without even confronting him. He at least owed him the opportunity to put forward his side of the story. Could he just forget Draco and spend the rest of his life with the knowledge gnawing away at him? Didn't Draco deserve a chance to at least explain? Perhaps he would get the answer he sought. He opened the journal and began to read.

Within moments he was enveloped in the familiar warmth of the journal, the words drifting across the page like a warm hug. He was so absorbed that he never knew when Lao Kuai left the hut.

* * *

_Harry,_

_I find myself wondering if you will even read this, but I know I just have to put this down on paper - just so I can get my head around it all. I've spent a week trying to locate you, and now I realise you don't want to be found. When you get stubborn enough, nobody can break your magic. I can't believe it took this long for me to even think to write to you in the journal. I guess I didn't think you would take it. Honestly, I just didn't think. I tried to summon it before, and I'm getting nothing, so I assume you've taken it with you._

_I've found your memories, Harry, and I am pretty sure I have a good idea about why you've gone, but what the fuck do you think you were doing just taking off like that? I've spent a week worrying myself to death, thinking the worst, but now I can't seem to muster up any feeling other than anger. I thought we had trust. I thought we were past all that shite. Oliver Wood is a fucking prat who needs a good dose of bitter reality, but I'm angry and disappointed in you, Harry. I didn't think you would take what you saw at face value without at least questioning it._

_I know that things have been crap, and that we have had a time of it lately. Helping Severus is more work than I ever imagined, and I just don't know how to get on top of that. I admit that I've had a lot to worry about, and I should have talked to you. That was my mistake - I admit that. _

_For days I wondered if you were missing, or dead, or worse, but now… well now I know better and I'm just bitterly disappointed, Harry._

_I know that sounds blatantly selfish of me, but I know that I just can't believe you didn't at least talk to me about any of this. You told me you were fine around Wood, but obviously you weren't. What is it with you and listening to only half a conversation? The least you could have done was confront me about what you thought you saw. _

_Now I'm getting myself all worked up. I don't want to because I know there is no point in arguing with you about something that is only in your imagination. There is no logic to any of this. None at all._

_This is going to sound like a scripted denial, but you certainly never saw the whole story. You only saw half conversations, Harry. You didn't wait to hear what Remus said when we talked. You thought you saw me flirting. Would you even begin to believe me if I told you that Oliver was the one who made a pass at me? Would you even care if I told you that I was only telling Charlie about Oliver's pass? Would it sound trite if I said that you were the target of my romantic dinner?_

_I can't believe you didn't trust me enough to even confront me. You just ran away like a great bloody coward. Whatever happened to all that Gryffindor courage and bravado?_

_I don't even know why I'm bothering to defend myself, when I'm not the one who has done anything wrong beyond working myself to a frazzle trying to do my job and trying to help Severus. I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling angry and belligerent. I really wish you were here right now so I could hex some sense into you. I haven't felt this aggressive towards you in years, Harry. I can only think that it's because of that trust issue._

_Perhaps it's this damn journal. It's not like I can lie to you in it, is it? Perhaps it's dragging the anger and frustration out of me and onto the page._

_Just in case you do ever read this, I just want you to know that even though I'm angrier at you than I've ever been, I still want to talk to you. Maybe I'll never know what made you run and maybe you'll never come back. You're stubborn enough about things that you'll remain Unplottable forever. I deserve some answers, Harry._

_I suddenly feel utterly ridiculous and quite bereft. I'm left sitting here, trying to do two jobs and having no fucking idea what's going on in that wool brained head of yours. The least you can do is talk to me. I don't know what else to give, Harry, but I know silence isn't going to solve anything, and yes, despite what you might think, I want to resolve this. _

_We haven't come this far just for you to walk away and give up. Is that what you want to do? Think about it, Harry. I'm not stupid enough to think that it's all going to be dazzling fireworks and rose scented cushions - we're two completely different men when it comes to so many things, but I think that's what makes it so right. Could you imagine how boring it would be if we agreed on everything? That's not us, and I have no illusions as such. There was a spark there from the first day I met you - albeit we both misinterpreted it and dragged around the wrong idea for years._

_Are we destined to keep making that mistake over and over again? I wonder if that is the true curse of this journal. I certainly hope it isn't, but I can't help but wonder. I'm pouring out my heart honestly and truthfully, laying out everything with no barriers or masks. I have no idea if you will read it, which is more painful to think about than anything else._

_I have no answers, Harry. I don't know why we just stopped talking. Have we been bewitched by a spell? Was it just coincidence? If I didn't know any better, I would think that there is some greater conspiracy or force out there controlling us. I just don't have the answers. I admit I could have given you more of my time. I kept wanting to, but by the time I got around to being with you, you were asleep, or busy._

_A small part of me was hoping you might be reading this as I write, but I have nothing more to give you on paper. I would have expected you to hex or curse me in a duel, not this bitter, lonely silence. Anything is better than this. _

_If I never hear from you again, just know I'll be still angry and disappointed, and resigned. I never thought I deserved perfect happiness; I've not always been a nice person. Perhaps I had this one chance and for some unknown reason I blew it. If you ever want to talk, or hex or curse me, I won't turn you away - I can't. The Floo here at home will always be open to you. I can't throw away something that I've always wanted, and never knew I really needed until I got it._

_Bah, I'm crap at this. I'm apologising, yet I have nothing to apologise for. Just talk to me._

_Please. _

_You know I don't beg, Harry. I don't but I am begging you. Please. Just talk to me. Not knowing where you are is just killing me, and I honestly feel like I've been ripped in two. Can't you feel it?_

_I love you, Harry Potter. Don't ever forget that. I'll love you until the day I die, even if I never see you again. _

_Draco_

The pain in Harry's chest was almost unbearable, but he knew it was only the pangs of guilt and a bitter dose of reality. Putting the journal aside, he again asked himself why he ran away. He had not been thinking clearly for weeks, and only now did he feel as if he had woken up to reality.

Draco was right. He _was_ a coward. He had grown to loathe confrontation, and running away seemed like the easiest thing to do. Naturally, that was the dumbest thing he could have done – it definitely surpassed many of the other stupendously dumb things he had done in his time.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was foolish to question Draco's trust. He might have rushed into trusting people in the past, but he had trusted Draco for months now. Why had he suddenly questioned that? He had no hard and fast answer – just that _something_ made him question it.

He dared to hope that he wasn't completely in control of his actions, but he failed to recall any form of coercion to make him think otherwise. Looking yet again at Draco's words, he sensed the righteous indignation. He had been the one wanting answers from Draco, but now all he could think to do was ask for forgiveness, and possibly another chance. He became quite choked up with Draco's last words, and their seeming finality, and his hands shook as he searched around for quill and ink.

The journal could not lie. He remembered that now, and Draco was hurting. How could he be such a prize fool to think ill of Draco? The sense of sense of hopelessly lost love oozed off the page, and he knew he would need to put a stop to this. He turned everything in the hut upside down until he transfigured the last of the red wine into ink, and a twig on the ground into a quill.

Dipping the quill in the ink, he let it drip on the page, unsure of exactly what he wanted to say. Normally, he would have found the journal pulling him in and drawing out the words. He was hopeless with the spoken word – he realised that.

It suddenly struck that he could charm his way out of this with smooth words through the journal. He realised that whilst it never lied, it often pulled out things differently to how he would say them.

This wasn't a bad thing, but right then he knew that this situation was above the simple written word. He needed to _talk _to Draco - to meet his eye when they...

He looked down to see a large blotch of purple drip down onto the page.

_Harry, are you there?_

He froze when he saw the words and realised Draco was still there, but the damn quill still had a little something to say.

_**Draco... I... No. I can't do this... I'm sorry...**_

He paused before he could write more. He wouldn't write this, and for the first time in days he knew that he was doing the right thing. He took a deep and calming breath as he put down the quill and closed the journal, deciding once and for all what needed to be done, and knowing more so than anything else that this was the _right_ choice to make.

* * *

Draco had fallen asleep at his desk, his head atop the closed journal. A slow drizzle had continued all night and the sound eventually lulled him to sleep. He had waited for a reply from Harry – had stayed awake as long as possible. Stretching and pulling at the kinks in his neck, he realised where he was, and why he had fallen asleep at his desk. The pain of his aching joints was nothing compared to the bitter disappointment of seeing nothing in response. There was, however, a large purple blot of ink, so he knew, at least, that Harry had read it.

The blotch was spreading and he sat up straighter. Harry was there – at this very minute. He picked up his quill and quickly responded.

_Harry, are you there?_

It took a couple of minutes, and he was beginning to think he had hallucinated the purple ink when he saw Harry's response. It seemed hesitant, and then he looked at the denial in disbelief. _I can't do this..._ What did Harry mean?

_What do you mean? Harry? Harry?_

It felt like an eternity passed and there was no response. Somehow, he just knew Harry was no longer there. What had happened? He felt an overwhelming sense of resignation – that this was the end, and that left him feeling bereft. Perhaps laying it all out in the journal had been an even bigger mistake. He had nothing else to give with his emotions, and he had put all his hopes on Harry having replied to his words. He was definitely gone. There was no going back now.

The realisation that he had lost Harry for good struck home. The heavy drizzle falling from grey skies mirrored his mood as he realised there was no more he could do. He didn't want to give up on Harry, but he had not thought this far into his plan, and had never expected to be in this situation. He stared at the page, just hoping for one more glimpse in purple. Even a drop would tell him that Harry was still there, but a part of his mind knew Harry was no longer reading.

As the hopelessness overwhelmed him, he closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel Harry's presence right there in the room. His head fell down to rest on the closed journal. He was beyond tears now, but a heavy, aching ball of... nothing... was filling his chest. He took another deep breath, filled with the anguish he had ignored for days. It was worse than he imagined, for he could almost smell Harry in that breath.

Despite all his years of training and his heightened sensed, he never sensed the body behind him. It was just a figment of his imagination, just like the ghostly pressure from the hand that suddenly came to rest on his shoulder. He had heard about hallucinations when people were under extreme pressure and grief. Why should he be excluded?

He absently brought his hand up to his shoulder to reassure himself that the hand was not real, when he touched flesh. He didn't flinch, but he knew that hand – had felt its touch intimately many, many times.

He turned so quickly he almost cricked his neck. Harry stood behind him, and all Draco could do was stare at him blankly. It was either a hallucination, or it really was Harry, looking every bit as pathetic and sorrowful as he had hoped. He didn't want to see him life that, but his anger was tempered with relief.

"You came back," he whispered hoarsely, still unsure if this was all real.

Harry just nodded. "Yeah," he replied softly.

Draco took a deep breath, drinking in the sight, smell and sound of his soul mate. This was what he missed, and at that moment his anger abated and he realised that no matter what, he couldn't bear to be parted again. "You didn't write... I waited up all night..."

"Some things are better said face to face," Harry replied flatly, and for just a second, Draco wondered if Harry was only back to have things out. A touch of fear returned.

Their hesitancy and reluctance to talk was evident, but Harry's hand was still firmly on Draco's shoulder. Neither wanted to lose the touch, as if their physical connection would make understanding of the situation easier.

"So," Draco started, the bitter edge of anger touching his words, "What made you come back?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess I stopped overthinking, and finally listened to my heart and my feelings."

Draco seemed to accept this explanation, but Harry wasn't finished. It was as if he had now opened the floodgates. "Actually, I felt profoundly hollow at the thought I might never be with you again, and I don't think I could live like that." Harry's words were tinged with hope, and for the first time, Draco saw the hint of a smile at the corner of Harry's mouth.

He desperately wanted to forgive Harry on the spot, but the lingering anger wouldn't be satisfied until it got some answers. Draco suddenly found his voice, standing to look Harry in the eye. "You just ran? You couldn't confront me like most normal people? I'm still at a loss to even begin to wonder how you came to such hugely wrong conclusions about everything. Why didn't you just _talk_ to me?"

Harry shrugged, his eyes expressing his own desire to know the answer to that question. "I thought... I thought I knew what I was doing. It seemed the logical thing to do if we were cursed to be miserable. I overheard your concerns to Remus about the journal curse, and I just ran with it." Harry shook his head and let out a snort. "...Just like a prophecy. I guess I was only making it come true."

Draco was silent as he processed this explanation. Harry seemed a little nervous, biting his lip and not looking Draco directly in the eye. He continued, finally lifting his face to look at Draco as he grasped both of the blond's hands. "I knew that something wasn't right, but I lost sight of us. I realise that when you aren't in my life, I'm lost, and I want to fix that, because I don't want to feel lost ever again."

Draco quickly pulled his hands out of Harry's, running them through his hair. He walked over to the window, the sound of an overflowing drain drowning out the conflicting thoughts in his head. "I... if it's any consolation, I should have talked to you, too. My only excuse is my woeful inability to prioritise around my work."

"Yeah, we both got busy, didn't we?" Harry replied, stepping up behind him, ostensibly to look out the window also.

The past tense in Harry's words kept Draco a little on edge, and he felt he had to explain himself further. "I was so focussed on doing the right thing to help Severus and trying to keep an eye on Wood that I didn't put enough time into us. I kept telling myself we would talk on the weekend, but the time never came. Just when I arranged a dinner for you, you left."

Harry nodded, his hand back on Draco's shoulder. He could feel the heat radiating off Harry's chest, and he tried in vain not to lean into it. He knew they had to talk this out, but Harry's presence was intoxicating, and he didn't want to let go. "I know why you spent all that time helping Maggie. She's on the team, by the way." He turned to find himself in a close embrace. Neither of them moved to step away.

This news did make Harry smile. "I'm sorry I missed that. I've let everyone down – I realise that. I guess I've done more than just hurt you by leaving. I have no defence to offer other than my wool headed Gryffindorishness."

"We could sit here for hours and offer recriminations, Harry. I admit my faults, and you yours. I was a little pissed off for your reaction to Maggie's sorting, but I should have talked it out, not buried myself in more work. I know how to help Severus, but I'm at a loss sometimes with what to do for you."

"Your work is important, Draco. I can see that, and so can everyone else. You should help Severus, but not to the point of being a martyr – you do enough of that by refusing to let anyone help you with your knee..." Draco sighed. He knew this topic was bound to come up sooner rather than later. Better to clear the air now.

"I don't..." Draco replied adamantly, but Harry just stared at him, daring him to retaliate. It took Draco a moment to regroup and talk about the one thing he perceived as a flaw.

"I'm not a nice man, Harry. You know that. I wasn't brought up to be nice. I've done horrid things, some by choice, but most by virtue of the fact I was forced to do it. I didn't choose to spy out of any noble reason – not at first. I did it purely to stay alive. But then I did – survive. I lived when so many others died. I shouldn't have lived, yet here I am, wondering if I'm about to lose the best thing that's ever happened to me, and knowing all along I don't deserve it. I want it _all_, Harry – I always have. But my knee reminds me that I'm not perfect, and when I start to get too full of myself, I only have to walk and I'll remember that I should be grateful just to be alive. It's... hard to explain."

"What a load of bollocks," Harry blurted. "You don't think I have any idea about survivor's guilt, Draco? You think you're the only one who had to do horrid things? Hello, you're talking to Harry Potter here, just in case you've forgotten. I didn't exactly have any choice in my destiny, not after Voldemort made that prophecy come true. I've read between the lines in the journal, Draco. Luc thought I was the one to give him that injury. I see that now. I don't doubt you were bitter towards me for the longest time. I've offered you help, but you're the most stubborn Slytherin I know. You don't need to be a martyr – you have done more than many. How many lives did you save just by being a spy? So many more than those that you took. Don't be a prat – just swallow that damn Malfoy pride and suck it up like a man."

"I..." Draco had trouble speaking.

"Shhh," Harry tentatively moved his other hand to Draco's shoulder, squeezing them in support. "You say you're not a nice man. Who is the one with the burning desire to help all werewolves? Yes, I know you'll get the fame and recognition you've always craved, but deep down I know that it's the fact you've made a difference that means the most to you."

"Well it's all a moot point anyway," Draco mumbled. "I won't forget you found the cure for the curse – it certainly saved your scrawny arse. Not much point in thinking about it any more, not unless you know where there's a stash of Pegasus Wingtips? I just think there's no point in us even talking about this, not when there's no hope of a cure."

"Would you let Snape talk like that about his current injuries?" Draco could sense the anger rising in Harry. He knew it had been stupid to bring this topic up with Harry. "Would you let Remus give up and give in to his lycanthropy?"

Draco knew Harry had him. He shook his head. "No."

"Then stop being so proud. Wearing an injury isn't a mark of pride, Draco. It just helps people to remember. I want to forget the past. It's over. Look to the future. Now who is being the wool head?"

"All fine words, Harry. I _had_ forgotten the past, but then you had to go and think I was cheating behind your back. Who was the one losing his trust in me?" Draco couldn't help the accusatory tone as the words slipped out.

Harry nodded. "I deserve that. I think Oliver's presence did unsettle me. I guess I'm not over him like I thought. Seeing him around just brought back sour memories and all the insecurities. I was worried you might actually retaliate against him in some way, but I didn't speak up because I didn't want you to know I really was struggling around his presence."

Draco snorted. "I _heard_ the lies he told you. How could you believe them?"

"I didn't want to, but then I saw you in the hallway later, and I... I just didn't think." They both nodded at that assessment.

"I honestly don't know _why_ I thought anything, Draco. Oliver made me all insecure, and then you were pissed off at me about Maggie, and you were always working... my mind just came up with these scenarios and I ran with them."

Draco nodded. "Remus said you always kept things to yourself."

"Yeah. I wasn't very good at sharing my feelings. Is it any wonder why I ended up sharing things about myself in a journal?"

"No." Draco still felt that it wasn't enough of an explanation. Coercion, potion, blackmail, threats – all those things he could understand. Having Harry just feel insecure and lose trust was not good enough.

"Why did you lose your trust in me?" Draco finally asked. "What did I do?"

"I honestly don't know. I thought you would have hexed Oliver in the halls, or yelled, or done something. Perhaps that's part of it. I never consciously thought it – not until I got angry enough to leave."

"But I did retaliate against Oliver," he said, almost as an afterthought.

Harry looked surprised. "What? I never knew..."

"I didn't do anything until this week. I held back because I thought you might have been pissed off at me for doing something like that..." Draco let out an ironic laugh. "See, I should have asked you too. I thought you wouldn't want me to hurt him, despite my keen desire to string the prat up by the big toe..."

"What did you do to him?" Harry asked, more out of curiosity than anger.

"Oh, I just gave him a taste of what it is like to be somewhat incapable of performing."

"You hexed him?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Poison – in a manner of speaking. But it's only temporary... he'll be fully functioning in a few weeks, once it's all out of his system."

"You're slipping, Draco. Your compassion is showing. I would have made sure it was permanent."

"I would have, but I was worried that you might think less of me."

Harry laughed, and the sound warmed Draco's heart. "Never. I actually think he deserved a lot worse."

"Don't tell me you actually still care what happens to the git," Draco snickered.

"No, I don't, really," Harry shrugged. "He's lost a lucrative contract with Puddlemere, and he's trying to find his way back up to the top. Success is important to him, and now I realise that he constantly wants to win, at any cost. Taking the role as Quidditch coach means that he's the top of the pile again, and he craves that."

"He seems to think you cursed him when you threw him out, hence his run of bad luck."

"Oh, he would have known if I had cursed him. No, he made his own circumstances, and now he has to live with the consequences. I actually feel pity more than anything else. I'm sorry he had to come between us, even if he was being his usual git self. I... I probably don't deserve forgiveness."

"You got that right," Draco muttered under his breath.

Harry looked suitably guilty. "I guess I'm the stupid one – stupid for believing you would be dumb enough to sleep with him." He hung his head, still not willing to look Draco in the eye for too long.

Finally, Draco took Harry's chin lifting it firmly. As their eyes met and communicated hurt, regret and unhidden anger, they realised they could finally start to _talk._

"I'm not going to pretend that this week hasn't been sheer hell, Harry. I shouldn't forgive you so easily, but I'm glad that you seem to be in one piece. Despite my better judgement, I really am not willing to lose you." He poked him heavily in the chest. "If you think I would just give up on you on a whim, then I really haven't proven myself to you yet." He finally sniffed and looked up and down at Harry's grimy clothes. "...Even if you haven't bathed in a week..." A faint grin quirked at the corner of Draco's mouth. "Either that, or you've bathed in rice wine."

Harry smiled. "You're a fine one to talk," he said as he ran his fingers over the stubble on Draco's chin before tucking a stray strand of unwashed hair. "We're really a pair, aren't we?"

Draco finally smiled, nodding as he looked away in embarrassment. There was no denying it, really. Looking back, it seemed obvious from the moment they met that they were both strong personalities and had a sparking chemistry between them. They meshed so well together that they even had the same issues, as they had demonstrated with their recurring miscommunications.

"Don't think we aren't going to work this out and start talking – properly. It's not going to fix itself overnight." Draco looked at Harry, so dishevelled and weary, but tentatively smiling. For just that moment Draco felt only joy that Harry had returned and was standing right in front of him. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder how they had got to that point. "Exactly what prompted you to run, Harry?"

"I honestly don't know." Harry shrugged. "At first it was avoidance, and then anger. I didn't want a repeat performance from when I found Ollie in bed with those guys." He held up a quieting hand just as Draco opened his mouth to protest. "I know I wouldn't have seen that. I realise now that you wouldn't have been with him, or with Charlie. I guess I wasn't thinking rationally for a while there. I just had it in my head, and nothing could stop me from seeing what I imagined."

Harry sat down on the sofa and Draco followed suit, sitting next to him, but not close enough to seem intrusive. He still wasn't sure what Harry was feeling. Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair, and finally continued. "Like I said, that was my first reason for running. By the time I actually got here and started to pack, I was also thinking about the curse. If there really was a curse on our journals, then it would mean that sooner or later one or both of us would be hurt. We might die tragically. We might be separated forever. We might have long years of suffering ahead of us. I guess I figured it would hurt us both less, and keep us safe if I just left and stayed away. Even though I was mad as hell at you about this imagined affair with Oliver Wood, I didn't want you hurt. I don't know if that makes sense, but there you have it."

Draco smiled and covered Harry's hand with his own. "Your personal brand of logic is definitely unique, Harry. Nothing makes sense when it comes to us, but I think I understand you anyway. Right now I'm just glad you came back." He squeezed Harry's hand lightly and was surprised when Harry stood up, looking slightly uncomfortable. "What is it, Harry? You _did_ come back to stay, didn't you?" He'd only just realised that Harry had no bag with him and felt a stab of fear at what the absence of luggage might mean.

Harry only looked away, shoving one hand deep into the pocket of his jeans and running the other through his hair again. He most definitely seemed uncomfortable and was at a loss for words. Draco stood too, feeling a surge of desperation and the fear that he was about to lose Harry again. "Harry, talk to me."

"Well I… I wasn't sure if you would want me back for good after all this… I knew I needed to see you, but I was afraid… I just had no idea if we could…" he faltered, knowing by the expression on Draco's face (relief, and a familiar cross between a smirk and a non-verbal reprimand) that he'd been mistaken again. "See, I'm a complete git."

"I'm not denying that," Draco said, his smirk finally winning out. "You do _want_ to be here, right?" He allowed himself a normal breath after Harry nodded in affirmation. "Good! And just in case you get any more wild ideas or we have any further misunderstandings, let me get something clear. I don't ever _want_ you to leave. I don't want to kick you out of my life or out of our _home_. You're stuck with me forever, Potter."

_Home_. Harry liked the sound of that, especially when Draco said it. He'd been searching for 'home' for so long that he could have kicked himself for nearly throwing it all away.

"Besides, if you _ever_ think about disappearing like that again, I'll hex your balls off."

Harry finally offered a tired smile and said "Somehow, my love, I think you'd get far too much enjoyment from that, but in the end, you'd regret it as much as I would - perhaps even more."

Draco moved a step closer and was pleased when Harry met him in an embrace. The hesitant kiss they shared was filled with a deep love and underlying passion. It was a kiss of homecoming and completion. There were no more words for now, but they both knew that very soon they would need to talk out all their problems. For now, it was just the acknowledgement that they both _wanted_ this, and like all wounds, it needed a little time and tender care to heal.

They silently fell to the bed, the weariness of released tension finally overcoming them. Draco stared so deeply into Harry's eyes that Harry felt as if his very soul were exposed. This scrutiny made Harry flush, but he lovingly traced every contour of Draco's face with a gentle touch, eliciting a deep sigh as he whispered the only word both wanted to hear – "_home_."

They fell asleep like that, not even bothering to climb under the duvet, and it was the most restful sleep either had had in weeks.

* * *

Harry went through a myriad of emotions in his first moments of waking. He immediately recognised that he was home, in the bed he shared with Draco, and he rolled over to revel in that familiar comfort. But Draco was nowhere to be seen and for the briefest of moments Harry feared that he had dreamt their reunion and was still in Lao Kuai's hut dreaming, yet again, that he was being betrayed. As he sat up and his head began to clear, he finally heard the shower running and knew how silly he was being. _I've really got to stop being so insecure about things. We're together. We'll work out the details and it'll all be okay._ He allowed himself a languid stretch before shedding his clothes and heading towards the bathroom. It had been far too long since they'd had an opportunity to shower together, and he stepped tentatively into the room.

Harry opened the shower door and drank in the sight of Draco, partially covered in soap suds. Draco turned, "I wondered when you were going to finally get in here," he drawled.

"Well, I would have been here sooner, but I'm not in the habit of sleeping in the shower," Harry retorted fondly as he stepped in and gathered his soapy lover in his arms. They kissed under the warm spray and spent some time just running their hands across each other's skin. What Harry wasn't expecting was the sudden urgency as Draco groaned and pushed him up against the tiles with great force. He heard a distinct crack, and felt more alive as Draco's warm, wet mouth crashed against his, knocking the wind from him. Harry groaned now in unison with Draco as they ground against each other. The last vestiges of languid sleep were now gone as Draco plundered Harry's mouth harshly, their teeth clashing and the rough stubble on Draco's chin scratching at Harry's face and neck.

The sense of urgency was apparent. As Draco let out a feral growl he turned, his own back now to the tiles and his soapy hands sliding down Harry's back. Harry found himself beyond caring as he pushed back. He groaned, throwing his head back and exposing his neck to Draco's mouth and teeth.

It was rough sex, but Harry felt the same thrill as he let out his own aggression. He wanted it like this – hard and fast. He didn't care how, he just knew he needed to be fucked, and he practically tried to crawl up onto his lover, throwing his legs around Draco's waist, his arms around his neck.

Harry stopped breathing, as he always did in that moment. It felt good, and Draco also gasped for air at the unexpected feeling. Harry's legs wrapped around Draco's waist and for a moment he thought Draco might collapse from the intensity. He rested his head on Harry's chest as he gathered his breath, before sucking and biting at a spot on his collarbone.

Harry knew he wasn't going to last very long, and judging from the shudders that ran through Draco's body, he assumed the same for him. Harry supported himself as Draco's hands braced against the wall. There would be deep bruises on Draco's back as Harry's fingers clenched and dug into his skin. He sought whatever friction could be gained from rubbing up against Draco's stomach.

He groaned in delight when he finally felt Draco's hands on him and he looked up into those pale, pale eyes. He saw the challenging stare in them.

"Don't you ever leave me again, Harry. Don't you fucking dare. You're mine."

Harry shook his head, gasping "never", but Draco wasn't finished as his next words were delivered in that familiar drawl, partly whispered across his ear. "But you won't ever think to leave me, will you, because you'll never find anyone who'll make you feel like this - who will give you exactly what you want. You're mine, Harry Potter, and I'm not going to let you forget it."

As Draco whispered, Harry could only nod. "Don't want to leave... don't want anyone else..." he mumbled and shook his head as the water beat down on their bodies, cooling their skin but not their passion. "...I'm yours... love you so much... don't stop... touching me."

Their passion intensified as they fell back bonelessly against the tiles. They cried aloud at the intensity of their climax, and in that moment, any doubts Harry had about Draco washed down the drain with the last vestiges of his release. A glorious look of utter satisfaction was on Draco's face and Harry finally allowed himself a moment of reflection.

This _was_ what he wanted – nothing more or less, and as he felt the twinge of having been well and truly fucked, Harry knew that he could never forget the feeling of Draco claiming him. He had been a fool to ever think the worst of his soul mate, and he knew in that moment he would not doubt him again, not without very good reason.

Draco leaned back heavy and limp against the cool tiles. He didn't care, for right at that moment, he wanted no other feeling.

Harry leaned against Draco, then, pulling him close and revelling in their contact. "Mine," Draco repeated as his hand went up to Harry's face.

Harry nodded. "Yes, I'm yours. Nobody else's but yours."

Draco smiled but looked a little worried when he touched the back of Harry's head. There was a considerable lump, and they both remembered the cracking sound. Looking back, Harry noticed the tile was cracked, and realised that his head felt a little delicate. "I didn't mean to be so rough, Harry. I just felt I needed to get out all my aggression at once. I..."

Harry shushed him with a finger. "Did I complain? It was rough, but I think we both needed that." Harry nestled against Draco's shoulder. "Besides, I certainly wouldn't be adverse to something that amazing again, although I think my thick head might damage too many of the tiles..."

Draco laughed, a genuine laugh that told Harry they were well on the road to recovering what they had lost. Harry relaxed into the embrace, feeling immense relief and certainty that everything would work out now that they were together again.

* * *

Harry offered to make breakfast as an inelegant grumble belied his hunger. His appetite returned with a vengeance and he realised that in his absence, Draco had not thought to do any shopping. He called down to the school kitchens for some breakfast, but had to fend off the over zealous greetings from Dobby. He had to carefully extricate himself from the excitable elf.

The smell of Draco's coffee was wonderfully familiar, and the butter dripping from the slices of toast tasted like manna. He was just about to pop a very greasy piece of bacon into his mouth when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Undoubtedly Dobby had advised everyone that Harry was back. He knew he needed to apologise to Dumbledore and Remus, but he had hoped to at least have some breakfast first. Breakfast, then some time with Draco, for their reconciliation was far from over. They still had some conversations that had been avoided, and it would be difficult with interruptions from other people. Something was preventing them from talking.

Harry noticed that Draco was again favouring his good leg, and that worried him. He might have made Draco discuss it briefly, but there was a lot more emotional baggage being carried around about that knee, and Harry intended to resolve it.

Draco flicked his wand and the door opened. "Charlie."

Harry looked over when Draco spoke and both of them took in Charlie's ashen-faced and sombre expression. Charlie showed a bit of interest at seeing that Harry was back, but the worry was still overwhelming. All Harry's thoughts of possible infidelity were tossed aside when he saw the look on Charlie's face. "Ron?" he asked tentatively. Surely that look could only mean one thing...

Charlie just nodded and moved to sit in Harry's favourite armchair near the fireplace. "We found him..." Harry let out a sigh as Charlie continued. "...But he doesn't know who he is. He's completely lost his memories." He whispered hoarsely in disbelief. "Practically everything..."

Harry and Draco sat on the sofa, facing Charlie. "He doesn't remember _anything_?" Harry couldn't contemplate the thought.

"He doesn't even know he's a wizard," Charlie said. "A fisherman on the Isle of Wight found him. He's very confused and very weak and he keeps singing a song about a little goblin. He's got no idea who any of us are, or what a goblin is, or anything. The doctors at St. Mungo's are very concerned about him." Charlie swallowed visibly. "He doesn't even know who Mum is. It seems he's been through Merlin knows what and his magic is just as weak as his body. He's… he's actually… well, they're not sure if he'll recover. He's barely alive… he's really not doing well at all, Harry."

"But how could he end up like that?" Harry didn't even realise the death grip he held on Draco's hand. "Was it a curse? I mean, I lost my memory for a while there, but it came back." He held hope in that thought.

"We don't know if he's too far gone, Harry. I couldn't care less if he's a squib the rest of his days, I just want him to survive, for Mum and Dad's sake... and Hermione."

"Does she know?"

"Yeah, she's with him. The medi-wizards are stumped as to the cause of his condition. It's not a known curse or memory charm. Hermione is looking into any Muggle related causes." Charlie scrubbed at his face with the realisation that the worry wasn't anywhere near being over.

Harry glanced over at his jacket by the door. His first reaction was to go and see Ron at the hospital, but gut instinct made him look towards Draco. There was little that would stop him from going, but his first priority had to be making sure Draco understood. He tried to gauge a reaction from Draco, and was quickly surprised.

"You should go see him. I understand, Harry." Draco's voice was tight, but Harry could tell he was being honest. "I don't know what good it would do him if he can't even remember his own mother, but I know that you'll need to go. I really don't pretend to understand your loyalty to him, Harry, but if it were Severus in that situation, nothing would stop me, either."

Harry was relieved that Draco seemed so understanding about it. He knew they would need to discuss this in more detail, but this was not the time for it. Getting up, he started toward the bedroom to change, but Charlie interrupted him.

"Actually, Draco, I came to ask you for help." Draco looked surprised.

"Oh?"

"The medi-wizards have found a strange residue in his system. Owing to the... secrecy surrounding Ron, Hermione suggested that Severus could help analyse a sample of his blood, but he can't go get it; he's having a really bad day. I was going to bring it to him, but he said he would prefer you to collect the blood directly – he doesn't trust those medi-wizards not to have contaminated it in any way."

Harry cringed. He was prepared for Draco to sit back and refuse, but to his, and Charlie's surprise, he barely took a second to nod in agreement. "A strange residue in his system..." he muttered. "I wonder..."

"Well?" Both Harry and Charlie stood there, dumbfounded that Draco had been so quick to agree to help 'the weasel'. "What are you waiting for?"

* * *

The trip to St Mungo's was blessedly short. The medi-wizards gave him five minutes to see Ron, and only because he accompanied Draco to collect some blood samples. Ron wasn't asleep, and he looked ghastly. Apparently he was looking a little better than when he first arrived, but Harry had seen corpses with more colour than his friend. He had imagined the worst for Ron, but seeing him lying there, staring blankly into space and not recognising him was simply heart wrenching. What made it even more surreal was the fact that when Draco walked straight up to him and stood there with a vial and wand pointed at his arm. Ron was no more cognizant of Draco's presence than he was of Harry's.

It seemed so disconcerting to see him not reacting to Draco in any way. He didn't speak, but he made some hollow sounding groans that matched the vacant stare in his eyes. The atmosphere at the hospital was so depressing. Every member of Ron's family was there – including Ginny – who looked distraught that her brother had been found in such a state.

For once, none of them said a word about Malfoy being in the room, and Harry was surprised yet again when Draco spoke a few words to Hermione. "Professor Snape and I will look at this, and we'll see if we can isolate how it got into his system. I have a horrid suspicion that I would like to rule out, but if not, it would explain so much about the past few months." Hermione seemed grateful for Draco's words, and nodded. She seemed to be keeping herself busy in her work.

Harry hesitated, not truly wanting to leave just yet, but Draco grabbed him by the arm. "His family needs to be with him now, Harry. You can come back later," he replied. Harry looked around, seeing Ron surrounded by his wife and family, and nodded, knowing that his friend was in good hands. He gave Molly and Hermione a friendly peck on the cheek, and hugged Ginny warmly. She gave Harry an odd smile as she briefly glanced over in Draco's direction. He realised he had not personally told her of his relationship with Draco, and he whispered in her ear. "Yeah, he's the one, Gin. I promise I'll tell you everything – but some other time."

She snickered. "I look forward to it," she replied cheekily.

Back at Hogwarts, Draco and Snape went straight to the lab to analyse Ron's blood sample. It worried Harry that there was something in his system that the St Mungo's medi-wizards couldn't identify. He had no doubt that between the two of them, the Potions master and apprentice would find something.

This left Harry to his own devices, and he knew it was well past the time to go to see Dumbledore and make apology for having left the school so abruptly without word. Remus too. Best to know now if he actually still had a job. In his foolish dash, he had given little thought to the students, to their needs and to Remus, who he was supposed to be assisting.

Rounding the last corner before the entrance to Dumbledore's office, he literally bumped into Oliver. Of all the people in the castle, it had to be him that he bumped into. He immediately felt the swathe of emotions roll over him, the foremost being anger. He had to forcibly restrain himself from throwing Oliver against the wall, but then he remembered what Draco had done, and he restrained himself. He was already paying for his behaviour.

"Oi, watch where you're going... Oh, Harry... I didn't know you were back," Oliver said in a flat voice.

"Oli... Oliver," Harry was startled by Oliver's depressed tone, but it didn't stop the urge to pound his fist into Oliver's face. He hesitated when he noticed that gleam of smug superiority was missing from Oliver's face. This threw him somewhat.

"Don't worry. I'll stay out of your way. There's no need for you to tiptoe around me and get all upset, Harry. I'll be out of the castle by the end of the day." A hint of bitterness crept into Oliver's tone.

"You're leaving?" Harry asked in surprise. Oliver just nodded. "You're up and quitting – in the middle of a term?" Harry knew the complete hypocrisy of his words – hadn't he done just the same?

"Not by choice. If I had my way, I wouldn't be leaving," he replied as he nodded his head in the direction of the headmaster's office. "The old codger has let me go. I've got until the end of the day to clear out." The disbelief in his voice was evident.

"Dumbledore's given you the sack?" Harry found it hard to put surprise into his words now.

Oliver pursed his lips and looked around uncomfortably. "Yeah." He sounded quite put out now. "It seems that his idea for a Quidditch teacher and mine were quite different. He expected me to work after hours with the students – in my own time! Not to mention I should have been keeping better watch on who was out on the pitch. How could it be my fault that two students nearly died because they were too stupid to know how to stop their brooms attempting a Wronski Feint..."

"Kids aren't stupid, Oliver. They just need guidance. That's what teachers do. It's not all fun and games, and you sometimes have to be strict on them to make them realise their limits. Are you forgetting how much time Madame Hooch spent with us? I can't believe you would think that this is only a simple job. The students are your first responsibility. Your fawning fans will just have to come second. Don't you get that?"

"Yeah," he nodded, not really meaning it. "I see that now."

"What'll you do?" Harry knew he shouldn't really care, but a natural instinct made him ask the question.

"Dunno," Oliver shrugged. "I suppose I can hang out with my brother Sean for a while, see what's going in the way of coaching clinics. Or I could go up to Kenmere and see if the Kestrels need some coaching help. Old Seamus O'Shaunessy is getting a little long in the tooth. A little bit of careful coaching, and they'll be the team to beat in the league. There'll be money in that, you wait and see."

Harry just nodded. He honestly didn't care where Oliver went. Just knowing he was leaving the castle was enough, yet some part of him wanted Oliver to be happy. He had no idea where that desire came from, but perhaps knowing he was leaving was helping him to calm down. He knew this wasn't the right job for Oliver, who was never good at anything that involved responsibility. The thought he had no job to go to was a concern, but somehow he guessed Oliver would always manage to land on his feet. As long as he was the centre of attention and he didn't have too much responsibility, then he would be undoubtedly happy.

"But there's no need to be concerned for me, Harry. You've got your happy little family scenario happening with Malfoy. Why should you care?"

"I care, Oliver, because even if you have a cruel streak that most Slytherins would kill for, I can look back now and remember the good times we had. You had all of me, Oliver – every last bit of my love and devotion. It obviously wasn't enough, so you moved on. I hope you find what it feels like to truly fall in love, only so that you'll finally understand just how I felt. It doesn't matter now; I'm over you, and your petty games."

Right then, Harry knew that he really _was_ over Oliver and his betrayal. He might have thought he had been all those months ago, but it had taken Draco's love and a whole load of confrontation and misunderstanding to realise he had only locked those feeling away. They were gone now, and he could try to hope for some happiness for Oliver – if only so he could see for himself the joy of true love.

The stairs to Dumbledore's office rumbled as they were revealed, and Harry knew it was time to face his own chastisement from the other person he had let down.

Oliver seemed a little repentant and opened his mouth. "Harry... I..."

Harry just waved him away. "Spare me any false apologies. Come back after you've had your heart broken, and then perhaps we can talk. Just... go."

He turned and mounted the stairs, not once looking back. A part of his spirit was glad that Oliver was going. He couldn't find it in himself to forgive Oliver, but the fact that he didn't want to wish him ill will was enough. Perhaps Draco's slip of the wrist might teach him a lesson, but Harry didn't seem to notice any great changes just yet.

No, it wasn't quite forgiveness, but his baggage with Oliver was finally unpacked.

* * *

He had expected disappointed glares from over the top of Dumbledore's glasses, but after several cups of tea and too many pumpkin pasties, Harry realised that he had yet again misjudged his mentor. He was ready for Dumbledore to give him a lecture about his responsibility to the students – to chastise him for leaving without saying a word.

Instead, Dumbledore just smiled at him with his usual all-knowing look. Harry wasn't expecting to be bombarded by a flurry of questions about his health. It seemed that Lao Kuai had apparently sent a letter to Dumbledore, explaining that Harry's magic was still adjusting after his long convalescence, and that he took off urgently to release his magic in the wild, without harming anyone. The fact he ended up in China was purely coincidental.

Harry was confused. It seemed Lao's letter stressed the importance of Harry remaining isolated in a remote area. Dumbledore had been highly concerned for Harry's health, and he could only think that the letter was delayed because of the doddering old owl and bad weather.

Harry felt even more confused when Dumbledore was the one making apologies. He was worried that Harry had not fully recovered enough to return to work. "After all," he said, "Severus is still having some… difficulties as well. It's only natural that you would need more time to heal." Harry protested and claimed Lao's letter was a cover up, but Dumbledore just nodded.

It seemed his protests fell on deaf ears, and he knew from the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye that he was going to get away with being irresponsible. It didn't feel right, but judging from Dumbledore's dismissal of his absence, he knew he was being indulged like a spoilt grandchild. He knew he could not take advantage of the old man again. He had responsibilities to others beside himself.

He wouldn't let them down again.

* * *

Harry heard Draco talking as he walked through the door joining their rooms, and his ears instantly pricked up at the conversation. "...Weasley is living proof that _he_ did it – at least he is for now." Harry saw the back of Snape's head as he entered, but it was his gasp at their words that made them notice his entrance. Draco quickly beckoned him to join them as he tapped the side of the coffee pot with his wand, and a teapot suddenly appeared in its place. The plate of shortbread biscuits was still warm as the pot began to pour a cup of Earl Grey.

Harry wasn't really interested in tea, but he took the cup automatically, noticing that Snape was nursing a rather large mug as he tried to hide the shaking in his hands. "You found something?" Harry interrupted, trying to sound hopeful. "Is Ron going to recover?" he followed up before Draco or Snape could answer.

It was Snape who answered. "It would appear that a considerable amount of Ornithorhynchus venom residue was found in Ronald's digestive system and bloodstream."

"Venom? He's been _poisoned_?" Harry's cup clinked heavily against the saucer.

"I can't believe he's still alive – that much venom should have wasted him a long time ago, Harry. We can only guess that it's been altered in some way and been working in his system for quite some time." Draco was frowning at this.

"But how...?"

Draco sighed. "I have no idea, Harry. The residue was pretty hard to detect, but someone had certainly been feeding him something. There's no way he could have force fed himself a poison."

"Any idea who it could have been? But more importantly, can you prove that?" Harry asked, knowing that this surely could account for Ron's complete change in character.

"We have our suspicions," Snape replied, "but unless we find a hidden Neo Death Eater laboratory, it's merely conjecture."

"Neo Death Eaters did it – but what could they gain from just poisoning him?" Harry couldn't understand.

"Did you not read that book you translated, Potter?" Snape asked testily. "There was a whole section in it about the use of mammalian venoms and their ability to slowly manipulate and coerce a wizard's thoughts."

Harry had to think for a second. Every now and then a few gaps in his memory were still there and he had to think back. He remembered translating the potion for Draco out of the book, but the rest of what he did was just a hazy blur. He shook his head.

Draco stepped in as he became aware of Harry's confusion. "There was a mention in there of making an Imperius potion – something that was very slow acting, but was virtually undetectable." He paused for a moment. "Phillip Parkinson often spoke about making such a thing. He became quite obsessed with it, actually." The rest didn't need to be said. It didn't take a genius to surmise that if Phillip Parkinson had been alive all that time, he could have orchestrated the creation of such a potion.

Harry looked crestfallen. "But how could the Neo Death Eaters get their hands on that book?"

Snape spoke up. "It's possible that he worked it out on his own, but either he found mention of it elsewhere, or he could have been a Parselmouth." Harry looked up in surprise. "Despite what you might think, Potter, there are other Parselmouths out there – they just prefer to keep their skill to themselves. It was no wonder Parkinson became a favourite of Voldemort and of Lucius."

"It's possible that your book ended up at Emmaline's bookstore after Parkinson no longer needed it," Draco added.

"So what happens next?" Harry asked, wondering exactly what could be done.

Draco shrugged. "Well, we told the medi-wizards about our findings. Now we'll just have to hope that Weasley recovers enough of his memories."

"But surely now that you've identified it, he'll be cleared on all charges, and everything for you will be sorted out with your estate and it will be unfrozen?" Harry suspected part of Draco's desire to help Ron was to help clear up exactly what had happened, and knowing that Ron's actions were being controlled meant that he would be cleared of all the charges that the Aurors had laid against him. This could only help to clear up the mess with Draco's estate and with Gringotts. The mystery seemed cut and dried to Harry. "Anyone with that much venom in his system surely can't be responsible for any of his actions."

Snape let out an audible sigh. "This is where we remind you, Potter, that we are merely making guesses. It isn't a crime for Weasley to have this poison in his system, which was the precise reason why Parkinson wanted to make this potion. Unless we find Parkinson's lab, or one of his assistants, your friend will still be up on charges."

Harry's jaw dropped. "So you're saying that Ron could still be held up as a Neo Death Eater?"

"That's exactly what he's saying," Draco replied.

They sat quietly, Harry still speechless. "So what will happen now? When Ron recovers his memories..."

"If your friend recovers his memories, Potter, it will be a long shot."

Harry put his cup down. "No, I refuse to believe that this is happening. I refuse to think that we've come this far and found Ron, only to have them lock him up in Azkaban when he recovers."

"Harry, this isn't your fight." Draco's words weren't harsh, and he didn't want to listen, but what else could he do? "We found what was in his system, and the medi-wizards will do their best to neutralise the potion. It's been there for a long time, so it will take just as long for him to recover."

"But I can't just sit back..."

"What are you going to do, Harry? Traipse all over the UK looking for a laboratory that _might_ exist? I told you before – this isn't your fight."

"Are you just saying that because it's Ron, or because you've given up?" Harry looked Draco in the eye, knowing full well that they still had not talked out all their differences.

Draco stood his ground. "I'm not going to argue with you about this again, Harry. I'm not going to lie and say that I don't care, because I want this mess sorted out just as much, if not more than anyone else other than Weasley. You've got other responsibilities Harry – to the school – to us, or was all that just lip service you spoke earlier?"

Harry nodded. Draco was right. He had other responsibilities to the school, and it was less than an hour ago he promised Dumbledore he wouldn't go let him down again. "I hate feeling helpless, Draco. I want to help him."

"Perhaps all the help he wants is for you to be there for his family. I think Hermione is going to need you. Let the Aurors do their job."

"Is there some sort of counter potion – or some cure, or something?" he asked. "Something that will bring back his memories?"

"Harry, surely you know that your memories came back in dribs and drabs, and that was only through injury. This has likely been through subtle manipulation of his body via a magical potion. I'm not sure if they can come back. As much as you hate it, you're just going to have to wait."

Harry fidgeted with his cup, not really knowing what to do. "I hate this, I hate waiting and I hate not knowing."

Draco put his hand on Harry's knee. "I know. Please, just be patient. At least his family has him back now, which is something. Still they have a long road ahead."

"In what way?"

It was Snape who answered. "This stuff seems to have been in his system a long time. I think he's most likely suffering withdrawal simply because he hasn't been getting any since Parkinson was killed. It's highly plausible, and would account for his lost magic and his obliviated memories."

"So what do we all do now?" Harry asked, feeling more helpless than ever before.

Draco shrugged. "Severus and I gave the medi-wizards our findings, and we gave the Aurors our report about our speculations."

"Which Auror is on the case?"

"Ainsley Shirvington."

Harry nodded. "She's good. She's not biased in any way."

"So I noticed. Look," Draco put his hand back on Harry's knee. "You do realise that if there was something I could do in way of a potion, or a cure, I'd brew it."

"No, I don't." Harry looked up.

"You know my feelings towards Ron," Harry was surprised at the use of his first name. "But I want him well for your sake, and for his family. He's another one of the victims of the war now, and if I could help..."

Harry saw the genuine look of determination on Draco's face, and was reminded right then of yet another reason that he loved Draco. He loved him for the fact that he was willing to help people – even someone he despised – purely because he wanted to, and that made all the difference.

"It's okay, Draco. You don't have to explain yourself. I understand. I can't say I am happy about staying out of this – but you're right, I have responsibilities, and I can't let them go. You are a good man, Draco, and one day I hope to be telling this story to Ron's children – right before they start coming to Hogwarts."

"Merlin save us from that day," Harry had almost forgotten that Severus was still there.

The smile on Harry's face was wide. "Ah, but who is forgetting what's even worse, _Uncle_ Severus?" It had been worth it to see the look on Snape's face, and the genuine laugh it brought out from Draco.

For once, Harry might have just gathered the upper hand over Snape. He couldn't wait to tell Ron.

* * *

Harry spent the afternoon puttering about the place like a flighty bird, cleaning this and that, muttering under his breath, fussing over everything, and wondering aloud what he should make for dinner. Draco, busy with his own pile of marking stacked beside him on the couch, finally stopped and watched, trying hard to hide his somewhat bemused smile. Anything was more amusing that trying to read through the second years' essays.

"You know, most wizards just wave their wands and let magic take care of all that stuff. What's wrong?"

Harry started the slightest bit. "Oh, I'm just feeling a bit restless, I suppose. Like I've left something undone. I've got my bag back from China, and I think I've unpacked everything, haven't I?"

"Yes, you did. You asked me that before. Everything is accounted for."

"Oh. Well then I have no idea, but I know there's something, but I just can't put my finger on it." At this point Harry came by to plump the cushions but Draco captured his hand. He merely smiled at Harry's inquisitive look and carefully and deliberately placed Harry's finger on his own ear. Then he moved it to his mouth, and finally to Harry's mouth and ear.

Harry simply looked confused at that point, obviously not understanding the subtle hint. Draco just rolled his eyes. "We've been glazing over it all day, Harry. We've both admitted we need to talk, but we've made no moves towards doing so."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed deeply, nodding all the while. "You're right," he said as he flopped down next to Draco on the couch. "I guess I never realised how hard it would be to talk about things in person. The journals made it so easy, the way they almost pulled my thoughts out of my quill."

"I know what you mean."

"I've wanted to talk to you about us, about Ron, about Oliver, about Snape, about Emmaline, about work, about our future plans, and probably a dozen other things, but I can't seem to find the right way. I have the ideas and the feelings behind it, but I feel like I'm missing just the words."

Draco ran his hand through his hair. "All right. Why don't we just start with whatever we've got, and then we'll see if it makes sense. I promise I won't get uppity or angry. I want us to both be happy about this." He hesitated for just a moment at the look on Harry's face. "You are... happy, aren't you?"

Harry smiled. "Of course I'm happy. I'm the stupid git who can't say what he means and assumes the worst without asking." Draco was about to protest. "But no, you'll blame yourself too, and I don't want that. We mesh. We're like two halves of the same whole and I didn't even know I was missing a piece until I ran away. I love you too much to go back to that."

Draco smiled at Harry's declaration, dropping a kiss on the bridge of his nose. "I don't want you to leave again either. If it's not my temperament it's my picky habits or my anal working hours that mess up my relationships, it's the fact that I get so obsessed..." he sighed. Writing his thoughts out really had been easier, but he knew that if they were going to make this work, they needed to learn to actually talk to one another. "It seems every time I open my mouth, I either say the wrong thing, or I can't say exactly what I want to say to you, Harry." They certainly couldn't rely on the journals for the rest of their lives, could they? If nothing else, it would make life terribly inconvenient at times. "I just want you to know that you are the best thing to ever happen to me."

Harry nodded. "Everyone kept telling me I'm the most powerful wizard around, but when it comes to just being a man, I really am clueless. I mean, I thought everything was fine with Oliver, and even times before that, and it's always come out wrong and I just don't want to have that again. You wonder why I have so many insecurities? I guess a small part of me didn't believe that we could do this, and it's hard to get my head to listen to my heart. Sometimes my head keeps telling me that you're _Malfoy_, which really confuses the heart."

"Yeah, you wool-head," Draco smirked.

"Yeah, even Lao Kuai even mentioned that – in a roundabout sort of way. He's the one that told me to check the journal again after I thought to throw it on the fire and get rid of it."

"I think I'd like to meet this Lao Kuai sometime. He sounds like a very wise man."

Harry chuckled. "That, or he just wanted to get me drunk. He gave me two glasses of wine and told me to drink them both."

"Well, if they were Chardonnay, then you shouldn't have had a problem with that, you great lush!" Draco smiled.

"No, actually one was rice and one was plum. Plum wine is one of the few red wines I really enjoy." Harry's expression quickly changed from content and happy to contemplative and sombre. "I've just realised, Draco, there's another reason I don't care for certain red wines, especially Merlot. My Uncle Vernon used to drink it, and I have so many bad memories connected to him it's just plain ridiculous. Of course, that was years ago, and Ollie's in the past too. I suppose now that I've recognised it, maybe I can get over it."

"You never mentioned that before, Harry. Why didn't you say something?" Harry couldn't answer, but gave a shrug. "I just thought you were being stubborn to prove a point." Draco paused in thought. "I'm still finding my way – learning who I am, Harry. I guess you're doing the same too. I'm not a spy any more, and I'm not a Death Eater. You're not what everyone thinks you are either. You did more than was expected of any wizard, yet I don't think you really know who _you_ are."

Harry nodded eagerly in agreement. "Yeah, that's it, isn't it? I'm the Great Harry Potter, but I don't want more out of life than any other wizard. I thought I had worked through all this shit, Draco. I don't want to go through it all again."

"Perhaps that's what we're meant to do for each other... I can certainly help you... if you do the same for me."

Harry smiled and cupped his hand to Draco's face. "We're really a pair, aren't we? I'm beginning to think you understand me more than I do myself."

"It's like we sort of balance each other out or something. We'll not always agree, of course..."

Harry nodded slowly, trying to follow a connection in his mind. Draco's statement had reminded him of something and he knew it was relevant if he could only remember what it was. "Balance… yes," he almost heard Lao Kuai's voice again in his mind, "clear wine is called enlightenment and murky wine brings wisdom, it's a quote from an old Chinese poem. Lao Kuai told me, and said that it takes an appreciation of each to achieve balance. I mean, what good is either enlightenment or wisdom on its own, right? That's us, Draco, the balance between us."

Draco just smiled, that old smirk slowly quirking at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps we _can_ do this after all." He looked at the Grandfather clock. "That's twenty minutes of talking, and we've actually communicated."

Harry smiled again and pulled Draco into the crook of his arm. It felt nice to have that familiar weight against him, and to smell the clean of Draco's hair that only wizarding shampoo could produce. They sat in silence for a while, so relaxed that Harry nearly dozed off. He started when Draco's voice broke the silence.

"You never questioned me earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"You never asked me about what really happened with Wood."

Harry cringed and nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty stupid of me to think the worst, wasn't it?" Draco just nodded. "I think that once I got it in my head that the journals were cursed, I somehow felt resigned that everything was going to go wrong. I saw you with Oliver, and part of me just froze and assumed the worst. After he lied to me that morning... well, my guard was down, and I didn't know what to think."

"You do know that he was the one propositioning me, don't you? Had you hung around a minute longer, you would have seen me turning him down."

"Yeah, I know that now. I just flipped out. Then I thought I saw the same thing with Charlie, and..." Harry found it hard to speak.

"I was merely giving Charlie the rundown of what Wood said and did. I'm so sorry you had to watch that – if your guard was down, it would have been pretty painful to watch. I can see now that you often think things through and don't tell others. You have to tell me when you're worried. How else can I tell you what's going on?"

Harry shrugged again. "I know. Bah, I feel like such a fool for all of this. I guess a lifetime of sorry won't make up for it."

"No, it won't." Harry seemed surprised by that finality. "But perhaps a lifetime of trying to get on with our futures might be better."

"So where do we start?" Draco asked with a feral grin and a raised eyebrow, tossing aside the pile of unmarked essays.

* * *

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Hmmm? Oh, nothing – just more Hufflepuff essays," he replied, quickly shuffling the homework parchments being marked on his desk. A week had gone by since Harry came home, and things were slowly drifting back into a sense of normality. Their new routine ensured they both spent plenty of time together each day – making time where necessary. It was better than before, but they both knew they were treading carefully to make sure things worked. As a penance for having run away, Harry offered to do all of his own, and Remus' marking until he could allay all his guilt.

Draco came up from behind and pushed the parchments out of the way. "Oh? And is there any reason why you're constantly referring back to this in between marking? Are you using it now to communicate with the third year Hufflepuffs?" Draco's tone wasn't hurt, but he was puzzled as he picked up Harry's journal.

Draco had noticed that Harry would always have his journal close at hand. Oddly enough, he never knew his own journal was always within reach, but he didn't find himself as attached to it as Harry. Every so often, Draco would find him unconsciously stroking the cover, or looking through the pages with a wistful look.

Harry looked down and realised his behaviour had been caught out. "You noticed?"

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious. Weren't you the one who suggested we should put the journals aside and talk?"

"I..." Harry pulled out his journal again. "I want to put it down, but somehow... I just don't think it's right to leave them on the shelf to collect dust..."

"What else do you want to do?"

"Well, I've been thinking, but I want to ask you first." Harry looked at Draco imploringly. They knew it would be a bit of a struggle to talk, but Draco didn't say anything disparaging, and Harry continued.

"I've fallen in love with Luc – with you – through this journal. It made me take off my blinkers and look beyond what I thought to see the real you. I've fallen in love with you, and it hurts to say that I think we should give the journals back..."

Draco seemed a little confused. "Give them back?"

Harry nodded. "If we rely on these journals in the future, there's no knowing what will happen."

"There's no knowing the future anyway, Harry. What if we find that things get tense? I'm not going to pretend it's going to be smooth sailing forever."

"You're right, but I think that I'd like to take that risk – just like normal people. I want to take that ride with you – bumps and all, Draco. I just keep thinking about my journal, and how I couldn't destroy it, no matter how much I wanted to at the time."

"There is powerful magic in them. I don't think I've seen too many things that have that much inherent magic."

"Which is why we should do something with the journals. It's time we give them up so they can move on to other soul mates. I really don't want to deprive any other couple from the joy of coming together."

"You're right," Draco said as he pulled his own journal into his lap, and he seemed thoughtful. "We need to do something symbolic. Something... magical. Something that will ensure that we won't lose each other's trust. Giving them up is perfect."

He was expecting some sort of reaction from Harry, but a considered look followed by a nod wasn't what he expected at first. "It's the only way to stop using them as a crutch. You don't happen to know errant soul mates in need of getting together?"

"No, no idea. But I know someone who might have a clue. I think it's time we went to visit Emmaline." He looked at his fob watch. "No time like the present, is there?"

"Right this minute?" Here was the protest from Harry that Draco was expecting.

"I don't want to sound reluctant. I know we have to do something, but..." Harry walked over to the desk and picked up his journal. He ran his fingers over the cover. Those familiar patterns and bumps that were indelibly imprinted in his mind, and he looked at it fondly. "I'm going to miss it. I think I'll miss Luc." He whispered.

Draco came and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist as he put his chin on Harry's shoulder. "But you've got Luc right here," he put his hand on Harry's heart, "and here," he pointed to Harry's head, "and he'll always be here, Flash." Draco spun Harry around and brought him in to a longing kiss.

"You're right," Harry sighed deeply once they broke their kiss. "Everything keeps pointing to the future. Hanging on to these will only make me wallow in the past. It's time we both move forward. So, you really think Emmaline can help?"

Draco already knew the answer. He could vividly remember that day almost a year before when he pulled the journal from the shelf in Emmaline's store in Paris. He remembered the joyful crackling of magic that surrounded him then, and if he wasn't mistaken, that magic was still with him today. If anything, Emmaline was the one who would know exactly what to do with the journals. He was up and on his way to the door before he gave Harry an answer.

* * *

"Why do I get the feeling you were expecting us, Emmaline?" Draco asked as they arrived at _The_ _Leaf and Bean_. The place seemed oddly silent for a weekend, and she did not deny Draco's claim, merely turning on her heel and welcoming them in with that ever-present twinkle in her eye.

"We just wanted to give you something," Draco said as he put their journals on the table.

"You what?" she asked, seemingly surprised as she glanced knowingly at the books.

"Well," Harry interrupted. "We thought you might know who to give these journals to. We decided that we really don't need them any more. Well, actually, we do, but we want to try this the normal way – like all other couples."

"And why bring them to me?" She asked, trying hard not to meet Draco's gaze.

"Don't pretend you don't know, Emmaline," Draco accused, meeting her gaze thoroughly. "You've intimated more than once you know enough about _le Journal Intime Partagé_. I found my journal in your store, for Merlin's sake. I _think_ you know very well just what to do with them, so we're giving them back to you."

Emmaline fidgeted with her skirt, yet didn't once deny Draco's claims. Finally meeting their gazes, she appeared to carefully study them. As if suddenly finding an answer to an unasked question, she nodded to herself.

"Very well, it is done," she said with a banal finality.

"That's it?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't we do something else – something symbolic? These are very important books. Besides, when I opened mine, all the writing in it vanished. Isn't there some spells we can put on it to make that happen?"

"Harry's right, Emmaline. Shouldn't we do something symbolic? If there is one thing I do know about old magic, it's that it likes ritual."

"Very well, then," Emmaline said with a sense of finality. "If you boys know what you are doing..." she muttered off to herself as she bustled over to the store counter, giving her wand a wild wave over her head. The store suddenly became a hive of activity as numerous tables and chairs levitated themselves out of the way.

"Now," she turned quickly on her heel, gazing intently at Draco. "Now, before you do this, môn chéri, I want you to be really sure of your intentions. Deep down, what are you trying to do by asking this?" she asked, all sense of joviality now gone.

Draco stared at her, surprised at the suddenly serious turn to her words. He thought carefully for a moment. "Yes, I'll be sad to lose them, but only for the feelings of joy they bring me."

She quickly turned on Harry. "What are you 'oping to gain by doing this, 'Arry?"

Harry looked at her and didn't need to pause before answering. "I want to be able to have a normal relationship with Draco – one without relying on the journals. I want to be able to talk out our problems like an ordinary couple. It isn't fair that we keep those journals when there might be other soul mates out there who need the opportunity to get together. That's what I want. I want others to feel the same joy of discovery that I felt – that we felt when we fell in love. I didn't save the wizarding world to be a selfish prat."

"And what will you lose by giving up these journals?"

Draco seemed a little put out by the question. "Well, I guess that I'll just have to hope that Harry trusts me when I tell him things. It's so easy when the journal always drags the truth out of you."

Harry turned to Draco. "I do trust you, Draco. I have no reason not to. I'm sorry I ever thought to question you."

"No more apologies, Harry. I know you are sorry." Draco put his hand in Harry's, giving it a tight squeeze. He turned back to Emmaline. "You ask too many questions, Emmaline. Of course we know what we are doing. For once, we agree. We wouldn't be here otherwise. Now, just wave your wand and do whatever it is you'll do to find the right people to pass the journals to."

Emmaline let out a wry little chuckle. "As you wish," she muttered quietly. "But I think you underestimate _le_ _Journal Intime Partagé._" She pointed with her wand back at the journals on the table.

They turned to find the journals were now glowing – an eerie light surrounding them. "What the..." Harry started towards the table, but Draco held him back.

"I think this is the ancient magic at work, Harry. Isn't it beautiful?" Draco stared in awe as the journals opened and the pages fanned quickly as if blown by a strong wind. The glow became blinding, and Harry and Draco looked away. A sudden rush of sound assaulted their ears as they were almost blown back.

Both Harry and Draco instinctively had their wands drawn and pointed at the living books on the table. Neither had cast any spells, yet a thin tongue of brilliant flame flared from the end of their wands as it joined and slowly bounced back from the journals to wind its way around their intertwined hands. The two bands of flame interlinked into a fine glowing chain that surrounded the pair, and the journals.

The band of flame lingered for a moment over their hearts and heads, slowly changing to almost white as it began to pulsate in time with their heartbeats. They looked deeply into each other's eyes and saw no panic or hesitancy. They saw only pure love and trust as they realised the magic was showing them their soul mate's thoughts and feelings.

The flames grew to surround them and they shared the joy and pain from every word spoken in their conversations as they lived each one all at once. The joy of finding true love, the feelings of discovery and the sense of completeness at knowing they were in love with their soul mate; the loss of anger and bitterness at a former enemy...

All this was felt in a single moment and they both grinned madly as they allowed the magic to overtake them. Harry experienced Draco's overwhelming desire to help people through his work, and a sense of protectiveness that permeated his deep love and desire. He felt the deep guilt that ran through his system and the fierce desire to prove himself, and his complete fidelity and trust. His eyes misted with tears as he looked into his soul mate's eyes and finally understood.

As Draco was bathed in the fiery magic he felt the intoxicating pull of Harry's magic. How anyone could hold onto such magic and not explode from the sheer intensity, he had no idea. All he knew was what he felt as he experienced every one of Harry's emotions on the same intense scale. Feeling the depth of Harry's love and devotion made him gasp as tears formed in his eyes also.

It seemed they were basking in each other's love for eternity, but the ring of flame seemed to fade down as it slowly made its way back to the journals, which were now bathed in the brilliant light. The colour had changed slightly from having touched their magic, but it seemed all the more brighter now for the experience.

Harry and Draco were oblivious to this as they continued to stare into each other's eyes. Draco cupped a hand to Harry's face, his mouth half open to speak. Harry just nodded as he wrapped a hand around the back of Draco's neck and they touched foreheads. They wanted to say so much, yet words just seemed so trite amongst the pull of this magic.

It seemed their instant of shared thought and feeling left them with the knowledge of what needed to be done. They shared a smile and a slight nod as they grasped wand hands and directed both wands at the journals.

"_Per Solum Lacuna_," they whispered solemnly. The spell had come to them in their moment of shared clarity, as a flare of brilliant white light shot out of their entwined wands. They felt the intoxicating pull of their combined magic as the aftershock tingled up their arms, and left them with an overwhelming sense of completion. They were left to bask in the wonderful afterglow as their attention returned to the journals.

The flame of magic struck the journals, bathing and binding them in the light. The books took on a life of their own as they flipped and joined, face to face. The magic lifted them in the air as the light formed a cage that surrounded them. They turned slowly, gaining speed, and were soon spinning around in a blinding gaze.

"Stand back," Emmaline warned in deep concern. They had forgotten she was even there, but took her advice as the journals began to thrum and pulsate before one final fierce flicker of light blinded them and the books promptly fell to the floor with a thud. Two distinct baubles of light lifted up out of the books, spinning slowly and cautiously. After a moment of hesitancy, the lights spun together in a maelstrom that was so bright they all had to shield their eyes.

The room seemed dank and dark as the brilliant light winked out of existence and the sound of silence assaulted their ears. Despite this, a sense of utter joy and completion surrounded them. It was a few minutes before anyone could move. Eventually Harry went over and picked up his journal. He paused, and passed it over silently to Draco. "The magic... it seems to have... gone." He turned to look at Emmaline. "What the hell happened?" he asked, expecting the secretive old witch to finally give him all the answers.

Emmaline's own eyes glistening with joyful tears. "It seems you two boys 'ave worked a miracle," she whispered in exclamation, still reeling from the powerful magic.

"What did we do, Emmaline?" Harry asked, still a little confused. He was still buzzing from being immersed in magic, along with the new knowledge of how Draco felt for him. It was a startling realisation to know just how much Draco loved him. Being told and finally realising it were two totally different things, and he could see the same overwhelming thoughts crossing Draco's mind. Of course, he didn't want to mention that he could feel the echoing of Draco's heartbeat now. That was too much to contemplate all at once. Best to just find out exactly what happened first.

"Yes, what was all that? One minute we come down here to give you back the journals, and the next I find myself surrounded by Harry's magic and with the sudden urge to say a spell I've never heard of before. _Per Solum Lacuna_ - what in blazes was that?" Draco couldn't understand what had happened, but he understood the significance of having shared his magic with Harry - he had heard of that phenomenon happening - but he certainly never expected to have been party to such a unique and powerful thing.

"I scarcely dared to believe it would 'appen, but when I first met you boys, I had an inkling that it would be you." She grasped the back of the nearest chair and sat down, seemingly older and frailer than she did moments earlier. She dabbed at her tears with the corner of her shawl as she gave them a wondrous look. "It seems you 'ave both managed to do something that we were beginning to think impossible."

"What was that magic, Emmaline? Why do the journals suddenly feel... empty?" Harry asked as he wondered why his journal was not only empty of words, but seemingly void of the magic that felt so warm and familiar.

"They've gone. You've freed the lost souls," she whispered, her eyes following the spot where the brilliant light finally winked out of existence.

Draco swallowed visibly. "There were _souls_ in the journals?" he asked, his tone sounding threatening. "Are you saying that they manipulated..."

"No, môn chéri, it's not what you think," Emmaline was quick to cut him off. "Now, I think you should both sit down. The time for explanations is long overdue."

"You've got that right," Harry said. "That thing was a _horcrux_? But Ginny said there were no souls trapped inside..."

"And your friend was right, 'Arry, to an extent. They were not malicious entities - they were far from it."

"You speak as if you knew them personally, Emmaline," Draco said.

"The journals were not 'orcruxes, as you think. The souls were trapped, but not through death. There is a curse, but not the kind you are thinking of, and an even longer story attached to it." She grasped each of their hands, bringing them down to sit beside her. She seemed suddenly overwhelmed and Draco was a little concerned for her health.

"Emmaline?" he asked.

She gave a small smile. "Now, sit and indulge this old woman. I have a story to tell you."

"_Le_ _Journal Intime Partage_ 'ave been around for a very long time - some sets longer than others. But 'ave you ever wondered where they started? This set was the very first one created - all entirely by accident."

Harry and Draco sat mesmerised as they listened attentively as the mysterious history of the journals unfolded.

"For countless generations the souls of two young lovers and soul mates have been trapped in these books. But you want to know how they got there in the first place. An evil wizard - a bitter old sorcerer trapped them there, all because of his own spitefulness and jealousy."

"The old sorcerer was a powerful soul magician with the ability to channel so much power, but he was jealous of his daughter's young lover. They were very much in love, but the old sorcerer knew the young man was more powerful and would easily surpass his own magical abilities. He couldn't allow this to happen. Besides, he had already arranged a marriage for his daughter with a prominent political ally."

"What the old sorcerer didn't know was that Iseult and Tristan were Anam Cara. He tried everything in his power to prevent them from seeing each other, for he didn't believe in Anam Cara."

"How could he not believe in it?" Harry asked.

"His own wife and soul mate died in childbirth, and his bitterness grew from the fact he had been denied a life together with her. He spent his life trying to refute the ideals that Anam Cara truly existed, but his own daughter threw his life work in his face."

"His jealousy was exacerbated by the fact that young Tristan was the first to imbue a magical item with soul magic - the first _Journal Intime Partagé._"

"Wait, Tristan and Iseult? I've heard this story," Draco scoffed. "It's nothing but a fairy tale."

Emmaline patted him on the knee. "Just indulge me a while longer, môn chéri. You have to remember that all stories have to start somewhere and that they have their base in fact."

"Well I haven't heard the story," Harry retorted. Emmaline smiled and continued.

"Tristan was a brilliant wizard with a natural grasp of soul magic. Old Absolom was actually his master as he did his apprenticeship, and very early on he noticed Tristan's skill could exceed his own. His first bit of jealousy came when he saw that he had successfully created the linked journals. What he never knew was that his own daughter had been integral in helping Tristan to develop the magic to make them work."

"Of course, they were true soul mates and fell deeply in love. They knew her father had arranged this marriage to a Muggle king of a neighbouring country, and so they did the only thing they could - they eloped."

"I can see where this is going, now." Harry nodded.

"Yes, they had planned the elopement and went through with the marriage. They planned to use the journals to stay together, for they suspected her father would try to keep them apart once he discovered their actions. Absolom was more furious than either of them imagined. In his fury he cursed them, killing their bodies and ripping their souls apart forever. He tapped in to so much soul magic, he not only ripped their souls apart and placed them in the separate journals, and he tore at the very fabric of soul magic, ripping apart all soul mates, thus causing the Parting of the Ways."

"But you can't curse something for eternity... It's not possible..." Draco was agape at the thought. He was well versed in the theory of magical limitation, but after having just experienced the most intense magic of his life, he quickly shut his mouth. Still, the thought was almost too much to bear.

"Thus their souls existed in separate journals. Unfortunately for Absolom, he was killed in his own rage, and it was all for naught, as they were true Anam Cara, and the journals were already linked, so their souls could still remain in contact. For countless generations they have been restless, only coming together when true soul mates used the journals and so they sought out true Anam Cara to bring them together via the journals. This was how the legend of _Partagé_ journals bringing soul mates together began. They could draw out the soul's natural desire for honesty and openness, for communication and connection at the most basic level."

"Tristan had always suspected that with enough love and power, the rift that caused the parting of the ways could be healed, and their souls reunited. He suspected that when a powerful couple had to overcome the most insurmountable odds to come together, it could happen. It has taken centuries, and finally, all is as it should be." Emmaline smiled and placed a hand on her chest, still overcome with emotion.

"What is this Parting of the Ways?" Draco looked at Harry in disbelief. "What?" Harry exclaimed. "I'm just saying - I've never heard of this before. How am I supposed know this if nobody ever tells me what's important?"

"Can't you feel it?" Emmaline asked, as she put a hand over each of their hearts. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

Harry closed his eyes and listened. Something new seemed to beat in time with the rhythm of his heart. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there, just the same. He had felt it just before, but now it seemed more real - more alive.

"I can feel it!" Draco exclaimed, his eyes opening wide in surprise. "What the hell is that?"

"That is the rhythm of your Anam Cara. A very long time ago, when magic was young, everyone carried around two parts to their soul..."

"... I think I heard a fable like this once," Draco muttered.

"No, it's very real, môn chéri. Trust me. You've just forgotten how to feel it. There was magic in the earth, the trees and even the air around us. Every witch and wizard immediately knew who their soul mate was, and they were content. They were so close they could feel the beat of their mate's heart. They would always know what their partner was feeling. It gave them a connection so deep, strong and powerful that it could not be broken. Your Anam Cara was your immediate family, and when a soul passed on, that Anam Cara guarded it and nurtured it until another worthy child was born into their group."

"Life and magic went on in peaceful harmony for millennia, but Mars was bright, and the influence of a darker magic sewed the seeds of dissatisfaction amongst every group. Absolom's resentment and jealousy of Tristan sewed the seeds of hatred that caused his wretched outburst. His actions undid the natural order of things."

"After Tristan and Iseult were trapped in the journals and Absolom dead, magic was never the same. Mad times ensued. People became confused after losing connection with their soul mates and their Anam Cara. Some literally went mad. Others cowered and hid from the madness that befell the Wizarding world. When the darkness seemed over, there was a rift. Many who had known magic suddenly lost their way, and could not touch it. Others with magic remained. An even smaller group were transformed by the rift, and became physically deformed once the old magic died off."

Harry was completely taken in by Emmaline's tale, the rhythm of his Anam Cara speeding up and slowing down with the cadence of her storytelling. "Muggles," he exclaimed with a nod.

"Yes, that's right," Emmaline nodded. "All the races of magic were once wizards, as were those we call the Muggles."

Draco shook his head. "No, the Muggles were always there," he interjected.

"True, they were there, but where else did the magically barren go when they could no longer find their way?"

"That's a pretty amazing story, Emmaline, but what does that have to do with us?" Harry still seemed a little confused.

Emmaline smiled. "Well, as I said, 'Arry, with Tristan and Iseult trapped in the journals, and Absolom dead, there were no soul magicians to help ease their pain. Magic was changed forever and many people literally lost valuable members of their Anam Cara. The process of finding soul mates became almost impossible. It was a dark time for everyone."

"Many wizards died trying to find their loved ones. Many worked their entire lifetime in a fruitless attempt to come up with a spell to undo the damage. There was nobody to teach them the old soul magic. But within a few hundred years, people were slowly accepting the fact that soul mates would rarely find each other. Many even went so far as to wonder if soul mates ever existed."

"The journals were the only thing that could bring soul mates together. Others had heard of these journals, and many duplicate sets were made to emulate them, but none of the others could bring true soul mates together." Emmaline poked Harry in the chest for emphasis as she spoke. "You see, Tristan knew that a veiled spell of misunderstanding, bitterness and jealousy had been Iseult's father's downfall. He knew that with enough nurturing and time, people could learn to see beyond that and discover the real person underneath - to find their soul mate."

"You see, he realised that the secret was in the written word. It was mightier than any spell."

"The quill is mightier than the wand," Draco whispered, nodding in full understanding.

"Are you saying these journals... they can't be _that_ old. Surely..." Harry said sceptically.

Emmaline interrupted. "How old do you really think Magic is, Harry? It can be patient – very patient. Alas, the magic might be patient, but Wizards aren't. We used to live twice as long, but we've cursed ourselves in our desire to rush, rush, rush."

"What I don't understand," Draco said, "Was that these souls in the journals brought Anam Cara back together, yet Harry's parents died tragically. I just don't see how that could have happened if they were so compassionate."

Emmaline dropped her head in shame. "Darkness can sometimes infect a soul, and we all know 'ow twisted and evil Voldemort was. He could never have understood the first thing about soul magic. It probably would have killed him at a touch," she looked up and directly at Harry. "In fact, I think that's what did it."

Harry nodded in full understanding. "Yes, he wasn't fond of love and compassion at all."

"Right. I'm sorry to say that even the most intensely passionate soul mates could still be torn apart tragically by other factors. Tristan and Iseult's souls could not counteract vengeful nature, and could certainly not save your parents. However your mother's love and compassion did save you. Your parents were strong and filled with so much promising soul magic, but I think their only task was to bring a wonderful son into the world."

Harry seemed quite misty eyed at the memory of his parents. Draco squeezed his hand in support. "What about Remus and Sirius? They were separated as well," he replied.

"Yes, well, they were confounded with suspicion by the Dark Lord and his followers. Suspicion breeds like mosquitoes, and once that seed is sewn, it is quickly followed by a lack of trust. I'm afraid they too were more victims of the Dark Lord than anything else. I'm sorry you have had so much loss, Harry."

"That was all in the past, Emmaline. I've got Draco now," he smiled, "but I still don't understand how we just knew instinctively what to do back there with the journals. I've had a feeling for days that we have needed to do something, but it all came out in a rush earlier. I can't believe we've done such powerful magic. We freed some souls." He still seemed amazed by what had happened.

"How did we do that if countless generations of soul mates have come together through these journals, Emmaline? Why were we the ones to free them and not someone else?" Draco asked in confusion.

"You boys 'ave made a bold step. You have voluntarily given up the journals and 'ave realised that you can't rely on them forever. You made the bold realisation that you have to work at your relationship, and that is something that many young lovers forget. By coming here today and offering to give the journals up to new people, you have shown your selflessness. That was why I had to ask all those questions. I had to be sure you were true to your feelings. Congratulations, boys. I am proud to 'ave witnessed this moment." Both men noticed again how much older she suddenly looked.

Draco frowned at her. "How will future soul mates come together now that the souls are free from the journals?"

Emmaline just shrugged. "You and 'Arry have made a bold step by confronting your demons and admitting that you will have to work through your differences. Now that you can feel your Anam Cara, perhaps the others might find their soul mates more easily. Who knows? The future hasn't been written yet. Besides, there are generations of magic now in those books, including a little bit of your own personalities."

Harry blinked several times, the look of confusion still evident on his face. "There's a piece of me in there?" he asked.

Draco seemed bemused. "Don't worry, it's only an echo. I think you're still in one piece." He sensed Harry's concern. "It's a lot to take in all at once. I'm a little overwhelmed myself."

"You seem to know an awful lot about Tristan and Iseult," Draco asked Emmaline in an accusatory tone. "I would dare to ask your age, but mother always told me it was impolite."

"Your Mere was a smart witch, môn chéri. You shouldn't ask." The smirk had returned to Emmaline's tired and drawn face. "I'm just a very old witch with way too much time on my hands."

"Do you deny that you knew them personally?" Draco asked.

"I can't deny that I have seen more summers than most witches still alive. Still, my 'ealth is not what it was." She looked around the store fondly. "I think it might be time to retire."

"Retire?" Draco laughed, "But you love this place too much. You can't retire. Where would you go, anyway?"

Emmaline just smiled at him before taking the journals up in her hands. "Oh, I think you'll cope just fine without me, môn chéri. I have watched over many younglings who have let these journals pass through their hands. When you first walked into my life, Draco, I felt a powerful tug of magic and knew you would go on to great and wonderful things. It's been an honour to watch over you as you and 'Arry have fallen in love." Her smile beamed wide and another tear of joy threatened in the corner of her eyes.

"I knew that Tristan and Iseult were close to being freed from the journals when I started to feel the effects of my mortality. It's best that I leave you boys now. You don't want a sick old woman hanging on and making things all sad for you."

"But you wouldn't," Harry protested.

"We'll miss you, Emmaline, more than you could ever possibly imagine." Draco sounded upset, and knew he was going to miss her more than he could say.

"I apologise for having meddled a little bit in your lives, but I think you'll agree it was for the best. I only did it to prod your courtship along. But, I have to confess that there was one unpleasant task. I 'ad to test you. I am sorry that I might have manipulated recent events. It was not my intention for you to leave, 'Arry, but you had to realise that your love for Draco would transcend your own personal flaws."

"You _manipulated_ me?" he asked.

"I am so sorry. If it's any consolation, Iseult asked me to do it. She wanted you to discover that true communication was the key to overcoming your problems, and I am sorry for bringing Oliver Wood back into your life. He is a rather unpleasant and self centred young man, hmmm?"

"You manipulated us?" Harry asked again.

"Yes, I did," she said with extreme regret. "But in my defence, you had to learn the hard lesson. I know I have caused you both pain, but without that you would never have come to the realisation that you need to communicate - just like you never would have come to the discovery that you will have to do this for the rest of your lives. That sacrifice was the necessary key to what happened today. I just only 'ope you can eventually forgive me for having to make you go through such pain."

"So you've been there all along, watching behind the scenes?" Draco asked, unsure of how he felt.

"No, not watching. I have been guardian to the journals for a very long time. But now, my job is done. Tristan and Iseult's souls have moved on and all is right with the world. Now I too can rest."

"Where will you go?" Harry asked, pained to think that she was leaving.

"Oh, I'll always be around, 'Arry," she said with a cryptic smile.

"There's always a place for you in our hearts, _Petite Mere_," Draco gave her a hug and everyone was a little misty eyed.

A sudden glow lit u p the room, and Draco turned at Harry's gasp. The journals had vanished.

"But where..." Harry asked.

"I think they've already started their next journey." Emmaline smiled through her tears. "I guess it is a new beginning for all of us."

* * *

They all shared one final cup of coffee (even Harry, who dared a fairly mild blend) and the boys reluctantly left, knowing full well that they would not see Emmaline again. It was a sad parting, but they left with a sense of hope. The new found rhythm of their Anam Cara, which Harry said felt like an echo of Draco's heartbeat, kept them feeling hopeful for the future.

Emmaline watched as they slowly made their way out of town and back to the castle. They were oblivious to the fact that she wrapped her shawl around tighter and followed them almost to the castle gates. She walked in a slow and steady stride, slinking in the shadows like a cat silently stalking its prey. The look of contented satisfaction on her face was tempered with sadness. It was finally over. Her life's work, and now she could take that rest she so desperately deserved. There was a slight relief, as she was finding it harder to maintain that form she had chosen so long ago.

Reaching the last copse of trees just below the school gates she stopped to turn back, but not before taking one final glimpse at the young couple entering the castle gates. Her life had been long - far too long and filled with many twists and turns; loves and losses; but never in all her years had she enjoyed herself more than in the last year.

"Don't be maudlin, you old fool," she chastised herself, wiping away a stray tear from her cheek. With one final glance and a wry smile, she turned and spun on the spot, transforming one last time back to her natural form. The sleek tabby cat looked up at the castle, then with a twitch of her tail she turned, and with her nose down, followed a steady trail back to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Jean-Paul turned at a scratching noise at the door. He leapt up and opened it to find a familiar cat saunter across the threshold.

"What's this?" he asked curiously, frowning as he recognised the all too familiar cat.

Petite Amie looked up with her green eyes wide as she meowed and rubbed up against Jean-Paul's legs.

"Hmmm," he replied, not at all surprised by the cat's now insistent meowing. "So, I take it from the fact you're visiting me in your true form, that it's all done?"

"Meow!" She leapt up into Jean-Paul's arms, and he began to stroke her fur as she purred. He carried her into the back room, where with a quick flick of his wand, the large rune covered basin appeared from out of nowhere. Casting a softly murmured spell over the mist in the bowl, he waited patiently.

The pearly mist faded to reveal two very familiar journals. Petite Amie leapt out of his arms and balanced herself on the edge of the basin. Jean-Paul tenderly picked up the top journal and hesitantly flicked through the pages. They were blank.

His mouth opened in shock. "They did it?" he asked, unable to believe it. "They truly freed Tristan and Iseult?"

He had waited nearly all his life for this day, but to realise that it was now here, he felt thoroughly unprepared for the responsibility as guardian. He looked over at Petite Amie and scratched her behind the ears. He breathed deeply as a soft tear formed in his eyes.

"I'm going to miss you, Emmaline... _Tante_," he whispered as the tears came more readily. He picked her up in a great hug, kissing the fur between her ears. It took a couple of moments to gather his composure as he realised that Emmaline had now permanently returned to her true form. He had always known that she would turn back when the souls were freed, but he would miss his old mentor's wit and wisdom.

"Is there any chance I can convince you to hang around?" he asked hopefully, already knowing the answer.

A pitied yowl escaped from her as she leapt out of his arms.

"I didn't think so." He thought he imagined the sad look in her face as well, but knew that she had to go back and live out the rest of her nine lives.

"Meow!"

"Yes, don't worry. I know what to tell Draco and Harry if they ask, and don't worry about the store. I promise it will be in good hands."

With one final parting turn, she leapt up onto the window sill and winked, that damnable twinkle still in her eye.

Yes, as a woman, old Emmaline Dumbledore had been a force to be reckoned with.

Alone now, Jean-Paul Dumbledore sat by the fire, the empty journals sitting in his lap. It felt like forever that he just sat there, still overwhelmed by the combination of responsibility and the loss of his aunt and mentor. Eventually he took up the pot of Floo powder.

"Papa," he called into the fire. A moment later, a very familiar face appeared.

"Jean-Paul, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore studied his son's face carefully. "You're upset... is everything all right?"

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "_Merde_, no, it's not. Can I come up? There's... something I have to tell you. It's about Tante Emma."

"Shouldn't you be telling Aberforth?"

Jean-Paul shook his head. "No, he hasn't spoken to her since the divorce. But, I think I need your guidance on this one, Papa." Dumbledore frowned in concern, but with a nod of his head, Jean-Paul wandered through the Floo and into his father's office. It had been hard keeping secrets from Albus Dumbledore, but Jean-Paul promised Emmaline that he would tell his father everything when the time was right.

After all, it wasn't every day that you got to surprise Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

**Friday, 19 December**

Draco drained the dregs of the bottle of Pinot Noir into Harry's glass as they sat quietly by the fire. They lay nestled together on the couch with Draco's back to Harry's chest. The feast was long over and almost everyone in the castle was asleep. The energetic hustle and bustle of packing before the Christmas holidays was long over and the sound of silence pervaded the castle walls. The biting chill outside hinted at a heavy snowfall by morning, but neither Harry nor Draco had any intention of moving. One of Harry's hands played absently with a lock of blond hair as Draco closed his eyes at the soft touch.

Everything felt... right, and neither wanted it to change. No classes for two whole weeks, and Draco knew the only potions he would be brewing would be whatever he wanted to cook up for his own leisure... or pleasure.

"Listen," Draco's eyes flew wide open and he whispered quietly. A doleful hoot floated down from the rafters.

"What?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No melodrama, no stress, and nothing earth shattering. That's a bit of a change for us, isn't it?" Harry realised Draco's good mood and smiled. The grin was infectious.

"It's all a bit anticlimactic, really," Harry replied. "But to be honest, I've had enough drama for one lifetime. I'm just looking forward to the quiet life with you now, Draco."

"Mmm." Draco closed his eyes again at the soft touch of Harry's hands.

"I'm so glad all that nonsense with the bank and the Aurors is finished. I didn't think Arthur Weasley would step in and offer his support. That was good of him. I still can't believe you tried to help Ron. Have I told you how much I love you for doing that?"

Draco shrugged. "It was nothing," he mumbled.

"No, Draco it wasn't just _nothing_." Harry sat up and looked at Draco in disbelief. "You spent a good deal of time working on a potion that worked to counteract the effect of his memory loss. That's truly _something_."

"It didn't help his memory," Draco shrugged again as he felt uncomfortable under Harry's gaze. "It's still a whole bunch of swiss cheese."

"No, it didn't, but the main thing is that you tried, when nobody asked you to. His magic has returned, which has made Hermione happier than anything, and he at least remembers a few things."

"Yeah, like he remembers you and Hermione, and the only thing he remembers about me is that I apparently hexed him to belch slugs for a week back in school. I don't remember that." Draco smirked. "I would have remembered that."

"He did belch slugs, but his own wand backfired, remember? I think it was second year – you had just joined the Quidditch team and you insulted Hermione's heritage."

"Oh yeah. Now I know why I blocked it out."

"Why are you so miserable, then? You've helped Ron."

"I guess I was hoping for more – for your sake. Ron is your friend. It was the right thing to do by you. I'll help you wherever I can, because I know you will always do the same for me. Don't tell me you haven't been looking for fresh Ashwinder scales for that potion I make for Severus. You can't just stop your feelings for Ron as a friend no more than you can stop your feelings for me. You want him to get better."

"Despite what you might think, I don't want you to lose your oldest friend. I've lost too many friends over the years, and I don't want to wish that experience on anyone, especially not you."

Harry was still surprised at Draco's unselfishness. Ever since they found Ron, Draco had kept silent on his former opinion whilst doing all he could to help at the same time. It seemed Draco's compassion had finally come to its full potential as he selflessly put time into helping Ron recover.

Harry was beginning to lose hope for his old friend and it had made his heart soar to know that Draco had selflessly tried to help. Hermione had also been speechless, and had cried all over Draco when they realised that the potion was helping Ron as much as possible. It had been quite a sight the day that Ron remembered Hermione.

As a result, Arthur Weasley did all he could to thank Draco by throwing his weight behind the case that was still open against Draco. The Aurors eventually closed their case against him, and against Ron. It was proven that Ron was acting under the influence of persons unknown. Unfortunately, his condition kept him in St Mungo's and he no longer had a job at Gringotts, but none of that mattered to his family.

"I don't think I've thanked you enough for what you've tried to do," Harry gave Draco another kiss.

"You know I didn't do it for the thanks, and I never expected that the Minister would do what he did to help, but I'm not going to knock back his gift," Draco sighed, seemingly a little put out by the Minister's actions. "But it's definitely nice being able to go wherever I want without any trouble." Having Ron's behaviour explained and the bank and Aurors agreeing that Draco was in no way culpable of any wrongdoing, they were losing no time in making up for all their rough treatment of Draco. Arthur Weasley had given him full citizenship, so he could now Apparate out of the country without the need to go through Immigration.

Of course, not all of his troubles were over. The bank had tightened security and his estate was now under the keen management of a team of goblins, who left no Knut unaccounted for. For now, all he had to decide what to do with the ruined Manor. He still couldn't touch anything of his estate until he was 25, but he could rebuild it, if he so chose. He was still mulling over that thought.

"Are you all packed for the chateau?" Harry asked. "Did you get the Portkey to take us directly there?"

"Mmm, but I don't recall saying you could come with me, Harry," Draco was being cheeky. "You really haven't been a good boy. I don't know if you deserve a holiday."

Harry just smirked. His hand wormed its way into Draco's shirt, slowly teasing its way towards a nipple as he whispered seductively across Draco's ear. "What if I promise to be very, very bad, instead?"

"Promise?" Draco just smiled as he squirmed to allow Harry's hand further access. Instead, Harry just moved his hand away.

"Well, I did have plans to take someone else," Draco drawled in a matter-of-fact tone. He scratched at a spot behind his ear – a sign, Harry learned – that meant Draco was a little nervous. "We might not be completely... alone."

Harry sat up further. "Oh?" he asked, not sure where this was going.

"Well, I was thinking. Maggie's going to be all alone. I can't believe she is going to be the only student left behind these holidays. Her foster family are complete prats."

"Yeah, those idiots are the Dursleys all over again, only they are wizards, which makes it worse." There was still a small hint of bitterness in his voice. "I can't believe they now use her lycanthropy as an excuse to forget their obligations. With your improved Wolfsbane, she's safer than ever."

"Not to mention the fact there's no full moon during this holiday."

"Yeah. You wanted to take Maggie with us?" Harry asked, knowing where this conversation was going.

"Would that be all right?" Draco sat up and gave Harry a serious look. "I know you probably want to spend time alone..."

"Actually, I had similar thoughts when I heard about it this morning. I still can't believe people would be like that, but it seems the least we can do is show her that not everyone will treat her that way. It's not fair that she has to spend Yule and Christmas with only the teachers. At least I had my friends when I had to stay here over the holidays."

"There's something about her... I can't pinpoint it, Harry, but if she were any other student, I don't think I'd care so much. She deserves a proper childhood too, and some responsible adults who actually care for her welfare when school is out. Maggie really has nobody else. She needs someone who cares for her to look after her on a more permanent basis. Someone who cares what happens to her."

"Are you saying what I think you are saying? You want to do this on a more formal and permanent basis?" Harry didn't tell Draco he had been thinking the very same thing.

"You can't tell me you haven't thought about this, Harry Potter. I've seen the time you spend with her – it's almost as if you are fathering her."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. You're right. We'd also be giving Remus a bit of a break. I know he loves helping her and they understand each other because of their shared curse, but he and Jean-Paul need some quality time together too. Jean-Paul is great, but he isn't the fatherly type." Harry admitted bluntly.

"Do you really think that she would want to come with us to the Chateau?" Draco asked.

"I think she would love to come. She adores you so much," he admitted. "I can't see her saying no."

"You really do want to foster Maggie, Harry? Have you thought it through carefully?"

"She's in the same predicament I was as a kid, only this time _I _can do something about it. Ever since I first met her, she's had a strange effect on me. I'm not going to be a father, but I know I've got plenty of love to go around, especially for her. She reminds me of myself in so many ways."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted any sort of family, Harry. I thought perhaps with your own childhood..." Draco dismissed the thought. "But you're right – Maggie is an amazing child. How could anyone not care for her?"

"So we both want this?" Harry asked to confirm it.

"Why don't we just ask Maggie, and see what she wants. She might not want to stay with us – have you thought of that?"

"Well we won't know unless we _ask_ her, will we?"

Draco looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, the thing is..."

"You've already asked her, haven't you?" Harry seemed upset, even if it is what he wanted. "I thought we were going to talk about major decisions before we just went ahead..."

Draco shushed him up with a finger across his lips. "If you would let me finish, I was going to say that she's as subtle as a stunner at close range. She's been dropping hints for days, if you hadn't noticed." Draco then went off and mimicked a young girl's voice, "Oh I wish you could be here for the holidays, Draco, or even better yet, I could stay near you. Wouldn't it be fun?"

"Shrewd little thing when she wants to be, isn't she?" Harry replied.

"Too right, although, I wonder if we aren't the ones being manipulated."

Harry just shook his head. "Women. I don't think either of us will ever understand them." They both laughed and relaxed again. Harry brought his glass to his lips for another sip and Draco let out a soft laugh. "You know, Harry, if I didn't know any better, I would say that you're enjoying that wine just a little bit more than you're letting on."

"Mmm, it's very good. You chose wisely," Harry replied in a mocking tone.

"Ah, but that's what's so funny. Last time I checked, it was a red wine, oh great white wine connoisseur."

Harry feigned surprise as he stared down his glass, pretending to study its contents. "Well what do you know..."

"Prat," Draco laughed.

"You know, you're a fine one to talk. Who was gushing over that bottle of German Gewürztraminer that we had last week with the pork tenderloins?"

"Ah, but you see, Harry," Draco squirmed in Harry's lap and turned to face him. "I never said I didn't like white wine, I merely said I preferred reds. That was a perfect accompaniment to such a fine meal." Draco said.

"It seems you're full of your own self importance this evening," Harry offered.

"No, not really. I just like it when we compromise on things. I know wine isn't the most important thing in the world, Harry, but right now I don't want to change anything."

"Yeah. Who could have ever imagined that two polar opposites like ourselves could have actually been soul mates?"

"Or that magic knew all along and intervened to put us on the right path..."

"Or that our persistence could have helped free two cursed souls?"

"You must be drunk," Draco retorted. "You get so mushy and all sentimental when you drink too much red wine." He took Harry's glass away before snuggling back down into the warmth against Harry's chest.

Harry was suddenly quite wistful. "I miss our journals, you know," he said hoarsely.

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry continued. "I know, we chose to give them up, but it would have been nice to just have been able to keep a copy of our conversation – for posterity."

Draco nodded, but looked a little saddened as he worried a button on Harry's shirt. "What's wrong," Harry asked.

He shrugged. "Oh, just thinking about Emmaline. I'm really going to miss her." He seemed lost in memories and let out a small smile. "But you know, the old witch never did tell us all of her secrets." Harry had to smile and laugh at that too. A soft meow made him look up, and Petite Amie leapt into his lap, causing a lot of reshuffling as bony elbows dug into Harry's chest. She very quickly found the best spot that combined warmth with someone's hand to stroke her fur. Draco absently began to stroke and her purring quickly allayed his concerns for old Emmaline. She would be missed greatly, but he had Harry, and he knew he had her in part to thank for that.

His eyelids were soon heavy and he was yawning deeply, setting Harry off as well. "Come on," Harry tried to drag him up off the couch. "You might think I get drunk from too much red wine, but nobody can tell me that a Malfoy doesn't get sleepy from too much wine."

Draco was indignant at the slur, and tried to stand, but ended up overbalancing and falling back into Harry's arms. "Come on, I think it's bed for you," Harry chided.

"Don't wanna go to sleep," Draco mumbled as he tried to pull open Harry's shirt. He seemed to squint, as everything was getting blurry.

"Who said anything about sleep?" Harry playfully swatted away Draco's hands, but guided his own to the buttons on Draco's trousers. "I think you're wearing _far_ too many clothes."

"How is it," Draco continued, "That two polar opposites like ourselves end up as soul mates?"

"Does it really matter any more? We're together, and I'm not leaving you, not ever. I'm yours, or had you forgotten?"

Draco seemed to sober slightly. "No, I hadn't forgotten." He palmed the front of Harry's trousers, feeling for the hardness that was growing there.

"Besides," Harry was sounding a little breathless as Draco began to drop kisses on his neck, "we've got the rest of our lives to work out why we're so good together."

"Well I think I'll enjoy plenty of research on the subject."

"Indeed."

* * *

Most cats would have been prowling the halls for a slow mouse at this time of night, but not Petite Amie. Unceremoniously dumped from Draco's lap, she went back to her favourite spot by the fire. She kept one eye opened as she listened to the boys light-hearted banter, and she knew, finally, that everything was going to be just fine.

Only then did she finally close her eyes and drift off into a long awaited and well-deserved sleep.

* * *

_**To be wrapped up in the Epilogue - coming in a few days.**_

**Thank You** to everyone who has read and reviewed since Chapter 19 was posted. Some people were disappointed in what happened in the last chapter, but we hope this clears up the air. Thank you to:

acerbus-chan, allara , animmage, AquilusRosae, Ariathel, ashmoon, beserkergoddess, Besson, Bezzie, Cat , Chaney, cocokate, Cordelia Tonks, DemonRogue, Dr. Colleen, EmeraudeEncre, emily , Fiona , From The Dark I will Rise, HandsOff , ilyena damodred , I'm A GodSend In Disguise, itsasledgehammer, Kaaera, kokopoko, Lelimo, lemonlimesodapop , Lily Evans Potter Black Lup..., Lux et Veritas, makalaseri, Michelle , MooNBlaDeR, Morauko , MyOriginalIntent, Nony , PaDfOoT Da GrEaT, Peaceful Angel, person , plotbunnybrat , Purveyor of Darkness:Tyrini, rosemary eve , Sara , Shini4, smarmypenguin , SporkadelicAsh, sugarpixie02, Sumiko10 , triola, ura-hd, venure , Veritas.Aequetas.Redemptio., volleypickle16, white rabbit , Xandria Nirvana

And thank you to everyone who has been here for the entire ride - whether you joined us at Chapter 1 or at a later stage, thank you for sticking around. The Epilogue won't be far behind (next weekend, we hope) so you can finally put this story away a complete, and no longer a WIP! Yay!) Without you this story may have become a dreaded abandoned WIP, and we thank each and every one of you for all your encouraging words!


	21. Epilogue: Seasons of Love

**Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone  
by Azhure & Wintermoon **

**Epilogue: Seasons of Love**

_525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear.  
525,600 minutes how do you measure, measure a year?  
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.  
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.  
In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?  
How about love? Seasons of love.  
**Cast of 'Rent'**_

--oo0oo--

**Yule, 2004**

A familiar whooshing sound assaulted the room as the Floo flared to life. Peals of laughter rang around the room as Harry, Maggie and Draco all exited the fireplace. Maggie giggled uncontrollably and Harry was biting his lip to keep his own bout of mirth in check. Draco's face was thunderous as he stomped imperiously away from the fireplace. Harry quickly wandered over to put his hand on Draco's shoulder.

"...And that's why you won't ever be allowed to get a pet ferret, Maggie," Harry concluded a conversation that had obviously begun at the other end of the Floo.

Maggie's giggling finally burst into a fit of hysterical laughter as she gave Draco a strange look. He was not at all amused by the fact Harry had mentioned that rather unfortunate incident from their early school years. It was something he would rather forget, but Harry somehow managed to take great pleasure in telling every little detail to Maggie.

"Harry, you have to stop telling her such tall tales," Draco said as he cast a quick charm to dust off his overcoat. "You know I was at the mercy of a madman!"

"Nothing wrong with telling it as it happened, love," Harry's eyes sparkled in sympathetic mirth.

"Yes, well perhaps you could avoid any unnecessary elaboration and just stick to the basic facts," He replied. Maggie quickly took off her boots as Draco cast a quick cleaning charm over their travel clothes "I know you'd like a pet, Maggie - wouldn't you prefer an owl or something that doesn't twitch? Besides, I doubt Petite Amie would like a ferret around."

At the mention of her name, the cat opened one eye and let out a soft meow. She had spent a wonderful day sleeping in the kindling box, and their conversation had disturbed her slumber. Draco turned and stroked her soft fur as she leapt into his arms. "See," he said to Maggie, "even she agrees with me."

Maggie kept her distance, seemingly a little daunted by the cat, but she eventually gave it a hesitant pat. "You know there aren't too many animals that like me, Draco. Petite Amie seems to be the only animal who lets me pet her. Ferrets seem to be the only animals that don't care about my lycanthropy." She seemed a little disillusioned, and Draco gave her a warm smile.

"Don't worry, we'll find a pet that is just right for you. We'll leave the ferret as a last resort."

Maggie gave Harry a knowing grin. Harry returned her grin with a sly wink. They both knew how to play Draco to get what they wanted, and it seemed this had been an assault on Draco from two fronts. She seemed satisfied with Draco's answer, for now, but she would not forget it, and Harry had no doubt that a pet ferret would come into their lives sooner rather than later.

"So," Maggie cocked her head and changed the subject. "You never did tell me which of you was better at Charms at school." She took up a topic that they had been discussing all day, with Maggie trying to determine whether Harry or Draco was smarter. She had created quite a bit of discussion between her two guardians, and it had been amusing spending the day listening to them argue and work on their well-practiced one-upmanship. She had been sceptical of Draco's story about the pranks Harry pulled whilst invisible, but she thoroughly believed the story about Draco's turn as a ferret.

Their banter and debate had raged back and forth during their whole day in Paris. The museum had been an awful lot of fun, but she preferred to watch Harry and Draco together, and she found it fun when they nagged and clashed with each other in friendly rivalry. She had heard stories about their school enmity, and had tried her hardest to find any evidence of it, for it seemed so hard to believe that these two wonderful guardians could have once hated each other.

"Oh, Draco was dreadful at Charms," Harry said, levitating a couple of wine glasses across the room without any effort. The glasses seemed to tap dance as they made their way into Harry's hands. Draco just scowled at Harry's self-satisfied smirk, returning it with an evil glare. Harry blew him a wild kiss as he opened the bottle of wine with an exaggerated flourish.

Sleep suddenly overcame Maggie and she yawned deeply and rubbed her eyes. "Mmm, tired," she offered. "Think I should go to bed. I had a _fantastic_ time today! Thanks for taking me to Paris. It's such a beautiful city. D'you think we can go back to that louver museum again?"

"It's called _Le Louvre_," Draco corrected her. "You enjoyed yourself, then?" he asked, his mood suddenly brightening at Maggie's enthusiasm.

She nodded, as another yawn engulfed her reply. "I guess you should get to bed," Harry replied with a heartfelt smile. "After all, it's Yule tomorrow."

"Yeah," she nodded, "but you two shouldn't stay up too long either," she replied with her own cheeky smile as she kissed and hugged them goodnight. Harry could have sworn she winked at them as she headed off to her bedroom.

Draco smirked. "Cheeky little minx," he muttered under his breath. Harry snickered in reply. They both waited silently until they heard the soft click of her bedroom door as it closed.

"That girl has wonderful ideas. I don't think we should stay up too long either," Draco sat back against the cushions with a smoky glaze in his eyes. He could not draw his eyes away as he drank in the sight of his soul mate, enjoying everything as Harry pulled off his own jacket and toed off his shoes. Harry could feel Draco's eyes watching him, and he played up slightly to the scrutiny as he poured their drinks.

"So, you certainly took your time around the museum today. I thought you would have seen all those paintings and sculptures before." Harry crossed the rug and lay across the couch, snuggling into the crook of Draco's arm as he handed over a glass of wine. They clinked glasses in a silent toast.

"You know, I've been to the museum hundreds of times," Draco replied with a sultry smirk. " But there were just some exhibits there that simply took my breath away. I couldn't stop looking at them." A deep look of desire filled Draco's eyes as he watched Harry's every move.

"That's funny," Harry laughed as the innocent look on his face faded away, "I could have sworn that you didn't take your eyes off _me_ all day. I doubt you even looked at any of the paintings. I could have stolen the _Mona Lisa_ and replaced it with a fake and you would never have known."

"The _Mona Lisa_ pales into insignificance next to you," Draco's voice whispered as his gaze was transfixed on Harry. "Besides, if you're going to dress like _that_," Draco pulled at the lapel of Harry's shirt and ran a hand slowly down the fine silk, "then you have to expect me to want to ravish you at a moment's notice."

Harry raised an eyebrow and gave Draco a smouldering look. "I knew you had an ulterior motive for buying this shirt. Only you would buy silk for the sole purpose of ripping it off my body." His own voice was now hoarse with desire.

Draco grinned and raised an eyebrow. "You can't deny you've been playing up to it all day, can you?"

Harry just smiled coyly as he ran a finger around the rim of his glass. "You're one to talk, Draco. You know you look positively delectable in that leather jacket. I saw you licking your lips and turning your best profile when you thought I was watching you." His tongue darted out and licked at his lower lip, and his breathing became shallow as he felt the arousal tightening in his trousers.

"Well it obviously worked," Draco replied as he eyed the firming bulge in Harry's trousers. He teasingly moved away to put his wine glass on the coffee table, breaking the spell of desire.

"So was anyone keeping an eye on Maggie whilst we were otherwise preoccupied?" Harry asked with just a hint of concern. "This was supposed to be a family outing for her benefit. You were the one who wanted to expand her cultural knowledge, and I have to admit I thought I wasn't at my most attentive today."

Draco nodded. "Don't worry, I was looking out for her, but I think you've got it all wrong. I think she's trying to chaperone us. Why do you think she sat between us at the movie yesterday? I think she suspected you were planning to have your wicked way with me whilst the lights were dimmed."

Harry laughed. "I think she knows _you_ too well. She's a Slytherin, after all." Harry took a sip of wine and changed the subject. "You never told me what you thought about that last Tolkien film. It was nice to finally see them with you, and not just talk about them in our journals."

Draco seemed to take a long time to consider his answer. "You know I get so flustered when I see that many good looking men on the screen all at once," he retorted cheekily.

"Aha!" Harry cried. "I _knew_ you had a thing for Gimli!"

Draco punched Harry playfully. "Who's the one growing out his hair and beard? You can't tell me you aren't fashioning yourself after Aragorn these days." Draco played with the ends of Harry's lengthening hair and ran a finger admiringly along that neatly groomed jaw. He could never imagine Harry's hair behaving that way, but that was all part of Harry's good looks. He wasn't as strikingly handsome as Draco, but he did radiate an aura that was uniquely... Harry. Draco still marvelled at how lucky he was - how lucky they both were to have found each other.

"You like my beard?" Harry stroked his chin in an exaggerated manner. "Maggie thinks it makes me look distinguished."

"Maggie was just buttering you up so she could get her own way, as usual," Draco replied. "I'm telling you that because it really does suit you. It defines your face." He pulled Harry in by the chin and dropped a kiss on his mouth, but pulled away before Harry could deepen it. "Besides, it gives me something to hold on to."

"Prat," Harry slapped his hand away playfully. "Do you think Maggie is enjoying the holiday?" Harry asked with a hint of concern. "I mean last Yule we were all getting used to being around each other, and I really wanted this Yule to be special. I worry that we're not doing the right thing by her." Harry was constantly concerned for Maggie's welfare, but Draco calmed him down.

"Maggie will be fine. She can look after herself. We don't need to keep her entertained twenty four hours a day. She's almost a teenager. Besides, she's a Slytherin. Self sufficiency is thy name."

Harry nodded, seemingly placated. "She's becoming more precocious every day. It's almost hard to believe she's the same shy girl we met last year. Have you seen that little harem of boys who follow her around and cater to her every whim?" Harry asked.

"Yes – she isn't past using her lycanthropy to her advantage when it suits her," Draco reminded Harry. "Who was the one who questioned her sorting, hmmm?"

Harry shrugged as he thought back to that day. Maggie had been a truly surprising young thing, and constantly kept both of them on their toes. He sometimes wondered what would have happened if they had not taken it upon themselves to apply to be her guardians. "You know, I still can't help but wonder what would have happened if she had been sorted elsewhere..."

"We won't ever know, will we? Who was the one who told me that he didn't want to think about the past?" Draco reminded him. They were both lying across the couch now, with Harry draped over Draco's chest. Harry was resting his wine glass on his chest as he enjoyed a scalp massage from Draco.

"Mmm," Harry sighed, thoroughly enjoying the quiet moment. When they lay like this, he could often imagine that he could feel their soul mate connection, and it would remind him of their special bond, and just how lucky they both were. "She's right about one thing. We _really_ should get to bed." Harry rolled around to face Draco, his empty wine glass now dumped unceremoniously on the rug as he toyed with the buttons on Draco's shirt.

Draco slowly pulled off Harry's grey cashmere scarf and wrapped it firmly around Harry's wrists. Harry smirked as he looked up into Draco's face. He knew what Draco wanted, and the idea of being tied up with scarves was turning him on more and more with each passing second. Perhaps he might even give Draco his Yule gift a little early. He had an idea of what Draco had planned for his own gift - the man had been spending far too much time in his lab and not telling Harry what he was doing. Harry could only assume he had some secret potion he wanted Harry to try. He could only hope it was something new that Draco pulled out of his seemingly endless supply of potions used to enhance sex.

Harry dived in and stole a kiss that quickly deepened, heating things up as he writhed against Draco. "Finally," he mumbled, "I was wondering when I could put this hard on to good use. Don't think I wasn't tempted to drag you off to a dark corner of the museum..."

"What stopped you?" Draco asked, his voice husky with desire. Harry sat up, pulling his scarf around the back of Draco's neck as he dragged them both into a sitting position. One hand was already tearing at the buttons on Draco's shirt when they were suddenly interrupted by a loud, screeching hoot. Melchett flew in across the room and unceremoniously dumped a pile of mail into their laps.

"You vile bloody bird!" Harry yelped as the mail landed directly in his lap, "You sure have the worst timing of any creature..." The bird let out another indignant hoot as it ruffled Harry's hair before heading for the back of the chair. He was expecting his usual treat for delivering the mail, but Harry looked ready to pluck his feathers and stun him just with a glare.

"Bloody bird," Draco muttered in agreement as he waved his wand towards the cupboard. A dead mouse flew out and landed on the floor. Melchett swooped down to pick it up before leaping up on top of the antique armoire. He was still chirping and complaining as if ungrateful for the generous morsel of food.

Harry was still tidying his hair as he looked over at the bird. "What are you looking at? Don't expect any sympathy from me!" Melchett hooted indignantly in response.

"Well it's not my bloody fault there's so much mail. If you hadn't knocked up _my_ owl, she could have helped you carry it across the Channel. You have to expect consequences for your actions." Harry's lecturing tone made Draco chuckle.

"What?" Harry looked over at Draco. "It's not funny," Harry said in all seriousness. "That bloody bird of _yours _knocked up my Hedwig, and now she's nesting. Can't I be worried for her? She's not a young owl any more."

"You are a clucky old thing, Harry." Draco laughed, but Harry didn't seem amused.

Draco finally noticed the large yellow envelope that had fallen from the pile Harry was taking out of his lap. "Oh look," His mood suddenly sobered as he read the return address.

Harry looked over in curiosity. "What... Oh..." He too noticed the Ministry seal belonging to the Department of Wizarding Family Services. "Should we go and get Maggie?" he asked quietly.

Draco shook his head as he tore open the envelope with nervous fingers, his heart hammering in his chest. "Let's just wait and see what they say." Harry was too scared to read the pronouncement, yet he waited on tenterhooks for Draco to finish the page. His lack of expression wasn't helping Harry's nerves in the least.

"Fuck!" Draco cried in disbelief. Harry snatched the letter, reading it carefully and tossing it aside in disgust.

"You would think that the bloody Ministry would have run out of excuses by now, wouldn't you?" Draco asked in frustration. "All these excuses are just bollocks!"

Harry picked it up again and reread the page. "Well, we were told these things take time, Draco. You know how bloody lucky we are that they accepted us as Maggie's foster carers in the first place, and they really only agreed because you make the Wolfsbane for her."

"And here I thought they only did it because they were awed by the presence of the great Harry Potter," Draco bit back, a little too harshly.

Harry snorted. "Well that's obviously not the case, is it? We've been applying now for most of the year. I was hoping they might have at least seen their way before Yule. At this rate, Maggie will be of age before they agree to let us adopt her."

"You know, you could try and use your name to your advantage, for once. Use your bloody influence with the Minister. Now they say that our application is being considered, pending _further_ review. What else is there to bloody well review?"

"As much as I would love to, we can't buck the system, Draco. It wouldn't be fair to everyone else." Harry blinked several times as he adjusted his glasses.

"I don't care about everyone else. Maggie's welfare is most important. Doesn't she deserve us? Don't _you_ deserve to have someone cut you a break? What if they are just stalling because the name 'Malfoy' on the application is causing them to have conniptions? They're too bloody scared of my reputation to say 'no' outright." Draco was working himself up into a state, and Harry quickly put a stop to that.

"Well, we'll just have to prove to them that we are the right ones to adopt Maggie. Think of it as a challenge," Draco could see the fire in Harry's eyes, and knew that he wasn't about to give up. "We might be somewhat unconventional, but we're going to do things the _right_ way. I can't be setting any bad examples, as much as I loathe the fact I'm supposedly a role model. Don't get worked up, Draco. If they try to pull any shit about your father or about their perceptions of your family name, we'll prove them wrong. We might not have got what we wanted for Yule, but I can't see either of us giving up just yet. I doubt even Maggie would allow that."

Draco looked over at the door, worried for Maggie. "I'm glad we never told her what we are trying to do. She would be devastated at this setback."

"True," Harry nodded. Maggie had no idea they had applied for full adoptive rights. She was just thrilled to have them as her foster family.

"Besides," he continued with a weary smile, "Even if we had been successful, she would have forgotten everything after we gave her that _HP Firebolt_. She won't care about anything else."

The smile finally returned to Draco's face. "She'll need all the practice she can get on it to ensure Slytherin's chances for the Quidditch Cup."

Harry shook his head. "Far be it for me to even _think_ of ever trying to pry the Quidditch Cup out of Snape's office..." He seemed a little wistful as he absently sat staring into the fire, ignoring the rest of the mail. "If you had told me a couple of years ago that I'd be here with you, and we would be caring for a ward... "

"I know. It's so hard to believe... you're not having second thoughts, are you?" Draco asked with a hint of concern.

"No, I wouldn't change it for the world." Harry smiled.

"Good. It seems we both have exactly what we wanted. Apart from Maggie. I guess we just have to wait it out and be patient."

Harry picked up his wine glass from where it had rolled across the rug during their mild romp. He sighed as he levitated the wine bottle across the room, topping up both their glasses. He snuggled his head back down into Draco's lap. A slender hand absently ran through Harry's hair as they opened up the rest of the mail. The problem with being in the remote south of France was that the post was always late. No matter how hard Melchett flew to collect it, they always seemed a day behind. No wonder the bird was irascible - all that distance to fly and then having to worry about his new nest mate.

Draco had always thought it was hilarious that their owls began a rather heated relationship, which apparently had been going unnoticed behind the scenes. Many other things had been going on behind the scenes as well, and they were learning to accept the give and take of the disparate parts of their lives.

Whilst things weren't perfectly back to the way they were, Draco had accepted that Ron had been acting under the influence of the Neo Death Eater's Imperius potion. Things with the bank and his estate had been settled, even though Draco still had another few months until he could completely access his inheritance. This no longer worried him as much as it had in the past.

The goblins were now personally handling all the paperwork for the estate, and Draco could see that within a couple of years and some astute investment, he could almost recoup the losses incurred at the hands of the Neo Death Eaters. The only loss that was difficult to replace was the Manor. Draco was in a quandary, for he wasn't sure if he really wanted to rebuild his childhood home.

He didn't _need_ to live there – he had comfortable rooms at Hogwarts, and the chateau held many happier memories than the Manor ever had. To be honest, he really didn't care where he lived, so long as Harry was there with him. He toyed with the idea of selling the Manor to Arianna and Neville. They took a keen interest in the greenhouses, and they had been talking about breeding some strange hybrid magical plants – a topic Draco found to be quite interesting. He was, as usual, curious about their magical properties and how they could be used in potions.

If they weren't interested in buying it, he could always sell it to the Muggle developers. That would really show Lucius up – having his precious Manor sold and subdivided into lots where hundreds of Muggles could breed and procreate. He toyed very briefly with that idea, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

He noticed Harry was laughing as he perused a postcard that appeared to be from Hermione and Ron in Egypt. Even now, Ron was still suffering lingering after effects of the Imperius potion. Hermione had given up a lot of her time to help her husband in his recovery, and a short holiday in Egypt had turned into something more permanent. It seemed the climate was more conducive to Ron's recovery. It was still early days, according to the other medi-wizards at St Mungo's, but they seemed to be slowly weaving the threads of their lives back together.

The distance had hindered a complete reconciliation with Harry. Harry had completely forgiven Ron, but there was an awful lot of guilt and an even bigger serve of pride on Ron's part. Despite this, Harry was patient. He wasn't going to push. Ron would come to him in his own time, and they could be best friends again. Harry suspected a lot of Ron's guilt came from the fact that the Imperius potion, whilst forcing Ron to say and do things against his will, often heightened and brought out hidden feelings. Ron knew his homophobic tendencies had always been hidden deep down for Harry's sake, but knowing they were expressed openly must have made him feel even more uncomfortable.

Harry had no doubt that Draco would be fine if Ron ever returned to the fold. He had kept up a regular correspondence with Hermione - discussing goodness-knew-what, and this gave Harry hope for the future. Besides, he had tried so hard to be pleasant to Snape, and they could easily manage a whole day without bitter barbs and a constant desire to reach for his wand. That was an improvement. Surely Draco and Ron could play nice too.

Draco picked up a familiar looking envelope and eagerly tore into it. He scanned the pages and his face fell. He cried out in disgust, dislodging Harry's head from his lap in the process.

"Oh no. No. No. No... this can't be happening..." He said in horror.

"What?" Harry asked in deep concern. Draco's face was ashen.

"Arianna..." he mumbled.

"What's wrong? Is it Neville..."

Draco shook his head as the blood drained from his face. "She's pregnant," he pronounced with solemnity. His disbelief was evident.

Harry looked at Draco in shock before bursting into raucous laughter. Melchett hooted in disgust and Draco looked even more mortified by Harry's reaction. "Well, what do you expect?" Harry asked. "You shouldn't be surprised. They've been talking about children ever since the wedding."

"Yes... but _Longbottom!_" Draco retorted, as if that was the answer to every blatantly obvious question in the universe.

Harry just snickered. "Well, yes... I should certainly hope the child is Neville's. I always knew Neville had it in him, what with his endowments and all..."

"Oh Merlin, Harry, I can't believe you just said that. There's no need to be so ghastly and crude..."

"I'm not being crude, Draco. Merely making an observation. I shared a dorm with Neville for seven years. I can tell you that when I say endowments..."

"Ugh, Harry, if there ever was a thought to kill a mood, it's the mere thought of discussing anything to do with the size of Neville Longbottom's cock. I'm traumatised for life, you realise." Draco knew he was falling into a melodramatic sulk, but he had very good reason to feel that way.

Harry smiled at Draco's sense of drama, waving it away in a spirit of humour. "You're just jealous. Trust me. I've only ever seen it from a respectable distance, but have you ever wondered why Arianna's smiling all the time? She's a lucky girl - in more ways than one."

"Prat," Draco pouted sulkily.

"Why are you so bothered by the fact she's pregnant? Don't they deserve their own family? Goodness knows Neville's upbringing was almost as crappy as mine." Harry could see Draco becoming petulant. "We have our own family now that Maggie is with us. Doesn't Arianna deserve the same?"

It took a moment for Draco to answer. He hated it when Harry was right. "You're right. I'm just being selfish. It's silly... really..." Draco seemed hesitant to say any more.

"Draco," Harry scolded. "Okay, spit it out. What's really bothering you? I thought we agreed not to hide any of our worries?"

"Oh it's silly, really. I'm not begrudging them their family, not in the least. It's just that... well..." He realised he had never told Harry about his feelings on this subject, and knew now was the right time. He looked up directly into Harry's eyes. "I really don't _want_ to be teaching Potions forever, Harry. The first thing I saw when I read that letter was the sight of another hapless Longbottom with his father's clumsiness and all those blown up cauldrons. I don't think I really want to face that."

Harry understood the real dilemma. "Who says you have to still be teaching potions in another decade? I know you agreed to help Snape out for another year..."

Draco quickly interrupted. "Severus won't be teaching at all soon. He's so stubbornly proud, it's taken him this long to admit that he really won't last out the year. I won't have much choice after that."

"I think Charlie might help him come around. I know he wants Snape to retire."

"Yes, you're right. Charlie has been working on him, but I know he's only hanging around until I finish my apprenticeship. I'm almost certain he'll retire at the end of the year. It seems that Weasleys can be good for something," he muttered.

Harry smirked. "Oh, I don't know. I think we have a lot to thank Ginny for," he retorted with a smirk. "After all, wasn't she the one that turned you off women for good? I think I owe her a _huge_ favour."

Draco smirked in reply, but didn't deny it. That disastrous night with Ginny Weasley had actually been the start of a journey that brought him to Harry, and to this point. He would reluctantly agree that she had done him a favour - although he hoped that Harry would stop teasing him about it one day soon.

Harry became serious again. "But if Snape retires at the end of the school year, you're really not obliged to stay at Hogwarts any longer. There's nothing to stop you from leaving and focussing on your research. It's a perfect time to do so. You've got your lab set up perfectly here at the chateau and you're within easy reach of Paris now that we're connected to the Floo here..." Harry could see Draco wasn't totally sure about what he wanted to do. Harry could completely understand the terror of being torn between a job that you tolerated, and the career you wanted.

"Now that you can travel anywhere you like, you can get the Wolfsbane to Remus and Maggie with plenty of time to spare, and you'll have all those eager lycanthropes in Prague just itching to work with you. That article you published has made you famous, Draco." During the summer Draco had published some of his preliminary research from his thesis and it had been picked up by wizards as far away as South America. It had been the type of recognition Draco had always sought, and Harry was so proud of him.

"But I can't do that, Harry. I don't want to leave you alone in the castle. I know how much Hogwarts means to you. I know that teaching and taking over from Remus is _your_ dream. How can I deny you that? I... I can stay at Hogwarts - it's no big deal." Draco didn't hear the sigh of relief as he said what he had been thinking for a very long time.

Harry's mouth dropped in surprise. "You're willing to stay at Hogwarts and do a job you _hate_ just because you think I want to stay?"

Draco couldn't understand. "But you're always saying how you love the place and how special it is... it's a part of our Anam Cara."

"True, you're right there," Harry nodded, "But there comes a time when you have to leave home. It's a part of _our_ Anam Cara, and always will be, but I've realised that home isn't the castle - it's wherever you are."

Draco looked at him strangely as Harry's words echoed his earlier thoughts. Harry just smiled, and reached over to kiss him gently on the lips, his arms winding around to embrace him. "I don't care where we are, Draco. Home is my family. You... you and Maggie and our crazy menagerie of cats and birds and werewolves... and ferrets..."

Draco swallowed visibly. "You're serious?"

"No, I'm Harry. Sirius was your cousin. Of course I'm bloody serious." He sat back and looked at Draco with no hint of mirth in his face, holding Draco's hand solemnly. "We've never had this conversation, and I guess now is as good a time as any. You belong here, Draco – at the chateau. I can see that you thrive here."

"... as do you at Hogwarts..." Draco interrupted.

Harry shook his head profusely. "No, not any more. I will always hold Hogwarts as special in my heart, but it's just a place, not a home. I've outgrown it now. I don't want to be there unless _you_ want to, and I know your heart doesn't truly belong there. You should be at the Manor, or here, but if you ask me, you belong here, in France."

"You don't think I belong with you?" Draco asked in confusion.

Harry just rolled his eyes. "No you great git, that's not what I meant. I fell in love with a Frenchman named Luc. It's here - in Roussillon - that you came into your own and shook off the mantle of your father's ghastly legacy. I know how unhappy you are in Scotland. I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm not unhappy with you, Harry." Draco coiled in defence.

"I know that. Which is why," he leaned over to fetch one of the letters from the pile, "I _did_ take your advice, and I put my influence to some use." He handed the letter to Draco, who read it. His eyes widened in amazement as he reached the bottom of the page.

"When were you planning on telling me this?" Draco asked, his voice husky with emotion.

"It's not a firm offer yet, Draco, but Monsignor Robilliard is planning his own retirement and he's very keen to talk. He's an excitable little fellow, actually."

"But teaching, at _Beauxbatons_? You barely know enough French to know your way around a menu!" Draco retorted.

Harry just smiled, and said in perfect French, "Did you honestly think I spent all those hours after class just marking? I've still got a lot to learn, but I know I can always fall back on my Translation Charms if I'm out of my depth.Although I thought you would be pleased to know I didn't need to use a Translation Charm at all today!" Draco was shocked. Harry's words were perfect. His pronunciation was a little off, but Draco was just too ecstatic to be too critical at that moment.

Harry's eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued to natter away in French. "I know how my Parseltongue affects you in the bedroom," he ran a hand up and down Draco's arm, bringing a shiver of delight to Draco's skin, "I have often wondered if I could turn you on as much with another language." He leaned in and whispered across Draco's ear, sensing the involuntary shiver. "I can see I'll need a little bit of time for us to practice..."

Draco realised he could not resist when Harry spoke in such a sultry tone. Indeed, French was a sexy language, and hearing it from Harry's mouth made it all the more enticing. "Somehow I don't think bordello talk will go down terribly well with Madame Maxime, Harry." Draco managed to smirk, not realising he had lapsed into French as well.

Harry just grinned. "I thought I might get some favours and special tutoring..." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's neck and straddled him on the couch.

Draco was still a little stunned and seemed unsure by this turn of events, and pulled Harry away so he could look at him closely. He couldn't be sure if this was really happening, or if Harry was just saying it to make him happy.

"What about your grand plan to take over from Remus when he retires? You've had your heart set on it from the moment you first realised you wanted to teach. I remember how excited Flash was for this opportunity. Don't tell me you don't want it any more."

"You're right, Draco, I do want it," He admitted. "But Remus is enjoying a second wind. He's more active than ever - I don't think I've seen him look this good - not ever. I swear he looks at least 15 years younger. Even after a transformation he's back on his feet quickly. We all have you and your work on the Wolfsbane potion to thank for that."

Draco relented. "Yes, I never expected he would respond so well, but I don't think I can take all the credit. Jean-Paul is certainly keeping him in shape," he grinned. "Mind you, Remus has a lot of incentive there, I can tell you."

"It's funny how things turn out, isn't it?" Harry laughed. "You were with Jean-Paul, and I thought I wanted Remus, and now we have each other and they are together. The world of soul mates is just simply too bizarre sometimes."

"They deserve each other. Jean-Paul has so much to give. You know he admitted he was furious when he found out that we were the ones connected in the journals."

"Really? Are you saying I have some competition?" Harry asked in mock defiance.

Draco just rolled his eyes. "Not too many people get a second chance at love, but I can't think of anyone more deserving than those two. Sirius was taken away from Remus all too quickly. Perhaps this is the universe's way of making apologies for all it's done."

"You're right. Or perhaps now that we've mended the rift in the soul magic, more soul mates will be able to find each other."

"So Remus wants to stay on at Hogwarts, and you want to come to France... If Severus does retire, who is going to be left to teach Potions?" Draco asked in all seriousness.

"Who cares?" Harry replied.

"I care. We can't have just _anyone_ teaching our Maggie!" Draco whined.

"How could anyone ever accuse you of being uncaring, Professor Malfoy? You'd better watch yourself - your carefully crafted mask might just slip, and the students might see that you really aren't an uncaring bastard after all..."

"So you really want me to work on my research... here, in our home?" The sound of that phrase rolling off his tongue felt good, and Draco knew then it was exactly what he had been looking for.

"Yes, _our home_. Your apprenticeship will end around about the same time as your inheritance is due, so it's not like you'll have to go out of your way to work. It will be kind of nice not to have you snarking around the place and trying so hard to be tolerant around the students, when you really don't want to teach. Besides, it will be nice to come home and have my bath drawn and dinner on the table."

Draco's mouth opened in shock before he protested. "Yes, right, of course I'll be catering to your every whim, oh great Saviour of the Wizarding World. I'll do all that for you." Draco rolled his eyes and spoke in a sycophantic tone. "Of course, you won't be getting anywhere near my cock ever again if you think I'm going to turn into some sort of house-elf..."

Harry pouted petulantly. "But I like your cock." He started to palm it through Draco's trousers, and he could feel it hardening instantly. "I like it too much, sometimes." Harry leaned over to kiss at his favourite spot behind Draco's ear.

"Now, now, you can't ever have too much of a good thing, Harry Potter. Feel free to keep..." Draco lost his breath for a moment, gasping in delight and grinding into Harry's hand, "Feel free to keep worshipping my cock in any way... although you know you have such a wonderful mouth..." Draco was lost again as Harry squeezed and he arched into the touch.

Harry grinned as he slowly undid the buttons on Draco's trousers. "You only had to ask," he whispered hoarsely in the blond's ear as Draco groaned in delight – a wicked smile crossing his lips as all propriety was forgotten. They had tried to be so careful when Maggie was around, but Harry was making things dreadfully difficult at that moment, and he really couldn't have cared if Maggie came out of her room and watched.

"Ouch," He yelped as he twisted around against the cushions to feel something sharp digging into his back. He shoved his arm under the cushion to find what it was. He pulled out a small hard scroll that must have fallen out of the mail when Melchett threw it at Harry.

Intrigued by the writing on it, he looked at the address. Meanwhile, Harry's tongue was working at that spot on his neck as his hands finally released the last of the buttons on Draco's trousers. Draco groaned in delight at Harry's touch. "Why... why would Lao Kuai be sending you an _Urgent and Fragile_ scroll, Harry?" he asked, his mind only half on the question.

"Wha..." Harry turned his head, his eyes filled with hazy desire and his glasses askew. He was about to ignore Draco's question and dive right back into the business of ravishing his soul mate, when he spotted the familiar seal of his old mentor. He looked at it oddly before finally taking it from Draco's hands. He adjusted his glasses and looked it over yet again.

"You could always open it, Harry. It is, after all, addressed to you," Draco replied, sorry now that he had interrupted what he knew was going to be a wonderfully blissful blow job that he had been aching for all day.

"Actually, it's not. It's addressed to _you_." Harry stated as he read the fine scrawl of Lao Kuai's writing.

"Huh?" Draco snatched it out of Harry's hands and brought the parcel right up to his face.

"You are definitely coming to visit the Oculist with me next time, Draco. You really do need new glasses if you couldn't read that properly."

"It's just dark in here, that's all," he retorted automatically, not willing to admit that he really couldn't see the difference in the words. Only the recognisable seal and the large URGENT and FRAGILE written across it were plainly visible.

"Well then, I think you had better open it."

Draco carefully untied the ribbon and tore the seal with his fingernail. He unrolled the letter and caught the small vial that fell out before it could land in his unclothed lap. His hands started to shake as he instantly recognised the contents of the vial. The letter was dropped and forgotten as he sat up straighter, all thought of his previous activities forgotten.

Harry saw the complete change in Draco's demeanour as he saw his mouth moving silently.

"How..." he eventually said, his gaze not once leaving the vial containing the darkly translucent feathery substance. By this stage Harry was reading Lao Kuai's letter, and the significance of what Draco held struck him.

Harry sucked in a deep gasp as he realised what was in the vial. "He... he says he stumbled across them whilst travelling through Outer Mongolia. It wasn't even a real village – just a nomadic wizard travelling by on his horse and who wanted to trade for some fresh ingredients."

"He found them in the middle of nowhere?"

Harry just nodded. "Apparently Lao Kuai became a little befuddled as he tried to Apparate through a blizzard, landing in Mongolia instead of China. He was about to freeze when this nomad came out of nowhere and offered him the warmth of his tent and food. They got to talking and trading items from their respective packs. He apparently seemed quite happy to be rid of them – he had been carrying them around since he was a young boy."

"Pure chance," Draco murmured as he just stared at the Pegasus Wingtips.

"No, Draco, not chance. Not at all." Draco became suddenly silent as he continued to hold on to the glass vial with an iron grip. The first Harry noticed the tear in Draco's eye was when he put both his hands over Draco's.

"Harry... I..." again Draco was choked with emotion.

"Shhh. Happy Yule, Draco." This was better than any gift, and Harry silently thanked Lao Kuai.

It seemed like they sat there forever, but eventually Draco put the vial down carefully on the side table. He turned back and wrapped his arms around Harry as he lay on his chest. Draco breathed in deeply, soaking in the warmth and love emanating there. Harry wrapped one arm around Draco as his fingers ran soothingly through that soft hair.

"I thought by now you would be rushing off to put the cauldron on," he offered in a light-hearted tone.

The comment managed to raise a smile on Draco's face. "Oh, I think this can wait a day. I am certainly not going to rush this potion." He looked up into Harry's eyes and knew right then that all the pain and suffering had been worth ever second, knowing that he wanted to be with this man for the rest of his life. Knowing this, and seeing the same emotion in Harry's face and feeling Harry's heart beating beneath his hand, he didn't need Legilimency to know that Harry was sharing the exact same feelings.

"Besides," he eventually continued, pulling again at the scarf that was still around Harry's neck, "You've got some unfinished business. It's not polite to stop what you've already started. Honestly, Potter, your manners can sometimes be appalling."

Harry just laughed as he buried his nose in the hollow of Draco's neck, kissing his way down that chest as he began to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. "The more things change, Draco, the more they stay the same. You can still be so insufferably self absorbed... Don't worry, you'll get what you need and deserve before the Sabbat is over."

"Ahh, good..." Draco arched his neck back. "Because then I can give you your Yule gift..."

Harry shook his head. "I don't need any presents, Draco. I have everything I've ever wanted right here, right under this roof," he added. Draco was quickly lost as Harry continued to kiss every inch of skin that was bared as he laved his tongue across neck and chest. He was startled when he felt Harry grasp his wand and heard a barely audible spell. He felt the tingle of magic and he laughed.

"Why Harry, you've finally worked out there really _are_ spells for that..."

--oo0oo--

All thoughts of Yule gifts were put aside as they wordlessly rekindled and renewed their love by the flickering fireplace. Petite Amie barely opened an eye. She had a full view of the goings on before the fire, but all she did was push her paws beneath her legs and return to sleep. Her work was done, and the final task had been only now completed.

Jean-Paul was now looking after the journals and even though they were no longer her responsibility, she had been with them for so long, and she could still sense that they were about to fall into the hands of a new pair of soul mates. A log popped in the fireplace as it caught alight, revealing a strangely familiar smile on the cat's face. An even more familiar twinkle in the cat's eye blashed as she curled up atop a wrapped Yule gift, attempting to get comfortable. She wanted a nice, long sleep, and she wanted to be awake when they opened her present – the single bound copy of their journal conversations that the freed souls had somehow bequeathed to them in thank you for what they had done.

But for now, all was right with the world.

--oo0oo--

Argyle Doyle was trudging through the streets of Hogsmeade. He hadn't realised the weather was closing in until he looked up. He could barely see a few feet in front of his face, but followed his last ounce of common sense as he stepped into the doorway of the nearest shop.

The atmosphere was inviting and the rich smell of coffee made him look up and pay attention. How fortunate that the storm had brought him here. The store was empty - most people with an ounce of common sense were at home celebrating Yule with their families - not wandering around villages until they were frozen. He barely realised the proprietor had sat him down and placed a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. It took a few moments to finally get his bearings and discover he was in a coffee house and bookstore. _The Leaf & Bean,_ the sign said. It seemed warm and friendly - something Argyle had almost given up hope on. The proprietor gave him a warm smile from behind the counter as he polished glasses with a tea towel.

The bookstore had a unique character that made Argyle feel immediately welcome. Books were stacked haphazardly along shelves stacked right to the ceiling. Argyle loved books, but he had given up on his literary pursuits over recent months, much to his regret.

_But who was the fool who gave up his studies because he fancied himself in love?_ Argyle felt like the biggest fool in the world. Why did he ever quit his university studies to follow his lover? What made him think that was a good idea?

It would have been a grand plan, had his lover actually loved him, and not suddenly dumped him quicker than a flaming cauldron. Of course, he would have to fall head over heels in love with Oliver Wood.

Things had been perfect - Oliver doted on Argyle, and they seemed perfect together. He even took Oliver in when his old boyfriend (the imitable Harry Potter) kicked him out. He'd even supported the cad when he decided to quit the league and come to work at Hogwarts! Of course, it had been no surprise when that gig lasted only a few weeks, and he allowed Oliver back into his home.

How could he have been so foolish? Argyle berated himself over and over. If anything, he was going to learn from this mistake and never fall in love again. As he sat there, a new resolve firmed in him and he realised that he didn't need a lover to make himself complete.

He was too young to be so cynical, but he had convinced himself that he had been an idealistic fool to think that true love ever existed. The coffee had warmed him and he wandered through the store's bookshelves. He loved the smell of books - they always made him feel comforted. They gave him strength, and they gave him the courage to move on and forget about Oliver. Oliver. He had given up almost everything for the bastard, but now, surrounded by generations of parchment, ink and leather, he felt the sudden urge to pick up a quill and write. He had not felt that way for months.

One particular display of books caught his eye as he turned. Bagman had written an autobiography, and Argyle felt drawn to read it. He noticed several other autobiographies by many other sportsmen. A few of the books were 'unauthorised', and he noticed on the jacket of another book that the author intended on writing a tell-all exposé of the life of Harry Potter. He read the jacket on the back of yet another autobiography. "Oh please," he muttered under his breath. "Even I could write better than this pish posh, and still make a fortune."

Argyle snorted and rolled his eyes. The idea of writing an unauthorised biography on Oliver suddenly became very appealing. That would certainly put the ponce in his place. Still, the idea was there, but he was feeling pulled to write something else.

Besides, he had no intention of having another thing to do with Oliver, even if he had enough information to write two books about the man's life. For that matter, he knew enough about Potter to be able to write about him as well. For a moment he sympathised with Potter, but then went back to his own thoughts.

The proprietor's eyes sparkled as he noticed Argyle heading further back into the book stacks. The bell above the door tinkled as another customer braved the elements. He heard a warm laugh and looked back. It seemed he was the only one moping around, for the proprietor had locked lips with the newcomer. Only then did he notice the gold wedding band on their fingers, and their happiness only soured his mood even more.

His musings had brought him to a display of empty journals, and he seemed suddenly filled with a greater sense of purpose. He _would_ finish that book - anything to pass the time now he was sworn off love forever. The smell of fresh leather and parchment was overwhelming as he had his choice of books.

One journal seemed a little more worn than the rest, but it was unique, and it exuded a sense of successful individuality. Argyle liked that. He picked up the book, his hand running over the textured surface. This book was old - Argyle could feel the magic that it exuded. Goodness knew what charms it contained, but he knew at that moment that he needed to buy it. He rushed to the counter to make his purchase. If he were lucky, Scrivenscaft's would still be open and he could pick up quills and ink. A new journal was useless without quills and ink.

As he left, he felt the proprietor staring, and he turned. He seemed a little confused by the man's knowing smile, but he felt warmed, not only by the coffee but by the realisation that he had wasn't going to let Oliver's rejection ruin his life any more. Imbued with a renewed sense of purpose, he was ready for a brand new beginning.

--oo0oo--

Young Devon Prescott was back in the south of France, having spent the better part of two years travelling all over the Continent. He remembered this small village, not for the man who broke his heart, but for the fact that this was where he first grew up.

He had been only a boy when he first landed in Paris and travelled through France, but meeting Draco Malfoy had been a turning point in his life. He had bared his soul to the man, and had it deftly broken within an instant. Devon quickly learned from that and it was a harsh, but very necessary lesson.

He had come back to Roussillon a man, but he was no longer looking for love – he had given up on that long ago. But something had been tugging at his conscience – bringing him back to this village surrounded by the most picturesque countryside. Even now in the middle of winter he was surrounded by warmth. How could he resist the pull? He regretted never getting enough time to draw this magnificent vista during his previous visit, but he was making up for lost time now.

The old Spaniard behind the counter at Mincka's recognised him, which came as a surprise, and he ordered coffee and rolls with a flawless Translation Charm. Many hours were spent with parchment and charcoal as he drew everything he saw. Market day was always busy, and he found plenty to draw in the faces of the villagers and tourists.

He never expected to come across Draco Malfoy again, but he figured that returning to this village was tempting fate, and he got the one thing he never wished for. That shock of platinum blond hair was unmistakeable, and memories rose to the surface at the sight of it.

At least, he _thought_ it was Draco at first, but he was at the opposite end of the square. He looked a lot like Draco, but Devon began to question his own sight. This man seemed much happier and more relaxed that Draco. Besides, he didn't have a limp. He was accompanied by another man - of a height, with dark hair, a beard and glasses. They were obviously a couple – there was no doubt about that, judging from the way they touched. They appeared to be very much in love. There was no way possible this was the cruel and heartless prat, Malfoy. Perhaps it was a cousin, for there seemed to be a resemblance. A teenage girl also seemed to hang off the both of them, putting doubt in his mind about the man's identity. They weren't close enough for him to be certain, and he had no intention of wandering that way to confirm his suspicion.

Still, the sight of someone resembling Draco looking so very happy added to his own depression about his love life. He left home to travel Europe, hoping to find his one true love, but only finding that he was now well travelled, if somewhat cynical about finding someone to love.

Venturing through the stalls later in the day, he came across a stall selling all manner of knick knacks. He seemed rather intrigued by the wizened old man behind the table, his pipe hanging out his mouth and his oversized cardigan giving him a rather shabby appearance.

Devon was always on the lookout for new parchment, quills, inks and anything else he could use to draw. He saw nothing of real interest other than the stall's owner, and turned to leave. A sudden burst of sunlight turned his eye and he was drawn back to a grubby looking book. It was half hiding under a box of old wizarding sheet music. He pulled out the book and let out a slight gasp.

It wasn't grubby, as he first thought. The dappled texture of the tapestry and leather cover felt quite amazing under his fingers. He could also feel a sense of magic coming from the book as he turned the pages. Being such a tactile person, he could feel the contrasting textures of the cover and the smooth and blank parchment pages under his fingers.

He got the sense that despite the book being blank, that it had once contained many stories. The soft cream pages felt magic to the touch. He gazed at it for a long time, but immediately felt compelled to buy it. "How much?" he asked.

"Oh, that old thing?" The wizard pulled the pipe out of his mouth and donned a pair of spectacles as he studied the journal intently, muttering under his breath all the while. He seemed to consider a price, slowly nodding as he took his spectacles off and put the pipe back in his mouth.

"I have no idea where that moth-eaten old thing came from. You sure you don't want something new? I've got some nice new parchment over here..."

"No," Devon shook his head. "I want this." He was prepared to haggle. He wanted this journal and was prepared to pay handsomely.

"Oh, very well," he seemed disappointed that he wasn't going to make a hefty sale. "I guess you can have it for seven Sickles.

"Is that all?" Devon wondered if he had heard correctly. This book seemed antique - at least it was worn and for a book that old to have perfect pages and no writing, it must be worth more.

"Sure," the salesman shrugged. "You'd be doin' me a favour. Been lugging that thing around for a long time. You've just saved me packing it up. The ole Levitation Charms aren't what they used to be." Devon smiled, not hesitating as he handed over the price. It was a great find.

"What 'choo plan on putting in that thing?" the old wizard asked curiously with a nod of his head. Devon considered the question carefully. He had attempted to keep a journal of his travels at first, but he gave that up months before. The urge to write it all down came upon him suddenly. This trip had been a turning point in his life, and now he needed to express everything he had learned about life, love and growing up.

Besides, he had little else to do during those long and lonely nights.

Devon shrugged. "I've been travelling the past couple of years. I've seen a lot of things, met a lot of people and learned an awful lot about myself. It's high time I wrote it all down."

The old wizard nodded knowingly, a smirk showing the worn groove in his teeth where the pipe always sat. "Learned a few things along the way, did you?"

"Sure did. Wish someone had told me all this before I came here. Would have helped me a lot."

"A bit like a user guide?" the old man suggested.

Devon nodded. "Yeah, a bit like that. A user guide to growing up and the reality of life and love. That's what I'll write." He smiled. He wished someone had written something like that for him, but alas, he had to learn the hard way.

The wizened old man let out a wry chuckle through his pipe. "Well, good luck then. I'm sure your readers will learn a lot."

The weight of the journal felt just right under his arm as he made his way back to his rooms. Was it really that far fetched to write a book about all that he had learned in his journey of self-discovery?

Sitting by the window, looking out over the brightly coloured buildings in the town, he spotted that head of platinum blond hair again, and he knew exactly how he would start his book, and what he would write.

_I'll write about falling in love, and how it's only ever going to end in disaster. _He dipped the quill in the ink and without a second thought began to write...

_**People will tell you wonderful stories about falling in love – about how they met and their perfect courtships. I just want to say that it's complete bullshit. Love is a fallacy – it's designed to rip your heart out through your chest and beat you over the head for being an idiot.**_

_**Perhaps I should explain my cynicism. Let me tell you a story. **_

_**It all started with a bad translation charm, and a bastard by the name of 'Bad Faith'... **_

--oo0oo--

_-The End-_

_Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic over the past two years. Huge thanks must go to Separatrix, C Dumbledore and Mijan for all their efforts in beta work throughout the latter half of the fic. And thank you to everyone who has read this. Your reviews really do mean something to us and it makes the effort of writing all the more satisfying. With the new reply feature here at the site we can reply personally to signed reviews, so thank you again. We hope you have enjoyed the ride along the way as much as we have enjoyed writing it. If you don't particularly like the way the story ended, that's your call, but thank you for taking the time to read this far. Before anyone asks - the answer is 'no, there will not be a sequel'. 541,451 words - goodness!_

_All the best, Azhure & Wintermoon._

_Footnote: The yahoo group that was set up for this fic has been unexpectedly deleted due to some nasty business. If you are wanting to read the adult version of this story, you can find it on Skyehawke._


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